Chapter 36

He did not want to say it. If they did not understand, then forget it.

Hels was stunned for a moment, then suddenly laughed. He walked to Horne’s side and knelt halfway on the ground again, gently grasping that hand.

“I’m here.”

It was the same reaction again: vomiting, tears, screams, drenched in sweat. The scenes layered upon one another, everything was there yet all blurred indistinctly. The only clear thing was the sense of security from their clasped hands.

But this time, it was somewhat different. Horne’s pain was more intense than last time.

They paused midway once. Horne gasped fiercely, sat up, and dry-heaved over the edge of the sofa.

Hels gently patted his back and said softly, “Should we stop?”

As expected, Horne shook his head. He asked, “Can the power be turned up higher?”

“No.”

“Just one more notch at most.”

Hels and Siselen spoke at the same time. Hels shot a sharp glance at Siselen, who shrugged helplessly.

Horne said, “One more notch, then.”

Siselen replied, “One more notch would be the limit of your body’s metrics, Mr. Horne. Your parameters are already higher than a normal person’s.”

“Mm, give me a minute to catch my breath.”

Horne lay there gasping. Hels took a tissue to wipe the sweat from his face, but Horne instinctively dodged away. Hels’s hand froze in midair.

A few seconds later, Horne realized what he had just done.

When he was clear-headed, he could pretend, but now the pain was too much; he could not fake that closeness.

Hels tossed away the tissue and stayed half-kneeling without moving. He simply watched Horne calmly, waiting until he had recovered enough to lie back down. Then, in an even tone, he asked, “Do you need more?”

He extended his hand.

Horne thought briefly about the possible events he might face in the next two days and finally nodded.

The feeling of support was real.

Nausea hit, and the stimulus at one higher notch was nearly double.

At the end of the five minutes, Horne let out a miserable scream, and Siselen immediately shut off the device.

“Mr. Horne, rest for a bit.” Siselen said as he began checking Horne’s brain activity records.

Horne did not get up. He still gripped Hels’s hand tightly, breathing rapidly with a deathly pale face.

Hels lightly stroked the back of his hand and asked, “Feeling a bit better?”

Horne gasped for air. He heard him but could not respond. His whole body felt excruciatingly painful now, as if something was tearing at his consciousness. He could not wake up fully or answer.

Normally, he should recover slowly once the device was off, but Horne kept his eyes tightly shut.

“Horne?” Hels’s voice grew increasingly fuzzy in his ears, like being submerged in water with bubbles surging in a few bursts, then becoming urgent.

“Horne? Wake up. Can you get up?”

Horne wanted to open his mouth but could not move. He felt like he was falling, plummeting into an abyss, headfirst with a “buzz buzz” ringing.

“Dong, dong—dong—”

Someone knocked on the glass. The rhythm was familiar, but he could not recall what it was. As he tried to think, an immense wave of fearful pain crashed over him. It was as if he had fallen off a cliff, his body shattering into pieces.

“Dong, dong—dong—”

“We can convey information through the number of times and the pitch changes. It could be in the form of knock counts, gestures, or different tones.”

In the abyss, Horne heard his own voice.

“When we can only communicate through sound, low frequency represents ‘long,’ high frequency represents ‘short.’ For example, tapping with fingertips versus knuckles on an object—you hear, doesn’t the tone differ?”

“Dong, dong—dong—”

The rhythmic, urgent knocking on glass wrapped in immense despair.

“We need to stay united to get through this disaster. Don’t suspect your companions casually; trust them. Only when your heart opens up will you see things differently.”

“Dong, dong—dong—”

“Horne? Wake up! What’s wrong with you, Horne?!” Hels’s voice fell into the abyss too, but those calls were like glass—once they plunged in, they shattered into powder.

“Brother, aren’t you suffering?”

Who was that?

Horne felt his body turn transparent. He walked along a narrow, deep abyss, pressing forward, but saw nothing ahead. He could only hear himself speaking.

“It hurts, but it’s okay. Suffering won’t destroy you—what destroys you is your lack of faith. You don’t believe you can remain innocent and kind. It hurts, sure, but no matter what happens, I’ll just rebirth over and over, invincible.”

“Dong, dong—dong—”

“Ah—!!”

With a miserable scream, the haze receded like a tide. Horne shot up from the sofa, pitched forward, and collapsed onto the floor, coughing madly.

Hels was startled and immediately helped Horne up, patting his back anxiously as he said, “What happened? Siselen!”

Siselen came over to check, but Horne knelt on the ground, barely able to stand. He coughed violently, followed by vomiting. Siselen lifted his face and saw only a bloodless pallor and sweat-drenched hair.

Siselen said gravely, “Carry him up there.” He then turned away to readjust the device.

