Chapter 183: Festival

Chapter 183: The Festival

66: "!!!"

It jolted in shock, sent flying backward. Just as it was about to lose balance and tumble to the ground, it landed softly in a god’s hand.

The deity had caught it.

Eluvier looked as if he had slept for ages—his skin was cool, his fingertips cold as snow. He held 66 gently, like holding a pool of springwater.

He rose from his crescent-shaped cocoon bed, stepping barefoot onto the floor, his silver hair spilling across the ground.

Seeing 66’s stunned expression, the deity tilted his head slightly and repeated his earlier words: “Stranger from beyond, could you tell me why you have come here?”

66: "..."

Its screen trembled, displaying a crying emoji—two wobbly blue lines like streaming tears.

QAQ.

—H-How are you awake?! My mission’s toast!

Eluvier paused, then touched the screen with his cold fingers, his knuckles bending slightly as if wiping away tears. “Stranger from beyond, are you facing some difficulty?”

But 66’s tears were pixelated—impossible to wipe away. In fact, the more Eluvier tried, the harder they flowed. The moment the deity’s concerned voice sounded, quiet sniffling erupted into full-blown bawling.

66: “Waaah—”

Eluvier held it close, his gaze puzzled. He struggled to understand what 66 even was. “If I can help in any way, please let me know.”

The pitiful system sniffled for a while before whimpering, “C-could you maybe go back to sleep?”

Eluvier: “...”

“No.”

A soul from another world had intruded into the barrier set by the deity. Mistaking it for an enemy attack, Eluvier had interrupted his slumber, ignoring his old wounds to awaken forcefully. Yet all he found beside him was a sniveling little creature with no malice at all. He held back from striking it—not just because his injuries left him too weak, but also due to his naturally gentle disposition.

And thirdly… as Eluvier held 66, he spotted a golden thread in the emptiness, tying him to the tiny being in his hands. When the deity’s fingers brushed against it, he found it too tough to cut.

Eluvier spoke, “Stranger from beyond, I feel a connection between us. Is that true?”

66 jumped in surprise: “…Y-Yes, Lord Eluvier.”

It belatedly remembered the title Songshan’s creatures used for their god.

Eluvier: “What kind of connection is this? And why are you here?”

Eluvier had many connections—the entire Songshan thrived under his protection, from ancient trees to fireflies flitting through the woods. The love and reverence of living beings formed bonds he could never sever. But 66’s bond was clearly different.

66: “!”

Eluvier wasn’t interrogating or demanding answers—his tone was simply curious. Yet 66 still felt an overwhelming pressure, as though nothing could hide from the deity’s gaze.

66 drooped dejectedly: “Actually… I’m, uh… a sidekick system for tragedy-themed stories.”

That’s right—a system designed to assist in playing tragic NPCs, one that could forcibly turn all misery into sugar.

The deity tilted his head slightly, his silver-white eyes brimming with bewilderment.

He couldn't understand a single word.

Since the Host had already awakened, 66's mission was half-failed. It decided there was no point hiding anything anymore and was about to reveal the entire task when Elu's fingertip tapped on the screen a few times, unexpectedly pulling up the original text directly.

Elu asked, "May I review this?"

66: "..."

It slumped in defeat: "Go ahead."

Thus, while 66 blankly spaced out and whimpered sadly for a few minutes, Elu flipped to the last page.

Though the god read faster than ordinary people, his fingers paused on the screen longer and longer—until finally, he closed the page and righted the fallen little screen.

66 looked at him and trembled.

The god's expression darkened.

In truth, Elu had always been expressionless—or, in 66's terms, "emotionless" or "deadpan." But now, his demeanor visibly chilled.

The Elven King—Percy.

Elu remembered that name.

