Xiao Mu stepped into the rear temple, only to find it stripped of all physical form. No pillars, no incense, no walls. Just an endless expanse of gray-white space—his inner world made manifest.
The temple was no longer a temple. It was the Court of the False Self.
The backlash of the wish had evolved into a debate of existence—not fear of ghosts, but the deepest philosophical terror: when "I" can no longer define "myself," all vows lose their anchor.
His consciousness fractured into countless selves:
The coward who only knew how to run.The rational self who suppressed all emotion.The gentle self who sacrificed for others.The shadow who made a wish, then erased it in fear.
They surrounded him, arguing: "Which of us is worthy to carry the wish?"
They denied each other, judged each other. Xiao Mu tried to speak, but found no voice—language had failed. Only silence could express his stance.
A memory surfaced—he had once secretly wished at the temple:
"May I never disappoint anyone."
He had never spoken it aloud, yet it had taken root in every retreat. He finally understood: wishes don't come from a complete self, but from broken corners and hidden flaws. They are the longing itself—the light within imperfection.
An image appeared: a child tossed a mud-shaped "wish" into a river. The water didn't carry it away, but stretched and twisted the child's shadow.
Xiao Mu stared at the shadow and understood: wishes are never "real." They come from our yearning for reality.
The temple court began to collapse. Xiao Mu realized he could not define himself—but he could choose to let the wish continue in its broken form. He stepped forward into the next realm—perhaps a museum of memory, or another void. But he no longer feared.
🕯️Echo of the Wish:
"A wish does not demand completeness—only that you stop running from becoming yourself."