About a year ago, when the settlement had just built that church, Zhao Yinyin began hearing an old man's voice in her mind from time to time.
At first, she thought it was a hallucination, but later she discovered it was not. Not only did he answer her questions, he occasionally taught her things she had never known before.
Her grandfather had died when she was very young. Sometimes, she felt that old man was like her grandfather—always kind and gentle.
Later, the old man told her that he was the Holy Son, the one worshipped in that church.
Yinyin did not doubt him at all. Or rather, she had long suspected that he might be the Holy Son.
After all, aside from a true god, who else could be everywhere and know everything, speaking with her inside her mind?
From then on, she began confiding all her troubles to the Holy Son without holding anything back.
Gods did not lie, nor would they spread mortal troubles everywhere.
There was no one more suitable to confide in...
Just like usual.
Curled up in an empty room on the second floor of the annex, Yinyin told him all her troubles: her conflict with her best friend, the sorrow of losing her family, and her helpless uncertainty about the future.
Wiping away her tears, Yinyin muttered softly.
"...Sorry. I just kept talking about myself. You must find it boring."
A long silence followed.
Then that kindly voice slowly drifted into her mind.
"How could I, my child?"
Though it was merely a comforting remark that could hardly be called encouraging, a fragile yet determined smile appeared on Yinyin's face, and she pulled herself together a little.
A moment later, she seemed to have made some kind of decision and looked straight ahead.