All elves' lives began with Elu. He had personally guided each soul into reincarnation when they were still mindless specks of light, clinging to him like children to their mother. They would cautiously brush against his divine crown with dandelion fluff, while the bolder ones perched on his nose or eyelashes. Percy, ever reserved, lingered briefly at his knee, nuzzled his fingertip, then left without further disturbing the busy deity—even shushing away the other specks that clung to him.

Back then, the souls were still tiny beings driven purely by instinct, yet Elu could still sense their affection and reverence.

But how had things deteriorated like this after just one brief slumber?

66 peeked at the god from the cocoon: "Host, the Full Moon Festival is tonight. Will you attend?"

If Elu went, the entire mission would fail.

But while 66 dared to bump into Xie Yu and snatch Shi Lv's phone, it didn't dare force Elu to do anything.

This Host was unlike any before.

The novel mainly focused on the later stages of the deity's slumber, when Elu had long been absent, and the Elven King had endured years of neglect. Soon after, the elves, unable to bear life without their deity, would erupt into civil strife, and Percy would be completely exiled from the mountain.

Elu said, "I cannot attend the Festival."

Not unwilling, but unable.

Gods did not need sleep—only when gravely injured and utterly exhausted would they slumber deeply. But because of 66's arrival, that rest had been disrupted. Elu's current condition was no better than a human's. Even the larger animals living in the mountain could harm him. If he appeared at the Festival, he would likely be mistaken for a lost traveler.

In fact, given his physical state, he could hardly even leave the barrier.

66 scratched its head: "Then the plot..."

Would the plot still proceed as before?

The god remained silent. Standing at the edge of the barrier, his silver eyes gazed downward, piercing through layers of mist until they settled on the only valley in the mountain—the dwelling place of the elves.

The elves had built long bridges over the valley's streams, paving the ground with pure white stone slabs adorned with emerald leaves. The mountain brook flowed beneath the bridges, splashing white foam against the scattered rocks.

At the far end of the valley stood the Elven King's residence. At that moment, the attendant Kemi, carrying robes, crossed the long bridge and knocked on the Elven King's door.

"Your Majesty, I have brought several sets of ceremonial robes for tonight’s Full Moon Festival for Your Highness to choose from. May I enter?"

The Full Moon Festival was the most important festival for the elves. On this day, the main deity, Eluvier, would descend from the branches of the sacred tree and sit quietly at its side, observing his creations. During every festival, the elves would wear newly crafted lavish robes, and the Elven King was no exception.

He knocked three times in succession.

After the third knock, there was no response.

Kemi: "Your Majesty?"

"...Please come in."

The wooden door swung inward, and the voice of the Elven King reached him. Kemi entered, hands freezing midair as he held the garments.

He hesitated before saying, "Your Majesty, you appear weary."

Percy's demeanor was considered the most graceful among all elves—always composed, always serene, his back perpetually straight, his figure ever elegant, his expressions perfectly poised as if practiced a thousand times. Yet now, the Elven King’s water-green eyes were downcast, platinum strands escaping his crown, his gaze unfocused and distant.

He looked weary.

Kemi placed the robes on the table. "Your Majesty, did I wake you?"

Percy seemed as though he had just woken.

"...No." The Elven King rubbed his throbbing temples like someone waking from a nightmare. "Set them aside. I’ll review them later."

Kemi hesitated, fingers brushing over the fabrics on the tray. "Won’t you try them on? They’re made of the finest materials. The robes are woven with the newly crafted Moonlight Gauze, and the crescent patterns at the hems were hand-stitched by Atis. It’s said to shimmer with a moonlit blue under the moonlight. The crown is also made of white vines—look, studded with emerald leaves."

He set the tray before Percy. "Your Majesty, do you not like them?"

Percy offered a faint smile. "I do."

His voice was tight. Kemi assumed it was due to poor sleep and spread out the three robes. "Your Majesty, please choose one."

Then, cautiously studying Percy’s expression, he added, "Maybe Lord Elu will favor these?"

Percy’s fingers, which had been tracing the fabric, tensed at the words, almost tearing the fragile material.

