Back in the room, Lin Qiye closed the door behind him.
He didn't turn on the light.
It was late at night. Starlight from outside spilled gently onto the floor. In the darkness, Lin Qiye sat down at his desk and slowly removed the black satin blindfold from his eyes.
The mirror on the desk reflected a handsome young face.
Lin Qiye was undeniably good-looking. If he removed the black blindfold and tidied himself up a bit, his aloof and mysterious temperament would easily place him at the top of any school's most attractive list.
Unfortunately, the blindfold, which he wore all year round, along with his identity as a person with a disability, completely masked his brilliance.
In the mirror, Lin Qiye's eyes were still shut.
His brows furrowed slightly, and the eyelids that covered his eyes trembled, as if struggling to open. Even his clenched fists hinted at the effort.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
His body trembled for a long time before it gave out. He gasped, chest heaving with exhaustion.
A few drops of sweat rolled down his cheeks, and a flash of anger surfaced in his expression.
So close… just a little more!
Why was it always just short of success?
When would he finally be able to open his eyes and see the world again for himself?
He had said before that he could see now. That was a lie.
His eyes couldn't open—not even a crack.
But at the same time, it wasn't a lie.
Because even with his eyes shut, he could clearly "see" everything around him.
It was a strange sensation, as if his entire body had grown eyes. He could perceive everything around him in all directions—clearer and farther than with ordinary vision.
At first, he couldn't do it. During the five years after he went blind, he was just like any other blind person, relying solely on sound and a white cane to interact with the world.
But five years ago, something began to change. His eyes seemed to undergo a transformation, and he slowly began to perceive his surroundings.
At first, it was only a few centimeters ahead. But over time, that range increased. Now, five years later, he could "see" within a ten-meter radius.
To a regular person, seeing only ten meters would be essentially useless. But to someone who once lost their sight, those ten meters meant everything.
Most importantly, what he "saw" ignored all physical obstructions.
In other words, within ten meters of Lin Qiye, he had absolute vision. To put it crudely, he could see through things. More precisely, he could observe every speck of dust floating in the air, every component inside a machine, every sleight of hand beneath a magician's table…
And the source of this ability seemed to be his tightly shut eyes, hidden beneath the black satin for ten years.
Even with this nearly supernatural power, Lin Qiye wasn't satisfied. Having absolute vision within ten meters was good, but what he truly wanted was to open his own eyes and see the world with them.
It was a young man's stubborn desire.
Although he failed again tonight, he could feel it clearly...
The moment when he would truly open his eyes wasn't far off.
After washing up, Lin Qiye went to bed early, as usual. Years of living blind had at least given him the good habit of sleeping early.
But as he lay in bed, the same scene once again rose to the surface of his mind.
Beneath the dark cosmic sky, on the silent surface of the moon, the gray-white earth reflected the dim starlight. In the center of the largest and deepest lunar crater stood a lone figure, motionless like a statue.
The figure stood still, as though it had existed since time immemorial. Holy golden light radiated from its form, and the divine presence was enough to make all living beings bow in reverence.
Behind it, six massive wings spread wide, blocking the sunlight that tried to shine from behind. The shadows they cast loomed large across the silver-gray ground.
But what truly branded itself into Lin Qiye's mind were those eyes.
Those eyes, filled with divine power and burning like furnaces, were blinding—like staring directly at the sun.
He had seen those eyes. And in that instant, his world turned to darkness.
Ten years ago, he told the truth and was diagnosed as mentally ill.
But he knew best what was real and what was delusion.
Ever since he had seen the seraph on the moon, he knew—this world was far from what it seemed.
Slowly, Lin Qiye drifted into sleep.
What he didn't know was that the moment he entered his dreams, two brilliant golden rays briefly burst from the slits of his tightly shut eyes—then vanished without a trace.
…
Tap, tap, tap…
In a world of mist, Lin Qiye walked alone.
Fog churned around him endlessly. Though he appeared to be walking through nothingness, each of his steps rang out crisply, as if some invisible surface existed beneath his feet.
He looked down at himself and sighed.
"This dream again… Every night knocking on doors. It's exhausting, you know?" Lin Qiye shook his head helplessly and took another step forward.
In the next moment, the fog rolled back, revealing a strange modern building before him.
It was strange because, although its architecture was clearly modern, certain details exuded a mysterious, almost divine atmosphere.
Like the massive iron gate carved with countless gods. Like the lights that burned like fireballs. Like the floating ceramic tiles beneath his feet, etched with arcane symbols…
It was as if modern architecture had been blended with the divine temples of ancient myth—a fusion that shouldn't work, yet held an indescribable beauty.
Lin Qiye recognized this building—and it looked very familiar.
It was almost identical to the Sunshine Mental Hospital where he had once stayed for a year. The most convincing proof was the sign at the entrance. Where it once said "Sunshine Mental Hospital," a new name had appeared:
—Asylum of the Gods.
"What a bizarre place," Lin Qiye muttered, stepping forward to stand directly before the iron gate.
Five years ago, it wasn't just his body that changed—his dreams had too.
For the past five years, every night he had the same dream, and the central figure of those dreams was this strange Asylum of the Gods.
But the gate had always been shut tight—no matter what he tried, it wouldn't open.
Lin Qiye had circled the asylum countless times. There was only one entrance: the front gate. The walls weren't very high, but absurdly, whenever he tried to jump over them, the walls grew taller in sync with him.
As for brute force… Even if Lin Qiye broke every bone in his body trying, the gate wouldn't budge an inch.
There seemed to be only one way in.
Knock.
Lin Qiye grabbed the iron ring on the gate, took a deep breath, and knocked hard.
Clang——!
A resonant sound, like the tolling of an ancient bell, echoed through the asylum. The iron gate trembled slightly—but did not open.
Clang——!
He knocked again. Still, the gate didn't move.
Lin Qiye wasn't surprised. Nor was he angry. Patiently, he kept knocking.
Over the years, he had come to understand the rules of this dream. No matter what else he tried, nothing would open the gate. And within this dream, all he could do was knock.
Luckily, dreams don't exhaust you. Otherwise, his body would've collapsed long ago.
And so, like a weary laborer, Lin Qiye faithfully knocked on the gate once again—for an entire night…