Deep within the dream, at the dead of night, the stars blazed in the sky.
The wind swept through the streets like a sharpened blade.
Zhizhi, wearing the skin of Sato, was running frantically.
This sprint had already transcended the boundaries of "human."
"He" no longer cared if the suit was drenched in sweat, nor did he heed the bloody blisters forming where leather shoes ground against the asphalt.
"His" lungs heaved like a bellows, and breaths tinged with the scent of rust spilled from his throat.
This was a "heaviness" belonging to a human shell that Zhizhi had never felt before. But this heavy mecha had now become "his" only tool.
"He" stared fixedly at the blood-red red thread in his field of vision.
One end of the red thread was wrapped around "his" fingertip; the other stretched diagonally toward the distant horizon, vanishing behind layers of urban ruins and shimmering neon lights.
The closer he got, the more intense the sensation became.
The closer he got, the more the arrhythmic resonance made "him" shudder.
"Master... Master..."
"He" murmured the words over and over in his heart.
As the distance closed, the feedback from the end of the red thread became increasingly eerie.
What "he" felt was no longer the tall, warm human Tian Shuangxin, but a familiar, fragmented, and terrified vibration.
That vibration belonged to a member of his own kind.
Finally, while passing through a fog-shrouded park in the old city district, "he" saw it.
Curled inside a pile of withered leaves beside a trash can was a tiny figure.
Those black-bean eyes were filled with defensiveness and despair toward the entire world. The faint sound of breathing, the whiskers trembling with fear, the faint heart-shaped spot on the belly...
It was exactly how Zhizhi looked when he was still a fancy rat.
Zhizhi froze. "He" looked down at his own large-knuckled, grime-stained man's hands, then back at the tiny living being shivering in the cold wind.
Though "he" felt the absurdity of it, there was no repulsion. In this moment, a flood called "joy" instantly demolished "his" rationality.
"Fuff—!"
He instinctively tried to let out the sharp squeak of a fancy rat, forgetting that human physiology differs from that of a rodent; he could not produce that frequency by instinct alone.
"He" didn't care.
"He" abandoned his clumsy upright gait and dropped to his knees. With hands pressed into the mud, like a primal demi-beast returning to its roots, he lunged toward the shadow on all fours.
Even if this face belonged to the demon Sato, the soul within could not wait to crawl into that tiny, warm embrace.
Tian Shuangxin was currently shrinking inside the body of the fancy rat.
Her human consciousness made her feel as though she were suffocating in that instant.
She watched the man—the Sato who, in her dreams, had personally sliced open her back and pushed her into the gas chamber—charging toward her in an extremely distorted and frenzied manner.
That plain, cold face looked like a twisted arch-fiend under the moonlight.
"Don't come over... please, stay away..."
Tian Shuangxin instinctively tried to shrink back, her claws digging deep into the frozen earth.
This was fear from the depths of the soul—the eternal repulsion of a victim toward their tormentor.
Even though she knew this was a dream, even though she felt a certain tenderness flowing through that red thread, the moment that face appeared before her, all reason was shattered by the instinct to survive.
However, "Sato" stopped.
"He" slammed to a halt less than half a meter away from her, bringing with him the pungent scent of decaying leaves.
"He" did not reach out with those hands that had once held bloody scalpels.
"He" simply knelt there, bowing his head humbly. From his throat came a raw, intermittent sound, choked with tears—a sound resembling a human infant learning to speak.
"Mas... ter... Zhi... zhi... is... back..."
Tian Shuangxin froze.
That voice, though a man's timbre, possessed a rhythm and a unique stress on certain syllables that instantly triggered memories of the tone she used when teaching Zhizhi to "speak."
It was identical.
More importantly, she felt it.
Following that red thread, a scalding, pure, and even pleading love crashed against the chambers of her heart like a tidal wave.
She fought down the physiological urge to vomit. She told herself: This isn't Sato. This is my Zhizhi. This was the hero who stood in front to protect the white mice, the silly child who would still search for her in a dream even after she had sold him.
