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Heads are dancing.

Like strange fruits holding magnolia blossoms swaying, they move as if waiting for the crow to devour them. There’s no smell of rotten flesh, nor the overwhelming stench of blood; instead, they emit a fragrance that beguiles humans, creating a delusion and causing sensory confusion.

The power that disturbs the senses.

That was the power dwelling within those fruits.

No, it would be more accurate to say it was the power that Pierre had taken on.

“Madman. Just how many shadows have you swallowed?”

Park Jinseong coldly states as he observes Pierre’s figure.

“They say shadows are the souls and spirits of people. No matter how much you claim that it’s an illusion and that it holds no meaning, that symbol will not vanish. If you have dealt with shadows your entire life, you must surely know that.

I ask, why did you feast on shadows?”

In both East and West, shadows are often likened to the souls or spirits of humans.

Just think for a moment—there are countless stories about people selling their shadows to demons, tales of vampires, and the notion that ghosts have no shadows. Shadows have always played a role in representing some inseparable ‘something’ from humans, and the absence of shadows denotes a lack of something.

Even to see one’s own reflection,

Isn’t the image in the water or mirror a shadow?

A shadow is what allows a person to exist as themselves, or enables one to perceive oneself as who they are.

When you look in the mirror, if it reflects nothing but emptiness, can you truly recognize your own appearance? Can a being that cannot even recognize its appearance really be considered a proper existence?

Once, a sage proclaimed that the world exists only because I do.

The world can only truly exist when I perceive it, and if I cannot perceive it, then the world itself cannot exist. If the world exists without my perception, if it exists when I do not, how tragic is that?

To have to judge by something other than oneself, to exist only through the gaze of others…

Doesn’t something arise?

“Pierre Martin. Did you wish to become a god?”

An existence that is sustained by faith. Something revered as a ‘divine being,’ different from transcendent beings.

Countless entities in Japan that form themselves from faith and divine power come to mind.

“It is hollow to exist only through the recognition of others. No matter how much you shout about a great tree in some region, even if that tale spreads widely, those who visit will discover nothing was there, and upon examining records, they will easily realize that nothing truly existed, and that everything was a lie.

Why do you cling so desperately to such bubbles?”

Pierre Martin answers his inquiry.

“What is a bubble?”

“We know. Those who are worshipped as gods, who bestow divine power, are indeed something different from transcendent beings. The collective unconscious of humanity gathers strength, forms a vessel derived from that human unconscious, and it is from the overflowing of that vessel that these entities are born. We are well aware of that human power, the power crafted by human perception.

Who would call divine power ‘nonexistent power’?

Who would claim those half-gods ‘do not exist’?

As surely as they exist, perception is not empty.”

“I dare to say it. Illusions and substances are related to perception, and they hold infinite possibilities. Therefore, what does the spirit matter? What does the soul matter? In the first place.”

“Did it ever hold any meaning?”

Fruits with facial features.

Those with human skin draping over them and their flesh filled with shadow move their eyeballs, gazing at Park Jinseong.

They speak to him.

“If the spirit is one criterion for distinguishing individuals, then what is the existence of the collective unconscious?”

“If the soul constitutes an individual’s essence, then what is the existence of evil ghosts and evil spirits?”

“I have encountered countless thoughts. I have observed countless ideas. Yet, none of them fit. If there were no special abilities, it might be unknowable, but in a world where they exist, they all bear contradictions and embrace errors. Among them, what is the true answer?”

“When I delve deep, I feel like I’ve reached a dead end or a wrong path, and thus I return to the starting point. I even suspect that the starting point was erroneous, so when I retreat to review it, it becomes the root where my thoughts began.”

“While doubting if that root is incorrect, I try to advance once more, only to discover another error. When I resolve to find an answer, it ends up conflicting with the previous conclusion, to the point where each blames the other as false. They cannot coexist like contradictions.”

“All that remains is the original. The pure question.”

