When Sandean awoke, he found himself on a boat, his head resting on the gunwale, with starlight rippling beneath.
It was a familiar silver sailboat, entirely encased in a massive bubble.
The dim lantern at the bow flickered, as the ferryman guided the vessel across the sea of stars. The re sight of this scene brought tranquility to one’s mind, with drowsiness creeping into consciousness.
“So, I’ve returned here once more,” Sandean mused, a mixture of nostalgia and resignation in his voice.
He propped himself up against the gunwale, taking in the familiar surroundings.
This wasn’t his first visit.
The last ti he ca, he was but a youth—a frantic slave who had received the saint’s inheritance.
This ti, however, there would be no return.
His story had ended; he was here to et his final curtain.
During his previous visit, Sandean couldn’t make out the ferryman’s appearance, seeing only a dark shadow.
But this ti, as his gaze swept over the ferryman, he noticed a change.
The lantern illuminated the ferryman’s profile, allowing Sandean to see his features clearly.
Sandean exclaid in surprise, “Your Majesty Henir?”
He instinctively tried to stand, but upon closer inspection, realized it was rely a resemblance.
He sat back down, breathing a sigh of relief.
His eyes lingered on the ferryman for a while before he spoke in a tone reminiscent of casual conversation with an old friend.
“I wonder,” Sandean began, curiosity coloring his voice, “do you have a na? Surely you must be so renowned figure from history.”
As before, the ferryman didn’t acknowledge Sandean, leaving him to converse with himself.
Sandean gave up on communication, sitting quietly on the boat as it entered the dream realm.
After passing through the gates of God’s domain, Sandean didn’t undergo judgnt like other Trilobite n, for he had made a contract with the Spirit Country and the Divine Cup.
When his life ended, his entire being would rge with the Spirit Country, becoming part of the spirit dream realm.
The boat passed by the Spirit Country, and Sandean prepared to disembark.
However, the boat didn’t stop.
The ferryman’s rowing remained steady, heading deeper into the dream realm.
Sandean’s eyes lit up as he leaned against the gunwale. He stood imdiately, looking towards their destination.
He had guessed where they were headed.
Indeed.
He saw a dreamlike island floating in the void before him, bathed in endless gold, holy and ethereal.
“Could it be?” Sandean whispered, awe filling his voice. “The God-Given Land!”
He was overwheld with excitent, restless with anticipation.
But as he entered this long-dread-of place, the dwelling of God, all the turmoil in his heart settled.
He passed through the legendary Sun Cup Flower sea, its fragrance cleansing his sowhat gloomy mood.
Walking past the ancient ancestors’ God-Given Paradise and city, he seed to see visions of countless generations living here ages ago.
He touched the statue of King Redlichia, stepping onto the temple built for God by the first King of Wisdom.
Before the temple, he saw Hila, God’s ssenger.
The dream spirit told him: “God is waiting for you inside.”
He knew the God’s ssenger was answering the question he had when leaving the Spirit Country.
Inside the temple.
God was not on the divine platform, but sitting beneath a stained glass window.
He reclined in an ornate chair with a soft appearance.
Golden sunlight filtered through the glass, casting a mottled, colorful shadow like a world map at God’s feet.
In mythical legend, this seat should have belonged to Hila, God’s ssenger. Hundreds of years ago, when the great poet Tito had an audience with God, the God’s ssenger and the Mother of Life stood on either side.
The God’s ssenger sat in this chair, cradling the dream egg pillow while sleeping. Sandean had seen paintings of this scene made by later generations in the Sky Temple.
A stone carving hung on the wall, a work from his teacher Stan Tito’s youth, titled “God-Descended City After the Catastrophe.”
He rembered his teacher sacrificing it in the underground cave of Tito Town.
It seed God had received it after all.
He also saw Shelly, the Mother of Life, wearing a white gauze skirt and leaning against the armrest of God’s throne, holding a conch-like divine artifact in her hand.
The legendary Mother Conch of All Things.
This scene, originally as beautiful as an angelic vision, suddenly appeared to Sandean as a terrifying scene of world destruction when he saw the Mother of Life and the horn.
Though it was the Mother Conch that nurtured all things, he felt that when it sounded, it would mark the mont of universal extinction.