Tian Shuangxin slowly extended those tiny white-furred paws.
The moment her fingertips touched the back of the man's hand—
Voom—!
It was as if some ancient mechanism in the void had been triggered. A holy white light, too bright to behold, rose from the ground.
Within the light, Tian Shuangxin felt the fur that bound her rapidly dissolving; her bones lengthened, and her senses sharpened as they returned to her.
In the next second, the white light dissipated.
The muddy park was gone. The moonlight was gone. The terror was gone.
Tian Shuangxin had transformed back into a girl in her twenties. Dressed in simple, casual clothes, she stood barefoot upon a meadow as soft as clouds.
And before her stood the man.
Though the face was still that of Sato, Tian Shuangxin no longer retreated. She stepped forward and, with every ounce of her strength, tightly embraced those broad yet trembling shoulders.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." she wailed against his shoulder, her tears soaking the filthy suit jacket.
The red thread between them flared brilliantly.
The end held by Zhizhi was as deep a crimson as blood, yet it flickered in and out of existence due to "his" visceral repulsion for Sato's body. The other end, tied to Tian Shuangxin's wrist, was as pale as a sliver of moonlight—faded by her extreme guilt and self-doubt—yet it remained as steady as a mountain, tethering them together.
With that embrace, the entire dream world suddenly shattered and reformed.
When Tian Shuangxin opened her eyes again, she thought she had arrived in Heaven.
This was a world without pain.
The sky was a warm, cerulean blue, free of smog and industrial rot. The air carried the fragrance of greenery and a sweetness akin to honey.
There were no sounds of quarreling, no clamor of haggling.
Tian Shuangxin saw that on the distant streets, humans and animals coexisted.
It was not domestication, nor was it slavery.
She saw a small boy riding on the back of a stag; the stag moved with a leisurely pace, occasionally bowing its head to nibble on roadside wildflowers. She saw several elders sitting on a bench, surrounded by flocks of pigeons and squirrels; these creatures seemed like humans themselves, patiently listening to the elders tell stories of the past.
Every living being was connected by a red thread.
Xu Wanzhen sat by a fountain nearby, cradling her bandaged calico cat. The cat's eyes were no longer wary; instead, it rubbed its chin lazily against the girl's face.
Luo sat with his old yellow dog. The dog's ribs were no longer visible, its fur as smooth as silk, panting happily with its head resting securely on Luo's lap.
Such scenes were everywhere, a breathtaking sight.
Some red threads connected a single pair—a lifelong companionship.
Others connected a multitude. Far off, a graceful young woman held thousands of fine red threads in her palm, leading back to countless stray cats and dogs leaping around the street corners.
There was even a giant sea turtle floating in mid-air, hundreds of red threads trailing from its thick shell to people on the ground who had once rescued it from the ocean.
This was an ocean of goodwill, a sanctuary for every soul that had treated life with tenderness.
"Miss Tian?"
A hesitant call broke Tian Shuangxin's reverie.
Luo walked over. He looked at Tian Shuangxin, stunned for a moment, before turning his gaze toward Zhizhi standing behind her.
Luo's expression was incredibly complex; he instinctively moved to shield his old yellow dog.
There was shock, wariness, curiosity, and an indescribable sense of the uncanny.
After all, the "man" before him was the first victim of the global live-streamed execution—the blood-soaked Sato.
But now, this man stood obediently behind Tian Shuangxin, his eyes as clear as a newborn child's.
"Is... is he that fancy rat?" Luo lowered his voice, taking a half-step back.
The people around them began to notice the commotion.
As one of the "protagonists" of the Judgment, Sato's face was far too recognizable.
People began to whisper and gossip, causing a ripple in the tranquil atmosphere. But soon, their attention was drawn to something else—the red thread.
Everyone was staring at the thread between Tian Shuangxin and Zhizhi.
