The bone field trembled violently as golden light surged through the land. Bones scattered across the ground began to melt, turning into shimmering sand.
The false "mother" shattered—not into dust, but into threads of black silk, drawn upward into a crack in the sky, vanishing beyond the boundary of dimensions.
"SHE'S RETURNING TO THE SOURCE!"
The butterfly tattoo on Ye Lin's arm screamed, its voice barely audible.
"THIS IS ANOTHER TRICK! STAY SHARP!"
As the light faded, Ye Lin found herself standing in a field of rich, dark earth—no longer the bone field, nor the golden cornfield.
The wooden hut still stood nearby, but now it looked stronger, as if its roots had reached deep into the soil.
On the wall, the seventy-nine portraits of her face no longer wept.
Their expressions were blank—but no longer pained.
They had been purified.
From the earth before her, the golden corn seed—once embedded in the false bowl rose gently into Ye Lin's palm.
It pulsed with life, and from it, the small shadow returned, now slightly larger, standing as tall as her knee.
Its face was clearer now—a younger version of Ye Lin, but with ancient wisdom shining in its eyes.
"We've closed one door," said the small shadow calmly.
"But hundreds more await to be opened."
Ye Lin looked around.
This new land felt… hungry.
Not the kind of hunger that devours, but one that yearns for life.
She could hear the call in every grain of soil, in every breath of air.
"What do I do now?" she asked.
She felt her power change again.
No longer did she feel the urge to destroy.
Now—she felt the urge to build.
The butterfly tattoo glowed softly.
"THIS WORLD IS YOUR CANVAS NOW, GUARDIAN.
IT HUNGERS FOR CREATION.
FOR TRUE MEMORY."
In the distance, at the edge of her new land, a small crack opened in the dark-blue sky.
From it, silhouettes began to form—not shadowy hands or monstrous faces
but familiar figures from her old village.
"They're coming," whispered the small shadow, eyes fixed on the crack.
"The 'visitors' from the outside world.
They won't wait."
Ye Lin clutched the golden seed in one hand and the bone knife in the other.
The knife no longer felt cold or dull
it was warm, softly pulsing, like a living extension of her will.
"Then let's show them what it means to be a true Guardian," she said.
The crack in the sky widened, and this time it poured out more than shadows.
Figures stepped through.
Elders with wrinkled faces.
Children running with laughter.
Neighbors she had once known
all familiar.
But something was wrong.
Their eyes were blank, their skin pale, and their movements rigid, like puppets.
"A MASSIVE-SCALE ILLUSION!"
The butterfly tattoo screamed again.
"THE COLLECTOR NO LONGER SEEKS YOUR FRAGMENTS
HE'S TESTING YOUR RESILIENCE!"
"A test?" Ye Lin murmured, stepping out of her hut.
The soft earth beneath her feet now felt solid and steady.
The illusory villagers began to speak.
Their voices rustled like dry leaves.
"Lin'er, why did you leave us?" asked an old woman's voice—exactly like her mother's.
"Why did you bring death to our village?" shouted a man, his tone echoing a neighbor from long ago.
"Monster!" the children screamed, their hollow eyes staring in silent judgment.
Each word was a dagger—aimed to awaken the Regret and Loneliness Ye Lin had already purified.
She felt the bitter memories of her death, the grief she left behind, trying to crawl back into her mind.
But the golden seed in her hand pulsed warm
its light pushed back the creeping darkness.
The small shadow beside her glowed faintly too.
"They're not real," it whispered.
"Just shades of your guilt, twisted against you."
Ye Lin raised the bone knife.
It no longer felt like a weapon of destruction
but a scalpel, meant to cut truth from illusion.
"You can't hurt me with these ghosts," she said.
Her voice echoed across the vast, dreamlike field.
"I've walked through death.
I've purified my sorrow."
The illusions rushed her.
Not with physical force
but with a flood of emotional attack.
They came close
ghostly hands reaching for her chest,
each one trying to stab her with accusation and regret.
But the moment they touched the golden light radiating from her body,
they shattered into flakes of black light.
From the ground beneath her feet, where the shards landed
sprouts began to grow.
Not corn.
But tiny heart-shaped sprouts, just like the golden heart-fruits that once bloomed in her cornfield.
"SHE'S TURNING REGRET INTO CREATION!"
cried the butterfly tattoo, voice filled with awe.
"THE 80TH CHOICE: TO BUILD FROM LOSS!"