That night, the world seemed to conspire to grant Ren Zu's strange and terrifying wish.
The thick banks of clouds that usually choked the horizon, hiding the heavens from the earth, vanished as if afraid to witness what was to come. The howling wind of the wilderness, usually a constant companion of screams and rustling leaves, died down to a reverent whisper.
The sky revealed itself.
It was a vast, inverted bowl of polished obsidian, endless and deep. It was not merely dark; it was the definition of depth. And scattered across that black expanse were millions of stars—diamonds of cold fire, frozen in the act of burning, watching the world below with unblinking eyes.
It was a star-filled sky, the likes of which had not been seen since the chaos of creation first settled into order.
According to Attitude Gu's instructions, Ren Zu climbed. He did not stop at the foothills where the grass was soft. He climbed past the tree line where the air grew thin. He climbed until he reached the summit of the highest mountain in the region, a jagged spear of rock piercing the belly of the night.
The air was thin and razor-sharp here. Frost formed on his bronze skin, turning the metal of his muscles white, but he did not shiver. The cold outside was nothing compared to the cold he was inviting inside.
He sat down on the jagged stone, crossed his legs in a meditative posture, and looked up.
Before this night, Ren Zu's life had been a frantic blur of survival. He was a creature of the earth, always looking down or looking forward.
When he was young, he fought for food, his eyes glued to the ground looking for tracks, roots, and water.
When he was old, he fought for survival, his eyes darting into the shadows looking for predators, traps, and shelter.
When he was in the cave, he fought for escape, his eyes useless and blind in the absolute dark.
When he was chasing the Gu, he fought for power, his eyes locked on the prize in his hands.
He had never stopped. He had never paused. He had never simply looked.
But now, he sat still.
The Strength Gu on his shoulder, sensing there was no enemy to crush, fell dormant, its metallic buzzing fading into silence.
The Rules and Regulations Gu in his aperture stopped vibrating, for in the silence of the cosmos, there were no laws to enforce and no boundaries to draw.
Ren Zu stared at the starry sky. And the starry sky stared back.
At first, he saw only lights. He tried to apply his human logic to them. He tried to count them, but the numbers ran out. He tried to organize them into shapes, but the patterns shifted. He tried to name them, but he ran out of words.
There were too many. They defied his Rules. They overwhelmed his Regulation.
As the hours dragged on, the silence of the mountain began to seep into his bones. It bypassed his bronze skin, ignored his strong muscles, and settled directly into his empty chest.
He saw the Round Sky—the domain he had tried to capture with his net but failed. It was so vast. It was infinite. It made his "Great Net of Heaven and Earth" look like a spiderweb spun by a child.
He looked at the stars.
They were beautiful, yes. But they were terrifying.
They were cold. They were distant. They burned with a majesty that was completely indifferent to his existence.
They did not care if Ren Zu lived. They did not care if Ren Zu died. They did not care if he conquered the world or was eaten by a Predicament. They had burned before he was born, and they would burn long after his bones turned to dust.
For the first time, Ren Zu realized he was not the protagonist of the universe. He was a speck of dust witnessing the infinite.
His thoughts began to float, unmoored from the necessities of survival.
"I am small," Ren Zu realized.
The thought struck him harder than any blow from a beast. A beast's blow hurts the body; this thought hurt the soul.
"I am the First Human. I am the Master of Rules. I possess Strength. I hold Hope. I carry Attitude. But against this sky... I am nothing."
He looked at the vast galaxy swirling above him, a river of silver light that flowed without water, a river that had no beginning and no end.
"Sigh..."
Ren Zu let out a long breath. The white mist of his breath rose up, reaching for the stars like a ghost, before vanishing instantly into the cold night air.
"I live a life of constant fear and insecurity," Ren Zu mused, his internal voice sounding small and fragile in the vast cathedral of the night. "I run from Predicaments. I chase after Gu. I eat. I sleep. I struggle. But for what?"
"Although I have Hope Gu to keep me moving forward...
Although I have Strength Gu to protect my physical body...
Although I have Rules Gu and Regulation Gu to order my immediate world...
Although I have Attitude Gu to hide my face from enemies...
To survive in this land is still difficult as ever."
He looked at his hands—the hands that had built nets, punched tigers, and dug out his own heart. They were strong, bronze hands. But tonight, they looked empty.
"Even if I die tomorrow," Ren Zu whispered to the stars, "it is not shocking. The sun will still rise. The wind will still blow. The Predicaments will find something else to eat."
"If I die, will the world remember me?"
He waited for an answer.
The wind howled through the canyons below. The leaves rustled in the forests. But the world did not answer. The stars did not blink. The silence remained unbroken.
"Will anyone rejoice over my existence?" Ren Zu asked, his voice trembling. "Will anyone grieve over my death?"
Thinking of this, Ren Zu shook his head. A bitter smile touched his lips.
"In this world, I am the only human. I am the anomaly. The beasts have packs; they howl together. The birds have flocks; they fly together. Even the Gu worms have their own kind—Attitude has Belief and Suspicion; Rules has Regulations."
"But I am alone."
Even with the magical Gu accompanying him, he felt a chasm opening in his chest.
