Kevin sat somewhat stiffly at the dining table. Master, Mistress, and him. The spread wasn't lavish—just a few home-style dishes—but the Mistress had prepared them with such skill they were a feast for the eyes and nose. The Mistress was dressed in a long gown of blue-green silk, her hair elegantly coiffed. Maturity was her greatest charm.
"You must be our Kev," she said, her voice sweet. "Your master talks of you often, says you're a rare talent. Work hard, and don't let him down." "Master is too kind," Kevin demurred. "Boy, are you doubting my judgment or your own ability?" Markus's retort nearly choked Kevin. Can't you tell I'm just being polite? Kevin grumbled silently. "Hush now, dear," the Mistress chided with a light laugh. "Kev, don't mind him, he's always been this way. You'll get used to it. Here, try my cooking. And this jar of wine—he's been hoarding it for years! He'd never bring it out if not for you."
"In that case, I won't stand on ceremony." "Ceremony? With your master? Nonsense! Here, bottoms up!" Markus picked up a large bowl with a flourish, his voice booming.
Kevin downed the liquor in one go. Instantly, a searing, twisting pain, as if a thousand blades were churning in his gut, erupted within him. Beads of sweat the size of peas rolled down his forehead. His already pale face turned ashen white. It felt like salt in a wound—no, more like ground辣椒 (chilies). Kevin clenched his jaw and sat rigid. Thankfully, a wave of warmth soon gathered inside him and flowed toward his stomach. Soothed by the warmth, the pain gradually receded, leaving him feeling slightly better.
The Mistress watched Kevin, her face full of confusion. "He's Kindred," Markus interjected beside her. "Are you certain?" She looked at her husband. He gave a heavy, definitive nod.
"Kev, there are things I must tell you," the Mistress began, her expression turning serious. "The Kindred are powerful, but they have many禁忌 (taboos). Like sunlight, high heat... and strong spirits! You can eat human food, but it won't digest. Protect your heart—as long as it beats, your life is not in danger. You must remember all this."
Both Kevin and Markus stared at her, their shocked expressions asking the obvious question: How do you know all this?
"You know the legends of the Kindred in Grimwater?" she continued. "They aren't legends. They're fact. And the Kindred... was my grandfather." She paused, gathering herself. "When he was young, he yearned to travel the world, to walk every corner of the continent. He left home when my father was very young, seeking to collect the realm's divine weapons, unlock their secrets, become a Grandmaster Artisan, revered by all, his name etched in history. But four years after he left... the letters stopped. Some said he'd been killed by bandits. Others claimed he'd ascended as a Master Artisan to the Celestial realm. So many rumors... With no news, the family had to assume he was dead. We built a cenotaph for him in the ancestral plot." Her voice softened. "Then, ten years later, he returned. He returned as Kindred. Sometimes, the thirst was too much... but he didn't want to harm anyone. So he went to live in the mines. He forbade the family from visiting. Decades passed like that. If you hadn't mentioned it, I..." She covered her face with her hands.
Markus went over and wrapped his arms around her, letting her tears stain his tunic.
Kevin felt a pang of sorrow, too—not just for the grandfather, but for himself. No more fine wine? No sunlight? No high heat? But wait... how could he become a blacksmith without facing intense heat? This was a real problem. Yet, bringing it up now, in their grief, felt heartless. After all...
He hesitated. "Master, Mistress... I should be going."
All NPCs knew players existed in a world called "reality," needing to move between the two.
Markus gave Kevin a slight nod in response, then fell silent again, gently patting his wife's back.
Kevin turned and left the smithy, wandering aimlessly down the street. Was becoming Kindred right or wrong? How to overcome the damage from heat? Can I even complete the Blacksmith's Legacy now? What about the old Kindred? And this thirst for blood... what is it? Is there a way to control it? Questions swarmed in his mind, refusing to leave. He looked up at the serene night sky and decided to log out then and there. In reality, it was still daytime—the game's day-night cycle was reversed to accommodate players who worked.
He made himself a cup of light tea and fetched his notebook—a habit of Kevin's, to write down his troubles and think calmly. He reminded himself: You play the game; don't let the game play you. In the delicate fragrance of the tea, strategies began to form. Checking the clock, he had a little over an hour before dawn in-game. That should be enough. Before logging back in, Kevin ordered several nutrition injectors. Used with the gaming pod, they allowed terrifyingly long continuous sessions—up to a week—with no ill effects. It seemed Kevin was getting serious.
