Listening to Cicadas in the Sleeping Place of God: Give up Your Ability and Play Chess with God

When the contract becomes a lie, blasphemy is the noblest salvation. The severed fingers of the hanging statue sprouted into nerve-like branches in his palm, and each nodule stirred up the cysts of memory: The girl in a white dress breathed and wrote on the stained glass: "Brother, don't go home." The moment ice crystal thorns pierced her eyes, heavy rain began to pour into the sky. Two heterogeneous crystals under the collarbone were biting at his ribs: one from the [Time Weaver] that promised eternal life, and the other from the [Memory Worm] that granted freedom. The price for their generous gifts was that the silent past was tampered with into a medical record full of loopholes. "He defrauded three gods at the same time, and the price was that his heart was transformed into a time bomb." As nine thousand white doves flew across the scorched earth carrying the torn contracts in their beaks, the last god gazed at his creation from the depths of his cocoon. The being once named Silence smiled slightly and stroked his chest with his fingertips. It is no longer the heart that beats there. It is a blank divine core wrapped with nerve threads.