The weekend arrived.
At the inn within the Quicksand Lowlands, Wang Yue sat by herself, waiting for a pot of tea to steep.
The waystation had recently reopened. The bodies had been hauled away and the floors scrubbed clean, followed by a fresh coat of paint. The scent was still heavy in the air, so every door had been left wide open for ventilation.
From outside came the rhythmic scritch-scratch of a lizard’s hopping gait.
Ed-Bear and the lizard—two monsters and four legs—approached the building. On either side of the saddle and trappings hung a sturdily bound wooden crate.
Ed-Bear led his mount to the trough, tossed in some sand-worm fodder, and unloaded the crates. Carrying one in each hand, he stepped into the inn.
“You’re here.”
Wang Yue hesitated for a moment. Instead of taking direct control of Ed-Bear’s consciousness, she allowed the avatar a degree of autonomy.
The avatar set the boxes down and spoke softly. “I’ve brought the materials for the prosthetics. Please inspect them.”
Wang Yue squinted at him. She couldn’t help but wonder why this fellow seemed so utterly devoid of vitality after just a few days apart. He looked like a player on the verge of quitting an MMO forever.
She stepped forward and pried open a crate. Inside, individual bundles of kraft paper were nestled in fluffy wood shavings, some stained with the dark patches of rust-prevention oil.
Strictly speaking, she didn’t need to inspect the goods. Their memories had already synchronized, so she knew exactly what was inside. It was simply an instinctive desire to maintain a boundary between her main body and the avatar.
The relationship between the two was currently in a delicate, unpredictable state.
“Sit,” Wang Yue said, gesturing to a seat.
Ed-Bear sat in silence.
“Have some tea.” Wang Yue pointed to the pot.
Ed-Bear picked up the teapot, poured himself a cup, and downed it in one go. His movements were mechanical and perfunctory.
“Your mental state hasn’t been great lately,” Wang Yue noted. “You feel like… a player right before they delete their account.”
“…”
“What’s the matter? No motivation?”
“…”
“Say something. I want to hear your current thoughts—real-time thoughts, not the old ones.”
Ed-Bear extended his thumb and forefinger, forming a mock gun and pressing it against his temple.
“Bang!”
His head lolled to the side, motionless. A few seconds passed before he sat upright again.
His abnormally long arms rested on his knees, elbows flared out, while his back was hunched high. His head hung low as if his neck were broken, creating a grotesque silhouette. Beneath his massive frame, the inn’s stool looked like a miniature toy. He sat huddled there; the angled lamplight left half of his body exposed in the glow and the other half submerged in shadow.
“Haha, I probably shouldn’t have let you watch the movie Joker,” Wang Yue laughed, though she quickly composed herself. “Talk to me.”
“I found a book in my memory,” Ed-Bear finally spoke. “Written by Alfred Adler.”
Wang Yue covered her face. Damn it. She had accidentally transferred that book over. This was going to be a problem.
Unlike Freud or Jung, Adler focused on social interest and human motivation. Looking at Ed-Bear now, Wang Yue realized the problem: the guy had lost his internal drive.
“Adler said that the meaning of life is based on three important realities,” Ed-Bear continued. “First, the physical world is real. Second, the connections between individuals within a group. Third, the relationship between the sexes arising from gender differences.
“I am a formless monster without a tribe, born from a pile of mutton in a ridiculous manner. My actions only exist to carry out your will. Therefore, those three realities do not exist for me. What meaning does life have for me?”
Wang Yue thought about it carefully, but she couldn’t find a clear answer.
Then again, why was she performing psychological counseling for an avatar? This felt like a bizarre, underworld operation. Shouldn’t she just remodel him? It was like a computer glitch—usually, you just reinstall the operating system.
Besides, there was no proof the avatar truly belonged to her and not to Audara Ias. For all she knew, that giant octopus was pulling the strings. The only certainty was that Argus’s Gaze no longer belonged to the Bishop.