—Would Lord Elu favor these?

No, Percy thought.

Of course not.

In his previous life, Percy had spent a lifetime proving that he was not favored by the deity.

Not long after his exile from the elven race, at death’s door, the elves chose a new king. And during the second Full Moon Festival under the new king’s reign, the deity made a graceful descent.

He alighted from the towering ancient tree, his silver hair and white robes flowing like moonlight across the ground, his entire form bathed in the radiance of the full moon, his face indistinct. Then, he sat quietly at the edge of the celebration, watching over his beloved race.

From the birth of the elves to this day, every Elven King had received the deity’s favor and guidance—except Percy.

Only Percy.

When he had left the shelter of his homeland, grown accustomed to shedding his identity as an elf, wandered far from the deity’s presence, when he had already accepted death, prepared to fade into nothingness, letting go of all past obsessions—he opened his eyes only to find himself back in the lush river valley of Songshan.

Kemi knocked on his door, bringing the ceremonial robes, and said, “Maybe Lord Elu will favor these?”

The irony was cruel.

...Why didn't I dissipate?

After death, a pure white soul should return to the Mother Tree to begin a new life. But since the Mother Goddess despised him, he shouldn’t have had the right to return.

Besides, this wasn't returning.

When an elf dies, they should turn into pure white specks like dandelion seeds, their memories erased, drifting around Elu, waiting to be reborn anew from the Mother Tree.

But Percy did not become those specks, nor were his memories erased, and he certainly did not drift around Elu. Instead, he was thrown back to that most unbearable time.

—Since the outcome was already known, why trap him in this meaningless stretch of time, making him relive the deity’s rejection again and again?

Kemi: "...My King? Are you lost in thought?"

He waved a hand in front of Percy’s face: "Do you not like any of these three outfits?"

"No, they’re all beautiful," Percy smiled. "They're all so beautiful—I can't choose."

Kemi nodded in agreement: "You’d look good in anything. Lord Elu is sure to like it."

Since Percy became the Elven King, many Full Moon Festivals had been held, yet Lord Elu had never appeared. Now, unease had grown among the elves—they desperately needed the deity to show himself, if only to reassure them.

Thus, this Festival was grander, more elaborate than ever. They'd even woven three different outfits for Percy, each of a distinct style.

Kemi unfolded the middle one: "This is the most formal—three layers altogether, with stacked cuffs at the sleeves, inspired by the royal attire of the human empire."

Percy said instantly: "Not this one."

In his past life, he had worn this very robe.

The Elven King refused so quickly that Kemi was taken aback. He set the garment aside: "I thought you’d like it."

Of the three, this one was the most dignified and elegant.

Percy let out a bitter laugh, slightly surprised at his own reaction. Deep down, he knew it didn’t matter what he wore—whether the deity favored him or not had nothing to do with clothing.

Yet it wasn’t until the refusal slipped out that he realized, somewhere in his heart still clung a sliver of hope. If he could just choose the right attire, perhaps there was still a chance.

Faint though it was, it was something.

Kemi: "Then how about this one?"

This was a traditional elven ceremonial robe. Percy shook it out, frowning slightly.

Though the elves had long dwelled deep within the pine mountains, they still traded with other races. A thousand years ago, their ancestors’ fashions were far less modest than today’s—back then, fabrics were scarce, and garments often left parts of the body exposed, like the collarbones and back. To Percy, it looked somewhat like the toga-style robes of ancient Greece in the modern world.

This one’s neckline plunged much lower, and the back plunged all the way to the shoulder blades, the fabric forming a "U"-shaped gap connected only by a few delicate silver chains. To make matters worse, the chains hung loosely, serving no purpose but decoration.

Kemi said timidly, "My King, the thing is... Lord Elu was most present during the elves’ ancestral era. Back then, he would build houses with them, teach them music and art, and walk with them through the forests. We thought... he might prefer this original style."