“Horne? Horne?” Hels called again, trying to help him up from the floor. But the moment he touched him, Horne let out another miserable scream.

“Ah!!”

Hels immediately pulled back his hand and froze in place.

Incredulously, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

He did not know if he had touched a wound or something, but he thought Horne’s injuries should have healed well by now.

Horne knelt on the ground, body curled up, trembling nonstop. He breathed so rapidly that his brain lacked oxygen, his eyes staring blankly somewhere.

It hurt so much. Why did it hurt this much?

Was someone knocking on the glass? Where are you? Save me. I’m about to die. He thought in agony.

“Horne, don’t move. I’ll carry you up.” Hels used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from Horne’s forehead. As his arm passed under Horne’s knees, Horne screamed again and shoved Hels away.

“Don’t touch me! Get lost! Get lost!”

Too forceful—”bang!” Hels, caught off guard, slammed back into the table behind him. A potted plant fell and shattered on the floor.

At this sudden change, Hels froze in place without daring to move. Siselen stood to the side and said calmly, “Stress response. The patient is reliving scenes from repeated memories. This is a common and necessary step. No need to worry too much; it means the brain is processing…”

“Shut up!” Hels roared. “I just said not to increase it!”

Siselen fell silent.

“Horne? Calm down. It’s okay.” Hels turned toward him, eyes filled with deep concern.

Horne could not see the pure white in front of him. He only felt himself in boundless darkness, amid ruins. He shrank back into the corner, arms wrapped around himself, eyes fixed deathly on the person before him as sweat trickled from his forehead.

Hels took two steps forward and squatted down, just extending his hand.

“Get lost! Don’t come over!” Horne shouted, staring at Hels, body trembling.

There was someone behind the glass. Why had they not come to save him?

“Horne,” Hels’s voice trembled slightly with lack of control. He did not withdraw his extended hand and said very softly, “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.”

“Get lost. Get lost.” Horne kept muttering the words, his gaze unfocused, no longer looking at Hels, staring at something unknown.

Hels moved forward slowly. With every inch closer, Horne shrank back an inch until he trapped himself in the corner with no retreat left. But Hels kept approaching.

Horne’s gaze focused on Hels. Seeing this person drawing nearer, he screamed madly, “Get away! Get away!!” He drove him off in terror, as if repelling something filthy.

“Shh, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Hels said softly. He shifted from squatting to kneeling, lowering his body further. “Calm down a bit. It’s okay.”

But the difference in height did not help. Horne’s voice cracked open, tears surging out with fear as he yelled, “Don’t come over! Stay away!”

Hels looked up at Siselen. “What should I do?”

Siselen stood there, voice still calm. “Mr. Horne may not have recovered from some deep memory fragments yet. You can try to soothe him.”

Hels inched forward slowly while saying, “Horne, look at me. It’s me. Relax, okay? You’re safe.”

“Why do this? Why?” Horne’s voice trembled as he asked. He looked at Hels but through him to somewhere farther away, face full of tears. “Why didn’t you come save me?”

“I…” Hels’s lips moved slightly. He held his breath, unsure how to answer.

“Someone’s knocking on the glass. Can’t you hear it? Knocking on the glass.” Horne reached back to support himself, but there was only a wall behind him—no glass. This studio had none either, except for a mirror in the bathroom.

Tears streamed down Horne’s face as he imitated the sound in his mind, tapping the wall lightly with his knuckles.

“Dong, dong—dong—”

That rhythm. Hels’s breath hitched, his limbs going limp as if drained of strength. He suddenly knelt on the spot, eyes squeezed shut in pain. He buried his head in his arms on the floor, unable to say a word.

“Are you behind the glass?” Horne asked tremulously, addressing a nonexistent shadow in the space. Countless echoes rang in his ears, but he could only hear the sounds, never see the person.

Soon, Hels lifted his head and leaned forward another step. Seeing that Horne at least did not tell him to leave, he said hoarsely, “It’s all over. Be good.”

“Why?” Horne still asked. His pale face no longer distinguished sweat from tears. Gritting his teeth, he said, “I always trusted you. Why? Why? Ben Yian, why?”

The instant he heard that name, Hels’s mind went “boom.” His extended hand froze in midair, then clenched uncontrollably into a fist, veins bulging, muscles tensing.

“Why? Why?” Horne kept asking.

Hels’s clenched fist became a bomb. “Dong!” He smashed it into the floor. A massive thud echoed as the tiles cracked instantly into pieces.

The air split open with the tremor of the tiles.

Hels could no longer hold back. He rushed forward a few steps, closing the distance rapidly. Amid Horne’s terrified gaze, he pulled him into his arms and hugged him tightly.