Chapter 94: Split
For a long time, Xiang Er couldn’t understand the words.
Outside, the sun shone brightly, birds chirped, insects buzzed, a vibrant, lively scene, but the room was unusually cold, a chill running down her spine.
She reread the letter, its delicate paper carrying a faint fragrance, several times, recognizing each individual character, yet their meaning eluded her.
She clutched the paper, confused, and turned to sit down on the sofa, but the world suddenly tilted… and she collapsed, unconscious.
She didn’t know how much time had passed.
Xiang Er was awakened by a cacophony of voices, her mind slowly returning, and she found herself in a sterile white hospital room, wearing a hospital gown, lying in a bed.
Beside her pillow, a small, black sphere was crouching, and seeing her awake, it opened its single eye, its eyelid drooping, then extended a tentacle, carefully placing it on Xiang Er’s forehead.
Xiang Er was confused. Was that the small eyeball? Why was it here, in the hospital with her? What had happened?
And the most important question, the question that filled her with a growing unease.
Her throat parched, she tentatively called out:
“A… Akhe…”
Several people immediately rushed into the room, some in white coats, some in uniforms, only An Yue a familiar face.
Xiang Er gave An Yue a questioning look as the doctors examined her, their instruments beeping and whirring. She noticed that they seemed to be accustomed to the small eyeball, they could see it, they weren’t surprised, just gently pushing it aside so it wouldn’t interfere with their examination.
An Yue gave her a reassuring look, her hands in her pockets, her demeanor slightly awkward as she stood by the door.
After the doctors left, their instruments packed away, they spoke briefly to An Yue, who nodded, her expression grave.
Xiang Er’s gaze remained fixed on An Yue, and when An Yue finally looked at her, she immediately asked:
“Where’s Akhe?”
An Yue opened her mouth, then closed it again. Xiang Er, her patience wearing thin, frowned:
“Is she… on another mission? When will she be back?”
An Yue’s eyes widened in surprise:
“Huh?”
Xiang Er:
“Isn’t she? I’m in the hospital, why isn’t she here?”
An Yue’s expression turned complex, and after a moment, she finally said:
“Do you… remember the letter?”
Letter? What letter? Xiang Er didn’t remember any letter, she only remembered Akhe driving her to the mountains, and then her memory was a blank, until she woke up here.
Had they been attacked in the mountains?
An Yue, after a moment of thought, winced as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a sealed plastic bag containing a piece of paper, which she handed to Xiang Er.
Xiang Er took the paper and stared at it.
She recognized every word, but their meaning eluded her. And the signature, Akhe? Why? Why would Akhe write her a letter, weren’t they together every day?
Vague images surfaced, the black stream in the mountains, the giant pillars of the temple… the human skulls, the blue flames, and… the red heart.
Before she could piece together the fragments of memory, a wave of panic made her gasp, her heart pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She clutched at her chest, frantically searching:
“Where is it? Where’s my heart?”
An Yue asked:
“What heart?”
Xiang Er, gasping for air like a beached fish, her chest heaving, her voice hoarse and broken, managed to say:
“I have to go back!”
An Yue didn’t argue, didn’t try to stop her, just opened the door.
But outside wasn’t the hospital corridor, but a road, a police car waiting, its door open. Xiang Er immediately got out of bed, grabbed the small eyeball, tucked it into her pocket, and jumped into the car.
This “special ward” had been hastily set up for her, right next to her apartment building, and the car, after a few minutes, reached the building, stopping at the entrance. Xiang Er jumped out and ran inside.
Her body, strengthened by months of exposure to the Cthulhu’s… fluids, was now surprisingly resilient, and An Yue, running after her, could barely keep up. Within a minute, Xiang Er had reached the sixth floor, stopping in front of her apartment door.
She didn’t have her key, and An Yue, catching up, took out a key and was about to unlock the door, when Xiang Er snatched it from her hand:
“I’ll do it.”
It had been over six months since Xiang Er had last touched her apartment key.
The cold, hard metal pricked her palm, and she fumbled with the lock, her hand trembling, like a willow branch in the wind.
She must be tired from running.
She took a deep breath, inserted the key into the lock, and turned it.
The familiar creaking sound. Surely, this would be enough to make Akhe come and greet her, wouldn’t it?
She didn’t push the door open, waiting for Akhe’s tentacles to open it for her. But… the door didn’t move.
After a long moment, An Yue reached out and opened the door. Xiang Er hesitated, then stepped inside.
The slippers by the door were neatly arranged, Akhe’s fluffy rabbit slippers for winter, and the red woven slippers for summer.
Both pairs were there.
Xiang Er walked inside, the small eyeball jumping from her hand and rolling listlessly across the floor.
The memories gradually returned, and Xiang Er remembered… last time, she had also searched the entire apartment, but Akhe had been gone, not a single tentacle in sight.
She looked at the letter she had been clutching, trying to decipher the words, it seemed… it said that… Akhe had left?
She turned to An Yue:
“Akhe’s not home?”
An Yue nodded sympathetically.
Xiang Er looked at the letter again, but she refused to understand.
She handed the letter to An Yue, her eyes closed, and said:
“What does it say? Explain it to me.”
An Yue looked at the letter, then at Xiang Er, and felt that this was the most difficult mission she had ever been assigned.
