Jin Zi could not make sense of Yin Chao's cryptic explanation. To an ordinary player like her, God seemed far too distant.
She pulled Zhao Qing's head, with only half its face remaining, from among the monsters' severed limbs.
Then she dug a shallow hole with her broadsword and buried Zhao Qing's head in it.
Watching someone she loved die before her eyes should have brought pain and despair.
But what Yin Chao saw in Jin Zi's eyes was numbness.
A numbness to pain, as though her mind and soul had parted, or as though she had grown accustomed to living in agony.
Bai Xu could not bear to watch. He crouched down to help Jin Zi dig the hole and fill it back in.
Only Yin Chao stood on a clean patch of ground, his expression unreadable, his thoughts impossible to guess.
Once it was done, Jin Zi straightened up.
Yin Chao suddenly asked, "This wasn't the first time, was it?"
Bai Xu did not understand and gave a questioning hum.
Jin Zi froze where she stood. She seemed to have recalled something terrifying, and her lower eyelids twitched uncontrollably.
She knew Yin Chao was speaking to her.
This wasn't the first time, was it? It had happened countless times. She could no longer count how often she had watched Zhao Qing die before her eyes.
Sometimes, not even a piece of his body remained.
Zhao Qing would not remember how he had died. The only person who remembered, and suffered for it, was Jin Zi.
Sometimes, forgetting might be a blessing.
"If this keeps happening..." Yin Chao's voice softened considerably. He wanted to say that no one, however strong they were inside, could endure this forever.
But a long, drawn-out alarm sounded from the sky, cutting him off,