Chapter 110: People Rejected This Sorrow

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Adonis arrived at a somewhat unfamiliar university. He struggled slightly as he examined his diploma once more, reaffirming that he had indeed graduated from this institution.

His university life had roughly formed a triangle between the library, the dormitory, and the teaching buildings, so beyond these, he knew little of the campus facilities. Fortunately, the place he intended to visit was etched firmly in his memory.

Adonis skillfully found the librarian. After presenting his alumni identity, he gained the qualification to meet with the relevant person in charge. However, donating books was not a significant matter; nearly every year, a group of scholars and alumni made donations to the campus library. After arranging a time for the staff to come and organize the books, the person responsible resumed their work.

Adonis found a seat inside the library, deciding to take a good rest in this quiet place. If not for that copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, he might still be lost in a sweet dream.

When he awoke, it was already tea time. Stretching his back, Adonis decided to get something to eat. As he rose, his sudden movement caught the attention of a nearby reader.

Adonis instinctively followed the gaze and saw a pale girl by the window, her skin as if untouched by sunlight all year round. Her hands, holding the book’s pages, were overly slender and graceful. Her serene face resembled the snow of the Alps, and her thin lips stirred an irresistible urge to kiss. The black school uniform perfectly framed her youthful elegance. Noticing Adonis’s look, the girl returned a polite smile before resuming her reading.

Life unfolds in many stages, and there are countless ways to divide them—by age or appearance—but the most defining moments often come from an event or a meeting with someone, after which you become a completely different person.

In Adonis’s peaceful life, these changes seemed connected. Perhaps it was the powerful sedatives he was taking, or perhaps the sharpness of Cupid’s arrow. As he left the library, the image of that elfin beauty still lingered in his eyes.

Adonis could even feel his brain releasing a substance called phenylethylamine, while dopamine surged, sending signals of exhilaration and joy, and norepinephrine made his heart race.

“These are just chemical distractions,” Adonis murmured as he walked away from the library. But after only a few steps, he found himself drawn back.

“But she is just too beautiful.” The sedatives had closed off his “mind,” yet simultaneously amplified certain feelings.

Clutching a book, Adonis returned to his seat. He had no real interest in what Shakespeare’s Sonnets said; instead, he secretly watched the girl by the window.

His thoughts were in turmoil. He had always believed love at first sight was a fabrication spun by mediocre poets to deceive noble ladies, yet upon seeing this girl, he felt utterly defeated.

For a whole hour, the Sonnets remained unopened, stuck at the table of contents.

Adonis felt as though he had been tossed into heaven and soaked in hell. The emotions he generated made him acutely aware of the sedatives rapidly dissipating from his system; two days had passed since his last dose, and his “mind” was stirring again.

He lifted his head and their eyes collided. Like a thief, he quickly looked down, fumbling with his book.

“Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.”

These lines seemed to act as a switch. As Adonis finished reading them, a long-lost sensation enveloped him once more—his “mind” returned.

The once-sealed psychic powers burst forth in jubilation, escaping their cage. They lavishly held a grand banquet around Adonis, where everyone’s thoughts turned into exquisite dishes, unconsciously consumed and savored by him.

The girl by the window was no exception.

But when Adonis accessed her current thoughts, he looked up in disbelief, forgetting to hide behind the book in his hands.

The girl in the library gazed clearly out the window, lost in thought—she was contemplating the words of her farewell letter.

Adonis walked straight up to her. He had always been the most unnoticed child in the corner of the classroom, and due to his solitary nature, this was his first time initiating a conversation with a girl.

“Why?” The thoughts he glimpsed were so shocking that Adonis came across as unusually rude. He hastily sat down in front of the girl by the window.

She looked at him in surprise. Edith Eddy did not understand what this young man was saying and instinctively hugged her book close to her chest.

“Sorry, I mean no harm. I just...” Seeing her reaction, Adonis realized his impoliteness. He clumsily tried to explain but found himself at a loss for words.

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A normally educated person could hardly believe in his gift. Adonis decided to lie. Although unpracticed, lying before a beautiful girl seemed an instinct for a man.

“I’m a psychologist. I just guessed from your expression that you might be going through some pain and sadness. You look like you’re considering a farewell letter.” Adonis’s expression was sincere. Having never lied before, his childlike innocence made Edith choose to believe him.

“You guessed right,” Edith nodded gently.

“Please don’t commit suicide.” Adonis was anxious but not a real psychologist; he didn’t know how to continue the conversation.

“No one wants to die.” Though a faint smile graced Edith’s face, Adonis sensed profound sorrow in her heart.

“There’s so much beauty in this world. You’re still young; you shouldn’t end your life like this. Do you like the Arctic? There are polar bears and the northern lights. Besides these, there are many beautiful things. And the world after death is nothingness.” Adonis stammered. Beyond philosophy, his knowledge of the world was scant. He recalled passing a travel agency on his way here, with a poster depicting endless auroras.

“My name is Edith Eddy.” Edith smiled again, noticing the man’s embarrassment. Though wary, being cared for made it hard to respond harshly, so she remained silent.

“I’m Adonis Keith. Please don’t die. If you’re willing, we can talk—I want to help you.” Adonis urgently wished to dispel the heavy sadness surrounding the girl.

“No one is born to be destroyed, but I have no choice.” Edith closed the book against her chest, looking at this unexpected presence in the final moments of her life.