“But can that question even be considered truly pure and clean?

Can it be said to be infallible and flawless?

I do not know. I cannot know….”

“If all of that stems from the confusion of the senses, if it results from the difference between cognition and perception, does that mean I can never obtain that answer in my lifetime? No matter how much I cling to it, can I not even grasp the shards of wisdom? If so—”

Madness swirls.

“What then are you, whose causality is distorted—!!!”

The shadow that had formed its shape begins to move.

The body that had swelled like a tree suddenly twists, warping its form, and those branches, sharp as spears, dart about like tentacles of an octopus, lunging toward Park Jinseong. Meanwhile, sharp thorns sprout from the shadows that spread chaotically across the floor, and within the massive fissures in the shadowy body, countless jagged mouths emerge.

A gaping maw.

It stretches its neck towards Park Jinseong, resembling a turtle snagging its prey, and without hesitation, it snaps shut.

Silence accompanies the closing mouth.

There’s no sound of closure, nor crunching of something being chewed.

The soundless closing mouth erased the one person who once stood there.

As if no one ever existed there at all.

From the beginning, it was an illusion, a mirage.

“Oh… the illusion has vanished.”

“The shadow has disappeared. It became an insect, intertwined with the spirit, a shadow that once existed somewhere in the soul has vanished…”

“If, having fullness in body, spirit, and soul, that is indeed a shadow, if I perceive it as an illusion, then if the one who birthed this illusion perceives it as such, it has not become the essence… then…”

“When people recognize what is replicated and reborn as real, what reason could there possibly be for that to not be real?”

“Ah…”

What remains is an empty space.

Muttering to himself with a diminishing head.

“…I suppose I must create and shape shadows…”

A shaman’s murmur echoes ominously.

* * *

In a shabby hostel in China, Park Jinseong awakens.

The place he’s in is off-limits to foreigners.

It’s a space enforced by the Communist Party, designed to separate foreigners from low-income Chinese, thus inevitably filled with the impoverished who have no money and choose to sleep rough to save on lodging.

Worn-out bedding with traces of Qi everywhere.

A deeply squashed cheap pillow.

The presence of insects crawling about.

The scenery prompts immediate questioning of why one would choose to stay in a place like this instead of at a hotel.

But this place undeniably has its merits.

Perhaps it was a person with a conscience who arranged the soundproofing, for sounds from other rooms are hardly overheard; as there is no money for CCTV, it’s safe from surveillance, and because it’s frequented by poor drifters, it attracts no undue interest. In fact, as long as one strictly observes the lodging hours and avoids engaging in serious crimes, they can do whatever they want inside without a care.

It truly serves as a suitable temporary haven.

With that, Park Jinseong opens his eyes, takes a quick glance around the shabby room, and chuckles softly.

“Heh. What a nasty temperament.”

He wasn’t trying to smash the facilities or exhibit any intention of theft.

He simply wished to have a normal conversation yet was attacked without warning.

How incredibly foul-tempered this human must be.

Of course, Park Jinseong didn’t journey there for sightseeing.

He might have planned to inspect the facilities, study some materials, and if needed, cultivate and spread insects and parasites abundantly using those facilities.

That seemed quite clear.

Still, even so, isn’t it a bit much to suddenly launch an attack like that?

“It seems he was trying to experiment with perception; in that case, couldn’t that flesh be shared a little?”

It’s a topic where both could coexist comfortably.

Pierre only needed the surface shell, and Park Jinseong could merely utilize what lay within. If that were the case, it could have been a happier and more enjoyable situation for both.

“Then again, he seems unable to escape from the heart demon, so merely having this conversation might be considered a miracle…”

Park Jinseong recalled Pierre Martin’s face glistening with madness.

The coexistence of madness and enlightenment.

The raging currents of uncontrolled emotions and erratic logic.

An excessive obsession over a singular topic…

It was undoubtedly the heart demon.

 

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