In the boy's memory, his face was never to be seen by others, for he did not truly belong to this world. He was the Divine Child, and for mortals to gaze upon his true visage was an affront—one that would invite divine retribution and bring misfortune upon them.
This was the first time someone had stared so directly at the face beneath his mask.
For some reason, his cheeks gradually flushed with embarrassment. He raised his hands to cover his face, his white, tousled hair framing eyes that shimmered with unshed tears.
"You can't look at me like that!"
He didn’t want to harm anyone, nor did he wish to endure the fearful and reverent gazes of others any longer.
Xia Miao gently patted his fluffy white head. "Not only am I looking, but I’m also touching you."
The boy had never met someone as shameless as Xia Miao. He wanted to chase her away, but his mask was still in her hands.
Xia Miao rested her chin on one hand, her eyes curving into crescents as she smiled. "See? I’m perfectly fine. All that talk about misfortune befalling those who see your face is just nonsense."
The boy couldn’t help but stare at Xia Miao for a long moment, yet the beliefs ingrained in him ran deep.
"Everyone says misfortune follows those who see my face… Like Old Man Wu last time—he only glanced at me before he fell off the mountain and died."
Xia Miao scoffed. "That was his own carelessness. How is that your fault?"
"And before that, Auntie Li choked during dinner and passed away."
"She must have been eating too fast and couldn’t breathe. That’s all."
The boy pressed his lips together. "And before that, Uncle Li, who brought me meals, just brushed against me. After he went back, he drank some water and died."
"He probably choked on it. Older people are fragile—small things can take them. But none of that has anything to do with you."
The boy looked lost. "It… doesn’t?"
"Of course not. If you really had the power to curse people so easily, couldn’t you have just brought misfortune to those who locked you up and escaped long ago?"
The boy lowered his head and fell silent.
He didn’t want to hurt anyone and had convinced himself he was good. But deep down, dark thoughts sometimes surfaced—if only those white-robed people would die, he wouldn’t be trapped here anymore.
"What have they done to you?!" Xia Miao’s voice trembled with anger as she grabbed his hand, pushing up his sleeve to reveal pale skin marred by scars—ghastly marks that made her heart clench.
The boy, however, was used to it. "These are just training scars."
"What kind of training?"
"To become a god who protects everyone, I must endure this."
Xia Miao was stunned. "Become a god?"
The boy nodded. "They say I’m the Divine Child."
He bore features unlike anyone else—snow-white hair, pale skin, untainted purity, and crimson eyes like gemstones or flickering flames. The town’s records held no other like him in its entire history.
Thus, he must have been sent by the heavens. If "used correctly," he would lead the people to prosperity.
But as more and more misfortunes occurred, whispers began to shift.
At first, when one or two people died, the rational dismissed it as natural. But as the deaths piled up, so did the claims of a "Divine Child’s curse." Soon, even the reasonable were swept up in the hysteria.
The adults claimed his heart had darkened—that as the Divine Child, he had strayed from his purpose, inviting divine wrath. Thus, he must be punished to atone for the calamities he brought.
Xia Miao found it absurd.
These adults, powerless to change their own fates, pinned their hollow hopes on a child of six or seven—as if that could mask their own incompetence.
"You’re not the Divine Child," Xia Miao said firmly. "You’re just an ordinary boy. You can’t bring happiness to everyone, nor can you curse them."
The boy’s ruby-like eyes reflected Xia Miao’s face. "But… I’m different from all of you."
"You’re different because you’re sick."
"I’m… sick?"
Xia Miao nodded. "There’s a condition called albinism. You’re not the only one with it—out there in the world, many others have hair and eyes as beautiful as yours."
The boy had never left this mansion, nor had anyone ever spoken to him like this. He hadn’t known he was ill, let alone that others like him existed.
The revelation shook him, leaving him dazed.
Xia Miao squeezed his hand. "I’ll take you away from here."
The boy hesitated, unsure whether to trust this unfamiliar older sister—or if he’d bring her misfortune.
But Xia Miao ignored his doubts, tightening her grip as she carried him from the dark room into the candlelit hallway.
She retraced her steps, searching for the warehouse door—perhaps the gateway between worlds. If they reached it, she could take him somewhere safe.
The boy couldn’t tear his gaze from Xia Miao’s hand holding his.
Since he could remember, no one had dared touch him. This was the first time he’d felt the warmth of another’s hand—soft, comforting.
As if discovering a wondrous new toy, he tentatively wrapped his other hand around hers. Soon, warmth spread between them, a sensation both strange and magical.
Before long, shouts erupted behind them.
"The Divine Child is missing!"
"He never leaves his room alone!"
"Find him, now!"
Xia Miao didn’t hesitate. She broke into a run, pulling the boy along.
"Just ahead! Once we reach that door, we can leave this place!"
The boy nodded obediently, murmuring a quiet, "Mm."
"Hey, 09! Over here!" Duan Shou stood at the warehouse entrance, shouting. After getting separated from Xia Miao, he’d rushed back, refusing to budge from the spot.
His eyes widened when he saw the child in Xia Miao’s grasp.
Victory in sight, Xia Miao sprinted faster. She dashed through the warehouse door with the boy—only to blink and find herself standing outside it once more.
Duan Shou, still inside, rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "What the—?"
The boy lifted his gaze to Xia Miao’s face, his ruby-like eyes blinking slowly.
