Chapter 109: Loneliness Ignited Like a Matchstick

In just a week, the study, once merely cluttered with scattered books, had transformed into a chaotic storage room. Small pet cages lay on the floor, each housing a hamster labeled from “One” to “Seven.” On an empty shelf stood a birdcage, and perhaps due to its owner’s taciturn nature, the parrot named “Smog” had yet to utter a single chirp.

During this week, Adonis had gone nowhere except for a single trip to the pet market. Every day, he immersed himself in studying his innate talent—an obsession that had led him to fully understand the power he called “Mind.”

This was a power leaning toward tranquility. Adonis could only read the immediate thoughts of living beings; he could neither access memories nor interfere with their minds. Rather than a supernatural ability, it was a form of subtle telepathy.

The only aspect that still piqued Adonis’s curiosity was the spiritual realm he encountered in his mental state—a dimension seeming to exist parallel to this world. But the two harsh experiences he had there had already made it clear: that realm did not welcome him.

He had considered many ways to utilize this ability, but in the end, lost interest. Wealth, power, love—none stirred within him a strong desire. In the quiet of night, he would recall the woman fallen in a pool of blood, the men’s grief at the police station, and the cruel contrast with the child’s innocence—impressions deeply etched in his heart. He felt he could use his extraordinary gift to do something meaningful, but each fleeting idea was dismissed after scrutiny. If he were to become a mere psychologist, how could he truly wield this power?

Adonis opened the refrigerator, then remembered the last piece of bread had been eaten the previous night. He walked to the bathroom and looked at the man in the mirror—bearded, eyes bloodshot, both familiar and strange. Turning on the tap, he filled the bathtub with hot water and submerged himself. The watery world was exceptionally quiet; the week’s exhaustion soothed by the warmth. Faintly, he saw his younger self—the little boy sitting quietly at the garden’s edge, the fence dividing him from the street beyond, two separate worlds.

Dressed in his black trench coat, unchanged through nearly every season, Adonis dried his damp hair once more and stepped outside. Compared to those purebred Londoners who struggled to maintain their hairlines with gel, Adonis, whose appearance rivaled that of the mythical Adonis, never spent time on his looks; the day’s street winds determined his hairstyle.

Today’s London was, for a rare change, clear and sunny. The bright sunlight forced Adonis to wear sunglasses, though he disliked the glare. The direct light seemed to expose everything without refuge. Since long ago, Adonis understood a truth: there is no one-sided coin; eternal light and endless darkness do not exist. Light and shadow coexist, and the duality of things is unavoidable. Thus, he preferred the less dark overcast skies.

The city had many supermarkets, but since turning eighteen, Adonis had only shopped at one—not because Marks & Spencer was exceptional, but because he was used to walking four blocks to buy things, then four blocks back home. Yet today, he spontaneously chose another. The lingering effects of his last shopping incident still haunted him, bringing to mind the woman.

That woman, lying in a pool of blood, was already gone, yet the living had not forgotten her. Adonis had little concept of family, but he would never forget the expression on that woman’s husband’s face—empathy was humanity’s most unique trait.

As Adonis walked the street, “Mind” spread uncontrollably. The thoughts of everyone he passed were laid bare before him: a middle-aged man in a jacket pondering how to fight for his daughter’s custody before a judge; an elderly man reading a newspaper on a bench, speculating on the upcoming Brexit referendum.

Within fifteen meters, every person was like a sheet covered in words. Whenever Adonis looked at them, “Mind” uncontrollably forced him to read the script.

At first, Adonis felt guilt. He hurried past, striving not to dwell on their thoughts. But soon, he lost the strength to resist. Like a walking confessional, he absorbed everyone’s emotions indiscriminately. Joy and sorrow swirled around him like whirlpools, overturning and engulfing him.

He gave up resisting and began accepting the flood of information. He did not become numb to the chaotic emotions; instead, he felt each person’s joys and sorrows vividly. The “Mind” infinitely amplified human empathy and compassion. He looked upon each individual with pity, thinking that if there were a god in this world, that deity’s gaze upon humanity would surely be filled with such feelings.

Adonis forgot why he had left home. He calmly followed the currents of emotion, observing the world from an unprecedented perspective.

He did not know why he found himself in such a place—the acrid scent of disinfectant, the hurried white coats, flashing red monitors, the cold beeping of heart machines. This was a hospital. God’s gaze did not linger outside the emergency room; here was where Death frequented most, as if it were His tavern.

Life and death seemed routine here. Standing in the hallway, Adonis understood why he was drawn to this place. He saw a sorrowful woman sitting on a bench, eyes closed in prayer. White light emanated from her, gradually dissipating, but some merged with the walls. Adonis reached out to touch the pure white, disinfectant-scented wall. These walls had borne more sincere prayers than any church; emotions had drenched this building. In that moment, the weight of sorrow overwhelmed him.

The powerful “Mind” allowed him to empathize deeply with those struggling in pain. He clearly sensed the fear of lying on an operating table, wrapped in white cloth, consciousness fading into a blur as sharp stings pricked.

Nature, having bestowed tears upon humanity, had also given them the kindest heart.

The most primal, pure sorrow and despair brought tears streaming down Adonis’s face. The strongest emotions often did not come from patients but from those silent outside the wards, whose inner storms raged fiercer.

