The statue smiled at her, but from within its cracked face came a deep sigh.

—It hurts so much.

—It hurts.

Ethan Clark suddenly opened her eyes. Daylight was already streaming in. The sound of the courtyard gate opening made her instinctively get up and try to hide behind the clan deity. Only when she ran to the innermost part of the shrine did she suddenly shiver and snap out of her daze.

Was that just a dream?

A white sleeve, just like in the dream, reached out in front of her, revealing a porcelain-white hand. Its owner looked at her with the same gentle smile as always: “Come on.”

Ethan Clark stopped thinking about that somewhat eerie dream and hid behind him.

It was the second day of the deity’s birth month. As previously arranged, the clan women brought nine infants. These babies, sound asleep, were carried in by their relatives and laid in a row on white brocade cushions inside the shrine.

Those dressed in black dresses or suits all looked well-maintained and noble, but equally, every one of them treated the clan deity with humility and reverence, not daring to say a word. After bowing and kneeling, they left the courtyard under the guidance of the clan women.

They would return at dusk to take their children home. Until then, the children would receive the deity’s blessing.

This process had always been a secret, not even the clan women had witnessed it, but Ethan Clark, as an outsider, watched the entire thing in a daze.

Actually, the process wasn’t complicated. The clan deity simply brushed each child’s forehead, then pulled out a red thread from his sleeve and loosely looped it around their necks.

Though not complicated, it was a bit frightening. The red thread slowly wriggled, merging into the children’s necks, leaving a faint red mark. Ethan Clark stared wide-eyed at the scene, inexplicably feeling her own neck tighten.

To her, it seemed like it should be uncomfortable, but all nine children slept soundly, showing no reaction. So, for them, this “blessing” ritual must not be painful.

Just as she thought this, one child suddenly stirred, wrinkled her nose, and began to cry softly.

“Ah… this one woke up.” Ethan Clark looked at the clan deity on the altar.

The deity smiled and said, “Waking up during the blessing—this child has good talent and strong intuition.”

The deity’s praise didn’t stop the few-month-old baby from crying. Her wailing grew louder and could now be called a tantrum. Crying like this, people outside should have heard, but no one came in to comfort her. Ethan Clark listened to the child’s cries, worried she might cry herself sick, and kept glancing at the deity, who only smiled back at her, unmoved.

Based on her experience over the past month, Ethan Clark tried asking, “Should I comfort her?”

The deity nodded. Ethan Clark even wondered if he’d been waiting for her to say that.

A young woman in her twenties who had never cared for a baby before, she carefully picked up the swaddled child and gently rocked her. It did help a little—the baby’s cries softened. Ethan Clark kept at it, walking around the shrine with the child in her arms. Since the shrine wasn’t large, she could only circle the deity again and again.

When the child finally stopped crying, the deity smiled and said, “So noisy.”

The baby’s eyes were bright and black. As Ethan Clark held her close to the deity, his image was reflected in her wide eyes. Almost as soon as the deity finished speaking, the once-calm child burst into tears again.

Ethan Clark was very patient, perhaps because she’d raised her younger sister before. She soothed the child once more. Just as she was about to put the baby back, the deity said, “Such a noisy child.”

Instinctively, she looked down and saw the baby’s mouth quivering, about to cry again. Ethan Clark quickly picked her up again, patting her back and shoulder, “There, there, don’t cry, you’re not noisy at all.”

Was the deity like a lonely old man who felt neglected, or like a mischievous youth who wanted to play tricks now and then?

Ethan Clark found herself pondering this question often lately, her impression of the deity constantly shifting between these two extremes.

Although there was a small incident, by dusk the deity’s blessing was completed smoothly. The nine children were taken away by their families, and the courtyard returned to silence.

Every day, once the courtyard was closed, Ethan Clark could move about freely, because at night, no one dared enter the shrine’s courtyard. The music that had played all through the previous night sounded again. Ethan Clark lay on the warm floor of the shrine and drifted off to sleep.

It was the same dream as the night before. She dreamed of the clan deity on the altar, his body unraveling into red threads, his white clothes melting and flowing like candle wax, turning into a pile of strange things.

Whenever she approached, she would be drawn into that darkness, seeing the porcelain statue on the altar slowly crack open from the top. From the dark fissure came a faint, subterranean sound. Those endlessly repeating murmurs echoed in her mind, as if her spirit was being constantly eroded and tainted.