Two hours later.
Something blinked into the living room from thin air, but it wasn’t Little Ash.
It was a fist-sized mechanical clock, metal born of frost and moonlight.
Its body was a flawless sphere, silver as dusk steel.
The rim carried a ring of dark-gold, intricate sigils like tangled vines.
Beneath a crystal face clear as winter ice, the red hour and minute hands lay overlapped, sharp as ice shards, pointing perfectly at XII.
It floated quietly before Ye Weibai, and a breath like ancient tide washed over him.
Ye looked at the clock that had sprung from nowhere; surprise didn’t rise. Unease pooled, thick as ink in cold water.
“Hello, boy. I’m [Time].”
Before Ye could speak, it—no, she—spoke first.
The voice from [Time] sounded like a lonely girl in her teens, clear and detached, faraway and thin.
It felt as if it crossed countless Worlds, drifted for light-years, then brushed his ear with a winter-star chill.
“First, an unhappy message—[Misfortune] is dead.”
“...”
Dead?
The human kind of dead?
The one who, two hours ago, laughed and bickered with me—Little Ash—dead?
She’s a Deity… right?
Do Deities die?
Ye’s breath hitched like a string snapped.
His pupils pinched to needles, trembling like frost on glass.
His body shivered, a leaf in a night wind.
But it lasted only seconds.
Shock melted like slow snow, and his shaking hands steadied.
He kept his black-and-white eyes open, pressed his pale lips, and gave a small nod to show he understood.
“Good.” [Time] seemed pleased by his quick calm. Her praise was cool, a drizzle on stone. She went on, “Second message—you belong to me now.”
No flare of reaction. Ye didn’t blink as he stared at her, waiting for the thread of her explanation.
“Before she died, [Misfortune] sold you to me. I’ll keep the life that should have ended. In return, you become my piece and fight my game. Clear?”
“Mm.” There wasn’t much to puzzle over. He was now the proxy of another Deity, a new patron under a different sky. Ye nodded to show he understood.
“Good.” [Time] continued, “You have one chance to choose and one chance to ask—each only once, so treat them like breath in a blizzard.”
“First, choose—will you keep collecting what [Misfortune] needs, ‘the desperate, sincere tears of a maiden,’ or gather what I need—‘time so full it explodes’?”
“Time so full it explodes”—what is that? The golden hours of the perfectly social?
[Time] quickly added, “During this choosing, you may ask me related questions. They won’t consume your later question.”
Ye soon shook his head. “No need. I choose the former.”
“...Certain? A friendly tip: what I require is far easier to get than what [Misfortune] requires.”
Ye said, “And in [Trade], the [Rating] you get in return will be lower, right?”
“Indeed... then it’s decided.”
“Mm.”
“Since you choose [Misfortune]’s need, we’ll honor her last words—I’ll entrust [her] to you.” As she spoke, [Time] rose, drifting upward like a light-blue flame.
[Her]?
Ye blinked, a pebble dropping into still water.
The clock before him began to glow with a soft sky-blue, washing his face like dawn light.
Under the crystal, the hands shook violently, like trapped birds.
Something on the other side of that mirrored World fought to break through and descend into this one.
The glow stabbed his eyes. Ye squinted, watching that blurred outline and guessing that must be the so-called [her].
Blue light surged, then ebbed. The shape grew clear.
[Time]: “Catch [her].”
The thing fell.
Ye’s hands moved on instinct. Something warm and soft, feather-light, landed in his palms.
This—?
“Little Ash...?”
Ye stared, stunned, at the girl in his hands.
Ear-length ash-gray hair, skin pale as snow.
A gentle body in a blue-and-white sailor uniform, eyes shut as if asleep; only long lashes trembled like moth wings.
Every inch matched that Little Ash, except her size.
This wasn’t petite; it was tiny, almost miniature.
Ye cupped her in both hands.
Her legs curled.
Her head rested on the base of his right thumb.
Her feet touched the thumb of his other hand.
The slim, bare calves peeking beyond her skirt pressed against his palms, letting him feel the cool, soft, springy skin like chilled silk.
When calm, Little Ash already carried a sickly, frail air that tugged pity like a thin thread.
Now, made this small, she was a dandelion—light and breakable.
Ye held his breath, afraid a single exhale would scatter her.
“‘If Xiaobai chooses to continue, then please give [me] to him’—those were her exact words.” [Time] drifted down again and spoke.
“She said that...” Ye looked at the sleeping Doll girl in his hands and muttered.
“First, I only carry out her request and place [her] in your care. How you treat [her], I won’t interfere. Second, I must say, I’ve never seen any [Deity] exist in this state. By rule, when a [Deity] dies, the body is dragged into a [Void] rift and floats without end. The corresponding [Divinity] shatters away from the World and cruises endlessly until it finds the next [Suitable One], birthing the next [Deity].
But [Misfortune]’s [Divinity] has dispersed entirely, yet the body remains. I’ve never seen this. I can’t explain it.”
After a quiet beat, Ye raised his head. “May I ask a question?”
“You may. This will consume your one question.”
“Of course.” Ye nodded, looked at [Time], and enunciated each word. “How did [Misfortune] die?”
[Time] paused. “Before I answer, I must state this—even if I tell you, you won’t ‘hear’ it.”
“...Won’t hear it?”
“Yes. As a human, you cannot hear the name of [that thing].”
Ye pressed his lips, then nodded slowly. “I still want to try.”
“As you wish—”
“...”
...
...
He waited a while, but [Time] didn’t speak. Ye asked, puzzled, “So who was it?”
“...”
[Time]’s voice was cold. “Since a moment ago, I’ve already said its name thirteen times.”
Ye’s breath snagged.
He understood: like the [War Deity]’s crimson [Divine Art]—look at it with human eyes, and you die.
[That thing]—the thing that killed Little Ash—even he, being human, had no right to hear its name.
Ye felt it again—that so-called gap between species.
“Then you may choose another question. This time, choose carefully.”
Ye nodded, lowered his head to the Little Ash in his palms, and stared for a long time.
Then he lifted his gaze and asked the question he seemed to have weighed for ages—
“[Time], how should I address you?”
“...That question—are you sure?”
“Sure.”
“...”
[Time] fell quiet for a breath, then spoke in a clear, cool tone.
“Yui. You can call me—Yui.”
...
...