Adonis wandered the streets, contemplating the meaning of existence. He recalled a passage about existentialism from years ago:

Existence precedes essence. The meaning of human existence is self-assigned, not given by God. God cannot define what humans are, nor direct or dictate what they should do. For humans, existence comes before the concept of God. It is man who created God, not God who created man.

Adonis entered a church and gazed at the man hung on the cross. The words he had read clashed in his mind:

Since God is dead, morality is but preference; man is free. Nothing is inherently right or wrong.

Life has no purpose, only process; the so-called ultimate purpose is void.

No one can be purely spiritual, nor entirely without desire. The pursuit of desire lasts until death.

Life itself is a kind of void; individual existence is meaningless. There is nothing one must do in any circumstance.

Helplessness in the face of all this is the only truth humans can truly recognize.

Adonis opened his eyes to the bustling crowd on Thames Avenue, always crowded.

He staggered home. The effects of “Mind” made it impossible to walk among people. A moment’s distraction plunged him uncontrollably into the spiritual realm, where emotional light easily shattered his mental defenses, separating mind from body like a waking sleepwalker.

Adonis lay on the floor. If not for his tear-filled yet alert eyes, anyone seeing him would suspect a drug addict.

He found his nearly dusty phone and stared blankly out the window while it charged, recalling a woman whose face had faded from memory—his mother, absent for most of his life.

The contacts list had only one entry. Adonis lightly tapped.

“Hello?”

“Father, it’s me.”

Silence on the other end, then: “What is it?”

“I need tranquilizers.”

“You’re on drugs? Is philosophy too dull for you?”

“No. Just a headache.”

“This is the first time in years you’ve called me proactively, and it’s just for tranquilizers?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“I thought we might talk about something else.”

“You’ve always known my choices.”

“Adonis, humans are creatures of change. I hope next time you call it’s because you’ve changed your mind.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll have Brianna bring you what you need.”

“Who’s that?”

“My new wife.”

Adonis quietly stared at the Baroque ceiling. The intricate patterns slowly became whirlpools swallowing his thoughts. He felt no hunger or brain pain, lying as still as if submerged beneath a lake.

Only when the doorbell rang did he rise to open the door. The evening sun cast the visitor’s shadow all the way to the garden’s end.

Brianna wore a simple knee-length dress, slender yet not fragile. Unlike the seductive women bathed in cosmetics he had seen before, Brianna wore barely noticeable light makeup, her casually tied golden hair glowing with unique charm in the sunset.

“Hello, I’m Brianna Lester.” She seemed nervous; this was her first meeting with Adonis.

“Hello, I’m Adonis.” He extended his right hand.

As Brianna reached to shake, Adonis subtly withdrew his hand. “Did he send what you’re giving me?”

A bit embarrassed, Brianna knew her identity might cause resistance. She pulled from her handbag some medicine wrapped in newspaper. This time, Adonis’s hand did not evade.

“Thank you.” Leaning against the doorframe, he showed no intention of inviting her inside.

“You’re welcome. If there’s nothing else, I’ll go.” Brianna clearly sensed his attitude.

“Goodbye.” Adonis nodded and closed the door.

“Goodbye...” Brianna’s voice was swallowed by the door’s thud.

It wasn’t that Adonis bore prejudice against Brianna; he treated all his father’s wives alike. He simply despised those who sold themselves for money. He was not foolish enough to believe such women could love a man old enough to be their father, nor that his father would fall for any woman. That man was a pure businessman, dealing only in transactions, never emotions.

Adonis tore open the newspaper and laid out the boxes of medicine, beginning to read the instructions left by his father’s private doctor.

He tilted his head back and swallowed a white pill. After a moment, he still perceived the thoughts of the hamsters in their cages. He was not disappointed; the pill he took was the mildest tranquilizer among them.

Finally, Adonis’s world fell silent. He glanced at the drug he had just injected—“Lofentanyl.” No official leaflet existed; his father’s doctor’s assistant had handwritten special instructions: “This drug’s analgesic potency is 30,000 times that of morphine and is the strongest known opioid. It is prohibited for human use. Diluted, it serves as material for whale hunting anesthetic darts.”

Had the diligent doctor not been on leave, Adonis might never have obtained so many tranquilizers. This week, the assistant replacing the doctor was a freshly graduated academic, whose meticulousness was evident. Ten hours ago, the Lofentanyl still lay on the laboratory’s synthesis bench.

Adonis completely lost his “Mind” ability. Though his mind also dimmed, he felt unprecedented peace.

So be it. No longer thinking of humanity, no longer feeling emotions—listening to all beings was God’s task. Adonis was only mortal, and could be nothing else.

Escape may be shameful, but it was effective. With drugs, Adonis passed a few peaceful days and resolved to abandon his abilities, to live an ordinary life. But fate never permits those under its gaze to retreat.

He opened his eyes; a book pressed against his chest made it hard to breathe. He grabbed it and saw it was “Thus Spoke Zarathustra.” He remembered the book—it should have been on the top shelf. Like its author, it carried an air of absurdity. It must have fallen from the highest shelf, striking his chest.

Adonis flipped it open and read: “If there were a God, how could I endure not being that God? Therefore, there is no God!”

He thought: that man was forever mad, yet terrifyingly lucid.

“There are too many books.” Adonis looked around at the study, resembling ruins left by war. He decided to dispose of some of them.