4: Who I am (2)
•••
Zu Feng grunted as consciousness returned to him, though it felt less like waking and more like being dragged through an ocean of broken glass. His body throbbed in tremendous pain, every bone heavy, every nerve aflame. He forced his eyelids to part, though each attempt felt like lifting mountains. His fists clenched weakly at his sides, nails biting into his frail palms as if to remind him he was still alive.
And then—he opened his eyes.
What he saw was not what he expected.
The world before him was nothing like the sickly-lit chambers of his sect, nor the mortal rooms of his old life. Instead, he found himself swallowed by something that seemed both infinite and suffocating. There was no ground, no sky, no horizon. It was all black—so black it felt as if the word itself had materialized and wrapped around him.
It was an endless void.
A silence that wasn't silence at all, but pressure.
His head pounded, waves of pain crashing through his skull. He felt as if thousands of needles, no, numbers made of light and iron, were stabbing directly into his brain. Zu Feng winced, clutching at his temple, his breathing ragged. Each inhale only reminded him that there was no air here, only a suffocating emptiness he could somehow still survive in.
He staggered to lift his gaze upward—and then froze. His eyes widened, disbelief shattering through his daze.
There, suspended as though the void itself bent to accommodate his presence, stood a man.
"Yoo," the figure said lightly, as if greeting an old acquaintance. "You're awake?"
The voice was casual, almost teasing, yet the sound of it made Zu Feng's heart tighten.
The man was mesmerizing—unreal, almost painful to behold. His hair, pure as fallen snow, flowed down in silken strands until it brushed past his waist. His eyes were bluer than the skies Douglas once admired in his old world, but within them lay more than color. When Zu Feng met that gaze, he felt as though he were staring into the endless galaxy, stars igniting and dying within the man's pupils in the span of a blink. They were sharp, unrelenting, and yet faintly amused, as if nothing in existence could surprise him.
His features were angular, sculpted with an artistry that made him seem both divine and untouchable. A faint smirk curved his lips, not cruel, but knowing—mocking and gentle all at once. Draped over his tall frame was a white robe tied with a Silver belt, its folds rippling even though no wind existed in this void.
Zu Feng's jaw trembled. The stabbing pain in his head lessened the instant he gazed upon the figure, as though this man's mere presence could erase suffering. Words crawled out of his throat, dry and hoarse, but they were the only words that could form.
"Who… are… you?"
The man's smirk deepened, eyes narrowing in faint amusement. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and smooth. It carried the timbre of masculinity, yet flowed with a subtle femininity that made it almost androgynous, neither one nor the other, but both.
"I am the one you met after your death," he said simply. "The one you call… God."
The word reverberated through the void, each syllable lingering, echoing in a place where no echo should exist.
Zu Feng's eyes shot wide again, his chest tightening as though the airless void suddenly weighed upon him with suffocating gravity. He instinctively pressed his palms together and lowered his head, a gesture of reverence carried over from his past life.
"You…" his voice cracked, trembling with disbelief. "You are telling me you were the one I met after dying? That was you?" He lifted his gaze slightly, confusion battling against the need to bow. "Why are you like this now? What is this place? Where am I? No—" His voice rose, urgent. "The main question… who are you?"
The man's smirk grew softer, his gaze sharpening with ancient patience.
"Let's begin with your main question," he said calmly. "I am God. The ruler of the Negative and the Zero Dimensions. The keeper of realms you mortals cannot begin to name. I am known by countless names, in countless tongues, and countless tales. To some, I was Ra. To others, Jesus. To yet others, Shiva. And yet none of them grasp the whole truth. For I…" He spread his arms lightly, though the gesture felt like a decree. "…am the Supreme and Only God of the Nero Dimensions. The one you worshipped unknowingly in prayers and defiance alike, Douglas Vierra Varkierd III. I… am Gondolah."
The name fell upon Zu Feng like a weight, sinking into his bones. He did not understand the pressure the figure exuded—his crippled meridians, his weak body, could not comprehend it. But the name… the name burned into his consciousness. Gondolah.