A helpful-looking middle-aged woman leaned in, pointing at the flickering line. "Excuse me, young lady, why does your red thread look like that? One side is terrifyingly dark and won't stop blinking, and the other is as faint as smoke. What does that mean?"
Nearby, an intellectual-looking man in glasses pushed up his frames. He stared at the red thread for a long time before sighing softly.
"It means... their hearts are not in sync."
The air fell silent in an instant.
"One is desperately trying to draw near, while the other is too paralyzed by fear to truly accept him," the middle-aged man analyzed. "The souls may be embracing, but if their hearts are not perfectly aligned, this thread... mark my words, it will snap sooner or later."
Tian Shuangxin and Zhizhi both fell into silence.
Zhizhi bowed his head in shame, staring at those hands stained with sin; meanwhile, Tian Shuangxin felt a dull ache in her chest—she realized that even in this dream, she could not entirely erase the terror triggered by the face of "Sato."
At the other end of the dreamscape, shrouded in dense fog and shadows, the world took on a desperate, iron-grey hue.
There, the true nightmare was only just beginning.
Those who once found joy in cruelty, who turned a blind eye to the suffering of living beings, or who fueled the fire of malice online—the "bystanders"—had all been cast into a different kind of dream.
It was a primordial wilderness.
No civilization, no laws—only the most primitive slaughter.
This crowd discovered with horror that they had lost human speech and logic, transformed into a pack of mindless, primitive organisms.
Then, a more cruel rule emerged:
Those with the deepest malice, who had personally inflicted violence, became the most powerful predators in the dream. They were bloodthirsty, brutal, and tirelessly prowled the plains for prey.
Those with shallower malice—the ones who had merely ignored the pain or laughed it off—became the trembling prey.
Every bite, every devouring act, was happening for real.
As the predators sank their fangs into the throats of the prey, they felt no pleasure. Instead, thousands of agonizing screams exploded in their minds.
These were the desperate roars emitted by every life they had ever harmed in its final moments.
The sound shattered their sanity, leaving them in such agony they wanted to bash their heads against a wall to end it. But they couldn't stop.
Because that was the "instinct" they had been granted.
A voice descended from the sky: "Since you once proclaimed that 'the law of the jungle is only natural,' and since you once reveled in the pleasure of presiding over life and death, then now, you shall become the eternal cogs of that very rule."
In the darkness, they bit and wailed endlessly, looking exactly like the creatures they once dismissed as "toys," "venting blocks," or "consumables."
High above, atop the Celestial Ladder—the junction between reality and divinity.
Qinghong stood behind the Beast God, looking down at the polarized dreamscapes below.
On one side was the warm island of red threads; on the other, the bloody, primitive wilderness.
Her brow furrowed deeply, her gaze finally landing on Tian Shuangxin and Zhizhi.
"Great Beast God..." Qinghong asked softly, a trace of pity in her voice, "Will Zhizhi succeed this time? He is clearly trying so hard, but that thread... why is it still flickering?"
The Beast God stood with hands behind Her back, Her golden eyes devoid of joy or sorrow, reflecting only an endless depth.
After a long silence, She spoke, Her voice sounding as if it came from the ancient primordial chaos:
"Though I am revered by all beasts, the Gates of the Heart cannot be forced open by divine power alone."
"Though he possesses the innocence of a rat, he has inherited the filthiest shell in this world. This repulsion stems from the soul's own self-destruction."
The Beast God paused, Her tone carrying a sliver of expectation that even Qinghong could not fully grasp:
"Only when that woman can willingly accept this broken frame and cease to view it as a demonic husk; and only when Zhizhi can truly unify his form and spirit to forge a whole, true self from his shattered heart..."
"Only then shall this tribulation be resolved."
Qinghong only half-understood, but she realized one thing: this was no longer a simple punishment. It was the deepest trial of "Love and Acceptance."
A God can rewrite the rules, but a God cannot rewrite the human heart.
"But what if..." Qinghong wanted to ask more.
But the Beast God did not answer. She turned away, gazing deeper into the reaches of the Celestial Ladder.