For a long while, no one spoke.
Sandean’s emotions were in turmoil, countless chaotic thoughts flowing through his mind. Every object in the divine temple set his imagination soaring.
Suddenly, he noticed the book in God’s hand.
It was “The Power of the Wisdom Ability,” compiled by Sandean himself. God’s shadow suddenly overlapped with the being he had seen that sumr night in the Temple of Truth.
A realization dawned on Sandean, his eyes widening. “That night,” he thought, his heart racing, “it was truly God I saw!”
Sandean exclaid internally, but dared not show it on his face.
This realization finally gave him the courage to step forward. He knelt before God’s throne, holding up the God’s Grace Stone with both hands.
“God,” Sandean said reverently, “I offer this gift to You in gratitude for Your guidance.”
“Though I couldn’t bring forth the fourth-level power, my student Lan will surely complete what I couldn’t.”
As he said this, Sandean suddenly thought of Haru.
His voice filled with regret, he continued, “It pains
to admit, You had shown
the right direction, yet I still strayed from the correct path in the end.”
God held the book in one hand and raised the other.
The God’s Grace Stone fell into His palm.
Sandean seized this opportunity to ask the question that had been troubling his heart.
“Great Yinsai God.”
“Have my actions truly brought a future for the Trilobite n?”
God looked over, His gaze neither as scorching as the sun nor as cool as the moon.
It was more like a distant star beyond the sky, eternal and untouchable.
God spoke.
“Sandean!”
“Do you wish to hear of right and wrong from ? Or from the Yinsai people?”
“Or perhaps…”
“The judgnt of right and wrong after tens of thousands of years have borne witness.”
Sandean was stunned, then after a long while, he lowered his head.
Looking at the ground, he couldn’t help but laugh self-mockingly.
“I didn’t expect that in the end, I too would deceive myself.”
He understood then. When he had asked that question, he wasn’t truly seeking an answer.
He was rely seeking God’s comfort and forgiveness—
The God’s ssenger walked ahead, with Sandean following her through the Spirit Country.
The outside world had changed dramatically, but this place seed almost unchanged since his visit as a youth. He could even call out the nas of many spirits he recognized.
The spirits laughed and chased behind him and Hila, the God’s ssenger, calling Sandean’s na and making faces at him, just as they had many years ago.
Everything felt so familiar.
As if he had only left yesterday.
Sandean asked the God’s ssenger: “What awaits ?”
The dream spirit told him: “When your body finally dies, your wisdom and emotions will dissipate, your pains and joys scattered to the wind.”
“But your mories will forever beco part of this place, becoming mory shadows in the dream realm.”
Hila, the God’s ssenger, paused, then asked Sandean earnestly.
“Sandean,” Hila asked gently, “what is it you love doing most?”
This was an opportunity for choice given to Sandean, one that other Spirit Realm priests could never obtain.
Sandean suddenly recalled his youth, the image of himself holding a lamp in the library, reading books.
The dim lamplight, the quiet corner.
He cradled a book, yet his eyes reflected the entire world.
Later, he established the Temple of Truth and had his own collection room.
But he could never recapture that feeling from his youth, that thrill of swimming through knowledge and seas of books, that joy of the gates to the world of truth opening before him.
A smile appeared on Sandean’s face, carrying the simplicity and innocence of his youth.
“What I love most is reading books.”
In the world of dreams, it seed a long ti had passed, but in the mortal realm, Sandean had just stopped breathing.
His form gradually faded, finally becoming a ball of light.
A silhouette carrying mories.
From that day on, a strange librarian appeared in the Spirit Country’s library.
Whenever a new Spirit Realm priest arrived, he would always ask:
“Hey!”
“Do you have any news of the Temple of Truth?”
“Does it still exist?”
He repeated these questions endlessly, inquiring of every person who ca here.
At first, those Spirit Realm priests could answer his questions, telling him both good and bad about the Temple of Truth.
Day after day, year after year.
Until one day, when no one could rember the Temple of Truth anymore.
He still pulled aside newly arrived end-of-journey travelers, repeating the questions he had asked countless tis.
“Hey!”
“Do you know…”
“Any news of the Temple of Truth?”
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