His instincts bent him low. Though he did not truly understand, reverence came naturally.
"Gifting gratitudes to Gondolah," Zu Feng whispered, his voice low, soft, reverent.
The God's smirk melted into a smile—genuine, if only faintly.
"I actually like that," Gondolah said, almost playfully. "Prayers laced with alliteration… poetic, isn't it?" His gaze sharpened again, his tone shifting back to calm divinity. "Now… as for your second and third questions."
Zu Feng raised his head slowly, his heart pounding in his fragile chest.
"This," Gondolah continued, gesturing faintly to himself, "is my real form. The form I once bore as a human upon Earth. You see me now not as an incomprehensible deity, but as I once was. White hair, blue eyes, robes. This is who I am when stripped of masks."
He paused, letting the words settle in the oppressive silence of the void.
"And this…" His hand lifted, palm up, gesturing to the darkness that stretched in all directions. "…is your Shénzhī."
The ancient word resounded like a gong through Zu Feng's skull. He did not know its meaning, yet his soul trembled in recognition.
"Your consciousness," Gondolah explained smoothly. "This space is not a place, but a state. It is the shape of your thought. The fabric of your awareness. Here, your essence is laid bare, and thus, here, we can speak. Some mortals call it the soul-sea, others the dream-hall, but the truest word is Shénzhī—the realm of knowing, the chamber of thought."
He leaned back slightly, though there was no throne, no ground, nothing to lean upon. Yet he sat, effortlessly, on the void itself—as if nothingness was his rightful seat.
Zu Feng's eyes widened. The sight of Gondolah sitting on nothing, commanding the void without command, pierced him with awe.
The God smiled faintly, then continued, his voice calm but ringing with authority.
"And the reason we are here, Douglas—no, Guye Zu Feng—is to speak of something more important than who I am. We are here to speak of why you are here."
Zu Feng steadied his breath, forcing his trembling body to calm, though the void pressed in on him from all sides. His gaze sharpened, fixed on the white-haired man before him. The words Gondolah had spoken echoed endlessly in his mind—Supreme God, Nero Dimensions, Shénzhī. It was too much to take in, and yet Zu Feng felt compelled, as though the truth was dragging itself into him, whether he wanted it or not.
Finally, his voice came out low, hoarse, but firm.
"Then… why am I here?"
Gondolah did not answer at once. Instead, his smile deepened, a smile that seemed carved into his very being, striking, divine, untouchable. His figure shimmered faintly in the darkness, his long white hair cascading down like a waterfall of moonlight. That presence alone was imposing, suffocating, yet enthralling.
"Why are you here?" Gondolah repeated, as though testing the weight of the question. Then his eyes, glimmering like starlit oceans, locked onto Zu Feng's trembling pupils. "You remember… the Mentis Absolutum. Or as mortals sometimes whisper—'The Graveyard of Memories'."
Zu Feng froze. The words struck him like blades, yet when he searched his mind for recognition, there was nothing. His brows furrowed, his lips parted slightly, but not a single memory surfaced. His silence was his answer.
Confusion clouded his face. "…I… don't remember anything like that."
Gondolah's smile faded into something gentler, wearier. He exhaled softly, and even his sigh rippled through the void like a divine current. His voice when he spoke again was softer, tinged with pity.
"Yes. Of course. How could I expect a mortal to recall what should never be recalled?" He tilted his head slightly, his words both explanation and lament. "The Graveyard of Memories… Jìyì Mùdì. A place even gods tread lightly."
Zu Feng stared intently, as though willing the words to explain themselves. But before he could form another question, Gondolah's figure flickered. One heartbeat he stood before Zu Feng, white robes stirring in a windless void. The next heartbeat—gone.