She carefully chose her words:
“It says… that… another Cthulhu-like entity has appeared near this planet, and Akhe has to go and… negotiate with it, which means… Akhe has to leave this planet for a while, and you should… take care of yourself, and wait for her to return… that’s… what it says.”
An Yue tried her best to sugarcoat the message, hoping it sounded optimistic, hoping it would be enough.
She looked at Xiang Er.
Xiang Er had been unconscious in the hospital for three days, waking up only in the late afternoon, the fiery glow of sunset filling the sky, the clouds like a painted landscape, the golden light illuminating her face.
She stood there, silently, like a withered branch on a snowy mountain, like a defiant antler in the desert.
Her pale, thin face, half in shadow, half illuminated by the golden light, a strange juxtaposition of warmth and coldness.
Her eyes, normally soft and timid, were now dull and vacant, devoid of emotion.
She looked like… a hollow clay statue, its eyes unpainted, its ribbons gone, its form rough and lifeless.
An Yue’s heart sank.
After a long silence, Xiang Er finally spoke.
Her lips, pale and dry, like paper, whispered:
“The letter said… not to wait for her to return. What does that mean?”
An Yue’s heart ached for her, and she stammered, trying to find the right words:
“She didn’t mean it like that… she just… wants you to live your life…”
But Xiang Er’s gaze was fixed on a point on the wall, as if seeing something invisible, her voice a harsh, metallic rasp:
“She’s going to die, isn’t she? She’s gone to fight, and she’s going to die! Ahahahaha!!! She’s going to die!!!”
She suddenly burst into laughter, a hysterical, unrestrained laughter, her hands flailing, as if she had discovered some secret incantation, pacing the room, her movements erratic, her laughter and screams echoing.
“Ah!!! She’s going to die!!! She’s going to die, hahahahaha!!! Aaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!”
An Yue rushed forward, using her combat skills to restrain her, pushing her onto the sofa, trying to calm her down, but Xiang Er, even with her limbs held captive, continued to scream:
“She’s going to die!!! She’s going to die!!! Do you know why she’s going to die? It’s because of me!!! I told her to die, and she’s going to die, ahahahaha!!! Wuwuwu, aaaaaaaah, it’s because of me!!!!”
She suddenly arched her neck back and vomited, a retching sound.
Having not eaten or drunk anything for three days, it was just bile.
An Yue quickly dodged, but some of it splattered on her arm, and she patiently cleaned it up.
Xiang Er’s vomiting fit subsided, and she lay on the sofa, her body covered in her own vomit, her clothes stained.
She stared blankly at the ceiling, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper, repeating over and over:
“I did this… I killed her… I cursed her… she’s dead, she’s going to die…”
An Yue looked at her. She no longer looked human, like a beautiful corpse, drained of blood, her skin deathly pale, yet her eyes wide and staring, not a single tear.
Her hospital gown was stained with green bile, the stench overwhelming, but Xiang Er seemed oblivious to it, just repeating those words, over and over.
Just like the doctors had said, her physical health was perfect, but her mental state… early signs of schizophrenia, delusions, hallucinations, mania, compulsive repetition… she should be hospitalized.
But… no one dared commit the Cthulhu’s lover to a mental institution.
An Yue sighed and, grabbing a cloth, was about to clean up the mess…
When she was stopped by several thin tentacles.
It was the small eyeball’s tentacles, An Yue recognized them. It was supposedly Akhe and Xiang Er’s pet, harmless, just a bit… polluting.
The small eyeball, using its tentacles, took the cloth, then some tissues and wet wipes, and, its spherical body bouncing, hopped onto the sofa, carefully cleaning Xiang Er.
It wiped the vomit from her clothes, then gently cleaned her face.
Xiang Er didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, like a doll’s, unseeing, unaware of who was cleaning her.
Then… a strange, childlike wail echoed through the room.
Night had fallen, the light fading, the room almost completely dark, the delusional patient muttering incoherently.
And in this setting, a sudden, childish wail, filled with sorrow and anguish… made An Yue jump, and she quickly switched on the light.
The old light fixture flickered, then bathed the room in a harsh, bright light, and from Xiang Er’s wide, staring eyes, tears finally began to flow.
The wailing was close.
Xiang Er slowly turned her head, her gaze falling on her own chest.
The small eyeball, its blood-red eye filled with tears, was clinging to her, its thin, black tentacles spread out like weeds, its cries soaking Xiang Er’s clothes.
The small eyeball looked at Xiang Er, its slit-like mouth wide open, its cries even louder:
“Waaaaah—guwah—”
Xiang Er stared at the small eyeball, her gaze regaining some focus, as if finally realizing she was back in the real world.
An Yue, seizing the opportunity, said:
“Look, you still have a child, you can’t fall apart now.”
Xiang Er didn’t respond, didn’t move.
Just as An Yue thought she hadn’t heard, Xiang Er suddenly moved.
She raised a trembling hand and gently touched the top of the small eyeball’s head. A few tentacles immediately wrapped around her finger, and the small eyeball, its cries turning into soft sobs, its tears flowing even more freely, its mouth wide open, its voice filled with anguish and longing:
“Mom… Mommy… wuwuwu… Mommy…”
Xiang Er’s lips trembled, her muttering stopped, her gaze finally finding a focal point.
Tears streamed down her face as she hugged the small eyeball close, finally letting herself cry.
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