Within the magnificent tree-burl palace, the threads that had once hung in tranquil silence now trembled faintly like harp strings.
"Chaos, distortion, and yet, within this utter disorder, a new order was born..."
"An exquisite premise."
"This, too, is a story I have never tasted before."
One of its forelimbs swayed gently, as though trying to grasp the lingering aftertaste of the story in the air.
"However, mortal."
"Though your story may possess ingenious structure or grand settings, it lacks a soul."
"A soul?"
"Precisely." Spindle-Speaker slowly shifted its enormous body, its eight jointed limbs moving soundlessly across the platform as it circled He Xi. "When you described that horror and madness, your tone was too calm. As if you were recounting some distant catastrophe you had never personally lived through."
"Your story has logic, wonder, even philosophy. Yet it alone lacks emotion."
"That terror that seeps into the marrow, that wild ecstasy bursting forth amid despair... those seasonings that truly give a story its soul—you put none of them in."
He Xi's heart stirred faintly.
This was merely a story he had carried over; naturally, there could be no talk of terror or ecstasy.
"Therefore," Spindle-Speaker spoke again, "this tale of a god's fall is indeed quite good. It can be exchanged for the additional help I offered you."
"But if you can continue to satisfy my demands, I shall present you with another gift."
"What demand?"
It lowered its head, its compound eyes nearly pressing against He Xi's face. "I require a true main course."
"I want to hear your own story."
"My own story?" He Xi frowned slightly, looking somewhat puzzled. "Honored Spindle-Speaker, as you can see, I am merely an ordinary spellcaster lost in the wilderness, who came here in search of his companions. My life