Zu Feng's eyes widened. His body tensed. Instinct screamed at him to look behind, and he did—yet he found nothing but black. Then—
A sharp, unbearable shock split through his skull. It was as if his brain itself had been struck by lightning. His knees buckled. His nose burst, blood pouring down in hot streams. His vision shattered into fragments of red and black.
"Aah—!" He tried to scream but his throat closed around the sound, his voice strangled into silence. His hands clawed at his head, as if he could tear the agony out with his fingers.
A presence loomed over him. Gondolah's voice came, but it was different now—sad, almost regretful.
"I hope," the deity murmured, his tone carrying a heaviness that pierced even through Zu Feng's pain, "that you won't be left with a mortal's post-traumatic scar from this."
Zu Feng's pupils rolled upward. His entire body convulsed. And then he felt it—something cold, something absolute—pressing against his forehead. Gondolah's finger.
And the void split open.
---
When Zu Feng opened his eyes again, he was no longer standing in formless blackness.
His vision stretched wide, and what he saw hollowed him out from the inside. His muscles contracted involuntarily, cramping as if rebelling against existence. His breath caught, choking in his throat. His chest froze, as though the act of inhaling itself had been outlawed. His pupils dilated to the point of near madness.
Because before him lay a sight that no mortal—no human, no cultivator, no sage—was ever meant to see.
A river.
No—an ocean. A colossal, endless river of magma, red and molten, flowing like the blood of a dying world. It boiled, raged, cracked, the heat of it burning through even this dreamlike state.
But that was not the worst.
The river of magma was not alone.
It was colliding—merging—with something worse. Something familiar. Something that Zu Feng's very soul recoiled from the moment he recognized it.
The black void. The same darkness that had swallowed him after death. It was there, seeping like tar, melting into the magma, consuming it, and yet itself dissolving in return.
The two opposites—fire and emptiness, life's destruction and death's silence—were eating each other alive. The river boiled and vanished, the void burned and screamed, neither winning, both ending.
Zu Feng's entire being shuddered. His mind reeled, torn apart by the sight. He gasped, his breaths ragged, too fast, too shallow. His vision blurred. He felt as though his eyes themselves were melting away.
And then… his body gave out.
He fell.
Darkness took him.
---
Even among the World of Gods, few knew this place. Even among beings who walked across stars and bent laws of creation, the name was whispered only with dread.
This was—
The Graveyard of Memories.
Jìyì Mùdì.
---
"…Ye…"
"Oye…"
A faint voice hummed, drifting through the black.
Zu Feng's eyelids fluttered. His body stirred weakly, his consciousness clawing its way back to wakefulness. His eyes opened to find darkness again—not the searing magma, not the collapsing void, but the same familiar formless black.
For a moment, he wondered if it had all been an illusion. A hallucination conjured by his battered mind.
But then he saw him.
Gondolah.
The God's figure hovered above, white hair cascading like pale fire, blue eyes glimmering like twin galaxies. No, not hovering—he was flying. Gondolah remained in the air effortlessly, as if the void itself existed only to hold him aloft.
And below, Zu Feng realized, Gondolah was no longer towering over him. The deity now sat, relaxed, calmly, on nothing—on the void itself—his posture casual, but his presence unbearably divine.
Zu Feng's lips parted, but no words came. He didn't speak. Couldn't speak. His mind still reeled from what it had witnessed. The magma river. The black void. The merging, the destruction. Jìyì Mùdì.
His silence screamed louder than words.
Gondolah tilted his head. Then he raised his hand with a casual wave, as though brushing away unseen dust. His expression this time was not serene, nor mocking, nor amused.
It was worried. Irritated, even.
"Did you see that?"
His tone was sharp now, cutting. His eyes, once calm galaxies, now burned with a force that reflected even Zu Feng's pale, trembling image within them.
Zu Feng swallowed, his throat dry, his lips parched. He had no need to answer. His silence was enough.
But Gondolah did not let the silence linger.
"Yea," the deity said at last, his voice shifting low, laced with frustration. His gaze bore into Zu Feng's very soul. "…you were the one that fucked that up."
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