The moment he logged in, Kevin headed straight for the mines, arriving just before the first hint of light touched the sky. Without a word, he headed deep inside. Opening his map, he was relieved to see the upper tunnels weren't too complex. He quickly located the spot where he'd mined the Fire Essence Core and sprinted along the mapped path. He was surprised by his own speed. This time, he carried no torch, yet he could see the tunnel's details clearly. A Kindred's ability.
In just over two hours, he reached his destination. The vast space he'd excavated last time had largely respawned. Looking at the map—a dense, ant-hill-like network of tunnels—Kevin didn't waste time. For someone with a poor sense of direction, talk was pointless. Relying on memory, he pressed into the deeper shafts. At every fork, he dropped a few ore pieces, arranging them into an arrow. After much winding, he saw a familiar arrow. Dead end. He replaced the arrow with a cross mark. Simultaneously, he changed the color of the traversed path on his map to red—a function only usable on explored routes. (Who knows why he hadn't used it last time?) Clumsy but effective—the best method his mind could conjure.
One hour passed. Two. Three... The map was almost fully annotated, with only four tunnels left unexplored. Picking one at random, he entered.
After a while, the familiar scene appeared again. Kevin didn't linger over the scattered bones this time. He headed straight for the great hall.
Still dark. Still exquisitely carved. Still, the Elder sat quietly on the throne. The difference was, the Elder had lost all vitality, having quietly departed this world.
Kevin approached, knelt before the old figure, and kowtowed three times. In his heart, this was also his master. "Master," he whispered, "forgive the intrusion."
Rising, Kevin reached out. The moment his hand touched the Elder's arm, poof. The ancient body crumbled into a pile of dust. Using the Elder's own cloak, Kevin carefully gathered the ashes. Among them was the silver crucifix, still stained with old blood.
He placed the cloak-wrapped ashes into his pack and turned to leave.
The passage was still littered with bones. Kevin examined them quietly now, searching for one specific skeleton—one fit for forging a (vicious weapon). Finally, he found it. Cǐtiě — described as ox-like with massive horns, pitch-black hide, feeding on iron. Its excrement was sharp as steel, usable for weaponry (from ancient texts). Looking at the half-man-high horns, a smile touched his lips. He searched further, collecting all horned bones he could find, regardless of size or origin—some he'd never even heard of. He gathered over a dozen such skeletons. Rummaging through a pile of bones like this was, admittedly, a bit creepy. Time to go.
Following his map, he quickly reached the upper tunnels. Checking the time—six or seven hours until nightfall. Mining it is. He took out his pickaxe, tested a few spots, then settled on one with good yield. He mined for over six hours straight. Why don't I feel hunger? Last time I nearly starved. He still remembered the tempting aroma of the steamed bun. What would it feel like to eat something that can't be digested?
Overthinking is useless. Most human troubles come not from the outside world, but from within oneself.
He returned to the village under moonlight, his shadow a constant companion. Since he started playing, every game day was sunny, every night graced by a bright moon. Even beautiful things grew tedious with endless, (monotonous) repetition. Maybe I should mention this to customer support.
The smithy was closed early. Kevin understood their sorrow. Even NPCs had their own emotions. Was that their fortune or their tragedy?
He entered through the back door and went to his master's room, giving a soft knock.
"Come in." Markus's voice was noticeably hoarse.
Kevin opened the door a crack and slipped inside.
A lamp burned in the room. The couple sat before it in heavy silence. The(oppressive) atmosphere was suffocating. Kevin took out the ash-filled cloak and gently placed it on the table. "These are the Elder's remains. I hope he can return to his ancestral plot."
In this heavy air, action spoke louder than words.
Gratitude washed over the couple's faces. In an era that valued laying the dead to rest, what could be more (heart-wrenching) than the return of an ancestor's bones? Even if this was just a game.
Kevin withdrew. What came next was not for an outsider's eyes.
Walking under the night sky, a wave of melancholy washed over him. I've never met my birth parents. All my life, I wanted to find them, to ask: 'Why did you abandon me so cruelly?' Time's flow had slowly eroded that hatred until it vanished. So time really can change so much.
Having finished a planned task, he felt adrift, a hollow feeling welling up from deep within. I'll wait until Master's affairs are settled.