Strength could not hug him; it could only hit.
Rules could not understand him; it could only measure.
Attitude could not comfort him; it could only mimic.
He felt a strong sense of... separation.
It was a cold, heavy sensation, like swallowing a stone of ice that refused to melt. It sat in the cavern of his chest, right next to the glowing light of Hope. It drew substance from the silence, from the vastness, from the indifference of the stars.
It was Loneliness.
Heart of Loneliness!
At this moment, as the realization of his absolute solitude crystallized in his soul, the magic of the world took hold. The empty cup of his chest, which Attitude Gu had pointed out, finally found its wine.
Ren Zu's body suddenly convulsed. He gasped, clutching his chest with bronze fingers.
The void inside him was no longer empty. The silence had density. The sorrow had weight.
A brand new heart had formed.
It was not a red, beating heart of blood. It was a transparent, crystalline heart of Void. It beat with the slow, agonizing rhythm of a dying star.
III. The Price of Vision
Just then, the vigil ended.
The sun rose from the eastern horizon. The first rays of dawn pierced the darkness, banishing the stars and bathing the mountain peak in golden light.
Ideally, the sunrise brings hope and happiness. It chases away the fear of the dark.
But Ren Zu felt no happiness.
Instead, as the light hit his face, he felt an endless pain, despair, confusion, and even fear.
The light did not comfort him; it exposed him.
In the dark, his loneliness was hidden. In the light, his solitude was illuminated for all to see. The sun showed him the vast, empty world where no one looked like him. It showed him the long shadow he cast—a shadow that stood alone.
He could not endure this loneliness and fear, for all he felt was the advent of darkness and apocalypse!
The Heart of Loneliness pumped terror into his veins. It whispered that he was the last consciousness in the universe. It screamed that his life was a meaningless accident.
"I cannot bear to see this!" Ren Zu screamed, his voice cracking. "I cannot bear to see a world without kin! If the world is empty, I do not wish to look at it!"
"I need eyes that look back at me!"
Desperation, madness, and the logic of the Great Dao overtook him. He realized that to create life, he had to give life. To see his kin, he had to sacrifice his sight.
Thus, he painfully cried, stretching out his fingers. The bronze tips of his fingers, forged by Strength, were sharp and unyielding.
He brought his hands to his face.
Pluck.
He dug out his left eye.
It was a gruesome, visceral sacrifice. Hot blood streamed down his cheek, but Ren Zu did not stop. He threw the eye onto the ground.
The eye did not rot in the dirt. It rolled on the earth, absorbing the morning sunlight, absorbing the heat of the dawn, absorbing Ren Zu's desire for a son, for legacy, for vitality.
BOOM!
A column of golden fire erupted from the eye.
From the fire stepped a young man. He was magnificent. He had flowing golden hair that shone like the flames of the sun. His body was strong and muscular, radiating boundless energy. He wore a robe of light that banished all shadows.
Once he appeared, he kneeled at Ren Zu's feet, his voice ringing like a bell: "Oh Ren Zu, my father, I am your eldest son, Verdant Great Sun."
Ren Zu heard the voice. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. But the loneliness was not fully cured. The sun is bright, but the sun is solitary. He needed balance.
Ren Zu reached up again, his hand trembling.
Pluck.
He dug out his right eye.
He threw it onto the ground. It rolled into the shadow of a rock, absorbing the lingering cool of the night, absorbing the mystery of the stars, absorbing Ren Zu's desire for a daughter, for wisdom, for serenity.
SHIMMER.
A mist of silver moonlight coalesced around the eye.
From the mist stepped a young girl. She was breathtaking. She had skin as pale as snow and hair like the night sky. Her eyes were deep pools of silence. She radiated a gentle, melancholic beauty.
She walked forward and held Ren Zu's trembling, bloody hand.
"Oh Ren Zu, my father," she whispered, her voice like a cool breeze. "I am your second daughter, Desolate Ancient Moon."
Ren Zu sat on the mountain peak. His eye sockets were empty, bleeding hollows. His vision was gone. He was plunged into eternal darkness.
But he was not alone.
He felt the warm, strong hand of his son on his knee.
He felt the cool, gentle hand of his daughter in his palm.
The crushing weight of the Heart of Loneliness lightened. It still beat—for a human is always lonely deep down—but the terror was gone. The void was shared.
Ren Zu laughed loudly. Tears of blood flowed from his empty sockets, staining his cheeks red.
"Good! Good! Good!" Ren Zu shouted to the heavens he could no longer see.
"I have children now," he wept, his voice thick with emotion. "I can finally endure the pain of the heart of loneliness. From now on, there will be people celebrating my existence, and grieving for my death."
"Even if I die now," Ren Zu declared, squeezing the hands of his creation, "you will remember me. I am no longer a speck of dust; I am an Ancestor."
He took a deep breath, the Hope Gu inside him shining brighter than ever, illuminating his internal darkness.
"Only that..." Finally, he sighed, a trace of regret mixing with his joy.
"I lost both my eyes, and can no longer see the light. I can no longer see the Attitude Gu, or the road ahead."
He turned his bleeding face towards his children.
"From now on," the First Human commanded, "you two shall observe this world for me."