The Weight of Living

Seeing me strike a chuunibyou magical girl pose, Ling Chen struggled to suppress a laugh as he consoled me.

“I’m only joking, Sister. You’re an Apostle! With the divine cheat code granted to you, you’re practically invincible in the Inner World.”

Snapping out of my uninhibited display, my cheeks burned with embarrassment as I asked, “Are Apostles really that formidable?”

Ling Chen nodded. “Of course they are. Even beings in the Inner World are ranked. Currently, you’re only an apprentice Apostle, so you don’t fully understand your cheat code. Once your rank increases, Sister, you’ll truly grasp what an Apostle means to the Inner World.”

“One last question.”

Despite Ling Chen’s words, my anxieties remained unresolved. My brow furrowed as I asked, “Will I die?”

This was, undoubtedly, the most crucial question.

Just a few days prior, I had been a typical high school student, an ordinary teenager with nothing particularly remarkable about me. I had, more or less, harbored fantasies of acquiring special abilities, hoping for a change from my dull, monotonous routine.

Yet, deep down, I knew I didn’t genuinely desire my life to change. This craving for transformation was merely a symptom of my dissatisfaction with an ordinary existence; my true wish was to maintain the stability of my everyday life.

Routine is the continuation of miracles. For humanity, war and turmoil have always permeated history. It was through the turbulent youth and sacrifices of our predecessors that we secured our current stable, albeit unexciting, daily lives.

While playing a shooting game once, someone remarked, “If only there were a war, I could serve my country and use a real gun.”

Such a statement is either born of pure naiveté or outright malice. Aside from truly just wars, most individuals are merely swept up by fervent atmospheres, rushing to the battlefield on a whim. They delude themselves into believing they will become heroes, unaware that they will simply become casualty statistics, buried within a string of numbers, their names forever forgotten.

A single general’s fame is built upon ten thousand withered bones. For most ordinary people, they are, at best, the dry bones paving the way for another’s glory. During World War I, young men from various nations, brimming with confidence to serve their homeland, sang as they boarded trains for the front lines, utterly oblivious to the hellish crucible that awaited them.

These young men were flesh and blood, real individuals with their own joys, sorrows, and aspirations. A single bullet, a single shell, could halt their lives forever, leaving behind only unfulfilled wishes and loved ones they could never embrace again.

What did their sacrifices ultimately achieve?

Just dogs biting dogs between imperialist nations.

They failed to end human suffering; instead, they laid landmines for the next, even more brutal war, drawing more people into new infernos.

The weight of the word “living” is enough to crush all nobility and awaken one from all fanaticism. I admit I am a coward, fearful of death, and I feel no shame in it. If I were to sacrifice myself, it would be to ensure more people could live fulfilling lives.

I would rather fight for the happiness of my comrades until my last breath than contribute a single iota to greedy parasites. If I were to die for a grand human cause, noble people would shed tears over my ashes. But if I were to exhaust my life working 996 hours, all I would gain is an HR representative coldly dismissing my no-longer-useful self, along with an N+1 compensation package.

I want to live because I respect life; I understand its value. Unless living becomes more agonizing than dying, no one truly wishes for death.

Ling Chen did not dismiss my question but answered with solemnity.

“It’s not wrong for you to feel fear, Sister. Precisely because living beings possess the emotion of fear, they learn to flee, to escape danger, and to survive, thereby perpetuating their species.”

“Many Keepers, upon their first entry into the Inner World, naturally assume they are protagonists favored by the heavens, failing to realize they are mortal. People die when they are killed—it’s a simple truth. Even as an Apostle, you cannot claim to be immune to life-threatening dangers.”

I was satisfied with Ling Chen’s answer. If it comes, then so be it. Rather than living in endless terror, clueless about my fate, it was better to clearly understand what I might die for. Though I still felt afraid, compared to the terror of the unknown, I had now mustered a little more courage.

“What exactly is a Wandering Spirit?”

“The Wandering Spirits you’re meant to escort today, Sister, are ghosts who haven’t realized they’ve died. They can only drift aimlessly, unable to find peace. Wandering Spirits bear no ill will towards humans and cause no harm. However, if left unchecked, their grievances will eventually coalesce, transforming them into malevolent spirits that pose a threat to humanity.”

“Proactively eliminating potential risks—this is what’s meant by maintaining the stability of the two worlds.”

I looked down at myself: delicate skin, tender flesh, easily vulnerable. I was just an ordinary, powerless high school girl. Could someone like me truly handle such a weighty responsibility?

“I’m a weakling with a combat power of five right now! How am I supposed to escort Wandering Spirits?”

Ling Chen pushed me forward. “Hesitating and looking before you leap isn’t like you, Sister. Just go for it!”

“They don’t even do new recruit training anymore? What kind of black-hearted company forces people into roles like this?”

“Sister, you’re essentially a civil servant of the Inner World. How can you call your own organization a black-hearted company?”

“Wuwuwu, I’m so scared!”

“The best way to eliminate fear is to face it! You can do it! Let’s go!”

“Positive energy quotes won’t save me!”

The surroundings grew progressively darker, leaving only a hazy mist. The lightbulbs hanging in the residential area flickered, casting a pallid glow, like candle flames on the verge of extinguishing, too faint to illuminate the path ahead.

Most of the houses in this neighborhood were built in the last century. Their dilapidated state and aged appearance, born of years of disrepair, lent the area an eerie atmosphere.

I walked cautiously along the path illuminated by the clear moonlight, trying to calm my rapidly pounding heart. I desperately wanted to pray to dispel the fear within me, but I didn’t know how to pray in the Christian way. So, I could only chant “Namo Amitabha” while anxiously scanning the dark corners for any lurking horrors.

Within those shadowy tree lines, I constantly felt as if something was watching me, and my body began to tremble slightly.

Ling Chen hadn’t followed. He said this was my job, and he couldn’t intervene. As for how to escort the Wandering Spirits, he hadn’t told me even at the very end.

What good was he, anyway?

After walking for a while, I suddenly shivered. I stopped and saw, in the distance, an elderly woman standing by the neighborhood’s recreational facilities. She was gazing up, her eyes fixed on the moon.

In that instant, my blood pressure surged, and the surrounding air solidified in a chilling atmosphere.

Beneath the moonlight, the elderly woman cast no shadow.