“Afraid, of what?”

Eric Foster’s true feelings had been seen through, but at this moment, it didn’t seem appropriate to directly admit he was afraid of them.

“It’s true, we do look down on you. We look down on you a lot.”

“……” Eric Foster.

“But we won’t abandon you. When you were unconscious, we didn’t leave you behind. Now that you’re awake, we still won’t abandon you.”

Those words were a bit sentimental.

No wonder earlier Mason looked so conflicted. Indeed, lines like these would be much more fitting coming from Olivia Green or Jack Reed, but coming from him, it felt a bit… like he’d picked up the wrong script.

“We won’t… abandon me?”

“That’s right, we won’t abandon you, because the ones who created us in the first place, in the end, all abandoned us.”

A tremor ran through Eric Foster’s heart. This sentence revealed a major piece of information: they—they—they knew they were characters in a comic!

“We are all people who have been abandoned.” Mason lifted his face slightly, as if looking at the moonlight, and continued, “They abandoned us, but you didn’t.”

In the three years since the studio disbanded, everyone else had changed careers. Only Eric Foster kept quietly persisting, updating the unfinished comics of his former companions. For each comic, he would do his best to add a few more chapters, so their stories could continue.

“So, we will not abandon you.”

Mason’s expression began to turn serious.

We may look down on you, but we’ll keep calling you master, and we’ll never abandon you.

“Thank you.”

Eric Foster felt that at this moment, these were the only two words he could say.

“Because you, master, have been unconscious all this time, so apart from earning a little money to survive here and waiting for you to wake up, nothing else has any meaning for us.”

“I understand.”

Eric Foster nodded solemnly.

“Blind Bei probably knows more about the environment here. You can go ask him.”

“Alright, I’ll go now.”

Eric Foster smiled at Mason, then turned and walked into the front hall.

Still standing under the loquat tree, Mason licked his lips. He didn’t like the tone he’d just used, nor did he really like what he’d just said, but after saying it, he felt much more at ease inside.

He lowered his head,

looked at his own hand,

and a strange glint suddenly flashed in Mason’s eyes,

because—

the wound in his palm

had healed!

Chapter 7: I’m Blind

Mason’s words had calmed Eric Foster’s heart.

After all, he was someone who had suffered the torment of a “terminal illness” and had been obsessed with dark, twisted creations for many years. To say he was mentally deranged would be an exaggeration, but it was likely that a few of his wires were indeed crossed.

A strange world, a strange situation, but because of that sentence—“You didn’t abandon us, so we won’t abandon you”—it all seemed to matter less.

Eric Foster sat at a table in the corner of the front hall,

listening to Jack Reed telling stories on stage, one after another, modern jokes and slightly risqué quips making the guests below burst into constant laughter;

“Pa!”

After stamping one quarantine certificate, he immediately switched to the next and kept stamping.

Also,

the wine brewed by Mason was very good.

To hell with worries, to hell with troubles, to hell with anxiety, to hell with reality, to hell with the past…

Eric Foster,

got drunk.

……

When he woke up, it was already daylight.

Eric Foster sat up in bed, and Cloud Girl, hearing the movement, pushed open the door and came in carrying a basin of water and a toothbrush.

Of course, there was no toothpaste, and the toothbrush was very rough, but at least they didn’t make him use a willow twig. He dipped it in green salt, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and then Eric Foster walked back to the front hall.

The inn didn’t open for business in the morning, so apart from a few hired cleaners, most people were lazing about.

Breakfast was wonton noodles, and it tasted pretty good.

After eating, Eric Foster walked to the inn’s entrance.

Don’t laugh—he’d been awake for a whole day, but this was the first time Eric Foster had stepped outside the inn. Even though it was just a small step over the threshold, the unease that had been suppressed by alcohol the night before was once again stirred up by the faint anxiety of the unknown.

There were quite a few people on the street, and because this was a border city, the crowd was very mixed. Eric Foster even saw several people dressed similarly to himself, though they were probably followers of the Fire Worship cult.

“Ding!”

At his side, at the fortune-telling stall by the inn’s entrance, Blind Nate tapped a bell, then bowed his head slightly and said quietly:

“Good morning, master.”

“Good morning.”

Eric Foster leaned against Blind Nate and sat down on the steps.

Blind Nate didn’t get up to offer his chair to Eric Foster, but continued to sit there calmly.

The warm, gentle sunlight shone on him, and a look of contentment appeared on his face.

It was hard to imagine that a killer could have such a peaceful, ordinary side.

Eric Foster pursed his lips. At this moment, he kind of wanted a cigarette.

“There’s a water pipe.” Blind Nate suddenly said.

“You can see through my heart?”