High in the branches, Eluvier watched all this.

The deity propped his chin on his hand, his brow furrowed with displeasure.

He didn’t like it.

In those days, the elves were primitive and unlearned, like stumbling children who knew nothing. As their creator, Eluvier had no choice but to constantly guide and protect them. But when it came to fashion, he far preferred the current fashions.

Too bad Percy didn’t know that.

He examined the garments and gave a slight nod.

Kemi gathered the king's hair, adorning it with a crown woven from vines and embellished with gemstones and New Leaf Group at its center. Then, the Elven King dismissed everyone and changed into his ceremonial robes alone.

Night fell.

A full moon rose above the horizon, hanging high over the pine-covered mountains. The elves placed fruits and flowers in the valley’s clearing, and when the moon reached the crown of the Mother Tree, the Festival began.

Percy set the finest new brew in a hand-blown glass bottle, its jade-green liquid shimmering brilliantly. Next, he arranged honey infused with alpine daisies and St. John’s wort, offering the finest Iris and lilies. Then, he sat at the edge of the platform, idly strumming the harp as he sang hymns in praise of the gods.

The musicians joined in, striking xylophones while flute melodies echoed through the mountain gorge. Under the glow of the full moon, the elves waited devoutly for their deity’s arrival.

But the moon drifted further and further, until it slipped past the ancient tree’s branches. The elves’ excitement turned to unease, the harp’s notes grew faint, yet Eluvier never appeared.

Just like the previous Festivals.

So, the xylophones and flutes fell silent.

Percy’s fingers swept across the harp strings, producing a jarring discord.

He stopped playing, lowering his seafoam-green eyes as his lashes fanned over them, dimming their light.

—Just as he’d expected, it was exactly the same as in his past life.

He’d anticipated this outcome, so why did it still hurt?

From the treetops, Eluvier sighed softly.

He sensed the elves’ fear and Percy’s sorrow. He longed to comfort him—to run his fingers through the Elven King’s gilded platinum hair, press a soothing kiss to his brow, and whisper that it wasn’t his fault.

But he could offer no response.

Eluvier was too severely wounded now—he couldn’t even descend safely from the ancient tree’s height.

66 perched on Su Zhu’s shoulder, gazing down at the elves in the gorge and whispering, “Host, your Elven King is so beautiful.”

Every elf was beautiful, but among them, Percy was the most striking.

In this world, both its host and the protagonist were exquisite.

The silver-haired deity glanced at it and agreed, “I think so too.”

Though the attire was improper—especially from this angle—this elf was radiant beyond measure.

A hush fell over the valley.

Not a single elf spoke, not a single instrument played, and even the chirping of insects and birds ceased. Then, the Elven King’s slender fingers loosened, and the harp fell to the ground.

Percy thought, “Nothing has changed after all.”

New attire, revised invocations—yet he remained the one despised by his god.

Breaking the stillness, Kemi spoke, “My King, this Festival…”

Percy replied calmly, repeating the words he had uttered countless times in his past life—and would surely repeat many more in this one: “The deity has not attended. Tonight’s Festival is canceled. You may all leave now.”

So, the elves picked up their glass bottles of wine, gathered the honey and fruits, and collected the blooming flowers. In silence, they formed a line and departed one by one.

As he left the gorge, Kemi glanced back. Their king still sat alone at the center of the Festival grounds, head bowed, his long robe spilling around him like molten moonlight, casting a cerulean shimmer. Motionless, save for the faint tremble of his lashes, he might have been a statue carved from sorrow.

Kemi sighed and turned to leave.

No one noticed, not even Percy himself, as three leaves floated down from the Mother Tree.

The Mother Tree neither dies nor sheds its leaves, yet those three leaves fell straight from the treetop—one landing on the Elven King's chest, one on his shoulder blade, covering what little was exposed.

And the last one, spinning in the valley’s gentle breeze, brushed through his hair as it fell.

Like a tender, loving caress.