The real reason Wang Yue hadn’t wiped him yet was Helen. To that little girl, this monster was her reason for living, her sole reliance. Given the bond between Helen and the avatar, resetting his personality felt cruel. Otherwise, even if Ed-Bear hadn’t developed an existential crisis, Wang Yue would have wanted to switch things up.
Of course, she couldn’t tell the avatar that.
After a long pause, Wang Yue began to spout nonsense. “Ignorance is strength, and freedom is slavery. You are formless, which means your lack of meaning is your meaning. Your shape gives you purpose. When you are a human, play the role of a human. When you are a monster, play the role of a monster. The performance itself is your purpose.”
Ed-Bear nodded noncommittally. “And how should I play a human? I cannot feel human emotions. Am I just supposed to mimic them?”
“The key lies in choice.” Wang Yue rubbed her temples, making a major decision. “These memories will help you.”
Detroit: Become Human — 57 Hours of Gameplay — Full Platinum Trophy Walkthrough — Transfer!
Ed-Bear’s body shivered slightly, a look of disbelief crossing his face. A massive influx of strange knowledge filled his mind.
He stared at a vacant point in the air, stunned. “Ah… this…”
***
Monday.
The Monthly Exams began.
The “Four-Plus-One” model meant five exams in total. Aside from Felinology and Witchcraft, which were practical assessments, the other three were written tests. The entire ordeal was completed within a day and a half.
Tuesday, noon.
As the final exam ended, Wang Yue stepped out of the testing hall. She waited for a moment before heading to the school cafeteria for lunch with her roommates.
“How did you guys do?”
“Not bad.”
“Want to compare answers?”
“For the Comprehensive Paper we just finished?”
“What else?”
They compared notes as they walked.
“Master, is something wrong?” Dorothy asked.
“Huh?” Wang Yue snapped out of her daze, looking at Dorothy with confusion.
“You look like you have a lot on your mind,” Dorothy said with concern.
Wang Yue was indeed worried—mostly about whether her score control had been successful. If it failed… she couldn’t imagine being teammates with Lilith. Throw Lulu’anna into that mix, and you had a recipe for a literal explosion.
“Master, don’t put too much pressure on yourself,” Dorothy cheered loudly. “I’m sure you’ll make the top four!”
“…”
There were no classes that afternoon. The students stayed in their dorms, anxiously waiting for the results to be posted.
Around two o’clock, Mrs. Diaz came upstairs and pinned a score sheet to the whiteboard near the stairwell. The students of Class Five poured out of their rooms, crowding around the board with wide eyes.
Wang Yue scanned the list.
First Place: Lilith, perfect score.
Tied for First: Lulu’anna, perfect score.
Third Place: Medeili, 598 points.
Fourth Place: Cynthia, 562 points.
Cynthia was the freckled girl from Room 201, Medeili’s roommate. Upon seeing her rank, she let out a sharp gasp and nearly fainted from the shock.
The murmurs grew louder.
“Wang Yue didn’t make the top four?”
“That’s impossible! There’s a 36-point gap between third and fourth place!”
“Exactly! Even if she had an off day, she wouldn’t lose thirty-something points!”
“Did she bubble in the wrong sheet?”
“Did she forget to write her name?”
“Ah, I found her! Wang Yue scored 552 points. She’s in fourteenth place!”
The students of Class Five turned in unison, staring at Wang Yue in a shocked silence. While fourteenth place was still well above average, it was a far cry from their expectations.
Lilith and Lulu’anna were equally stunned. Lilith was so surprised she even forgot to mock her, staring at Wang Yue in disbelief.
Wang Yue lowered her head, twisting the hem of her shirt with a look of dejection. But the moment she stepped back into her room, a secret grin broke across her face.
Perfect. I finally got rid of those two.
Wang Yue stretched contentedly. It felt good. No wonder her avatar wanted to be a “lazy dog”—who wouldn’t?
Tomorrow morning, she would sleep in, board the airship, and lounge on a velvet sofa all the way to the competition grounds. There, she would eat snacks, drink soda, and watch the matches. It was going to be the perfect day.