“Why?”

“If you could really read minds, you’d feel the despair and sorrow inside me. I fought but failed. I wanted to love this world, but I could do nothing. I did nothing wrong, yet fate shattered me.” The sorrow radiating from Edith was still vivid.

“Do you know about ALS? It’s a hopeless disease with no cure. Even if a family gives all they have, it’s useless. My father died from it. I watched him weaken in pain until he passed. Do you know the grief of seeing your loved one die slowly? Do you know what my father thought lying in that white hospital room? The plastic catheters were his lifelines. He lived expressionlessly in the public eye. Only now do I understand he lived for us.”

“But no matter what, you shouldn’t think that way.” Adonis’s voice sounded pale and weak.

“This disease gradually takes away your ability to move—first twitching fingers, then numb limbs—like someone steals the part of your brain that senses. Invisible ice slowly encases you. The brain is the last to freeze, so you can clearly observe everything. Death follows me closely, but I want to die with dignity. I gave up prolonging life with machines in hospitals. I choose to spend my remaining short time awake and, if nothing unexpected happens, I will end my life myself because I cannot bear to die undignified in a hospital bed.” Edith spoke calmly, as if recounting something unrelated to her.

“You could call the police or have me sent to a nursing home with soft walls to prevent suicide, but do you think I’d thank you? You’d only prolong my pain. You stand on a so-called moral high ground, but you can’t do anything for my sorrow. You can’t change anything.”

The young girl stood beneath the clear June sky of London, contrasting sharply with the solemn, ancient Victorian buildings. She lifted her head like a laurel waiting for a gentle breeze and calmly said, “If I could choose, I want to die while still radiant.”

Adonis was at a loss for words. He wanted to say something but couldn’t open his mouth.

“Thank you for your concern, though. Later, I have something to do. It feels meaningless to do it alone. Would you come with me?” Edith smiled faintly again, like a tranquil violet.

Only when Edith sat on the lawn and took out a small cupcake from her bag did Adonis understand what she meant.

“Don’t look like you’re about to cry. This is my twentieth birthday. Not many animals live twenty years in this world. Twenty years is quite a lot.” Edith bit the cake slowly, watching the clouds drift in the sunny breeze as she spoke.

Adonis felt a tightness in his chest. He thought: she hasn’t given up. She’s been fighting her own way all along. What right did he have to say such things in the library?

“Stop staring. Who knows if anyone will celebrate my birthday with me? There’s only one cake, and it tastes good. I won’t share it with you.” Edith smiled and ate it all.

Adonis slowly lowered his hand from his chest. “Do you have a birthday wish?”

“I want to live in my world, living without pain.” Edith made her wish. Though unspoken, Adonis saw it clearly.

“May your wish come true soon.” Adonis forced a smile.

Edith stood and brushed the grass off her clothes. “It’s getting late. I have to go.”

“Goodbye, Miss Edith.”

“Goodbye, strange Mr. Adonis.”

Adonis watched the gentle, spirited girl who bore her pain silently walk away. An uncontrollable urge surged within him, finally forming a voice whispering in his mind: “She shouldn’t die alone like this. You should do something.”

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For the first time in his life, Adonis felt such a powerful yearning. The first thing he did after returning home was to continually test his abilities. Edith’s wish sparked a bold idea: if thoughts could manifest as immaterial psychic states, then he could create an immaterial world through his psychic power—a world without sorrow or pain. Repeated failures and sharp psychic shocks soon led him to hallucinate.

Neurotransmitters were produced at an extraordinary rate, only to wither instantly as if ignited. The brain, fully engaged in the “mind” state, became an unceasing furnace, and flames often brought burns.

Painful thorns grew recklessly in Adonis’s mental world, with thickets encircling his thoughts. Memories and fantasies flickered like slides. Opening his eyes, he found himself in an ocean.

He fell downward through darkness. Even bubbles did not rise. The sensation of drowning made him struggle desperately, but it was all in vain.

When his last bit of resistance was spent, Adonis had plunged into a lightless abyss.

“Why am I not dead?” was his only thought.

As if something heard his question, he was propelled by an undercurrent into even darker depths.

“This is an illusion,” Adonis thought, but he had failed again. Building a psychic world was as difficult as erecting Constantinople on a beach of sand.

Time was meaningless here, for there was no frame of reference. Space was equally so.

Only when a sensation came to his hand did Adonis realize the undercurrent had pushed him to an end.

He clenched the object in his hand—something soft and heavy—which became hot as he gripped it, burning until it stung his palm.

It was that pain that made Adonis open his eyes. He had been cast from the ocean of the psychic world back somewhere in the real world. While he roamed the psychic realm, his body had been moving under some force, as if sleepwalking.

Surveying his surroundings, the stacked bookshelves and dim lights let him easily identify the place: a library, more precisely, a non-public archive room by his experience.

He paid no mind to how he had passed the guards to get here. Looking down, he found an aged diary in his hand.

As if summoned by some forbidden call, Adonis instinctively opened the diary. Had he noticed the attached note beside it, perhaps he would not have acted so rashly.

Dear Professor,

We received your letter dated August 29, requesting a copy of the late Dr. H. Stephenson Brian’s diary for interlibrary loan. We acknowledge receipt.

The librarian has asked me to inform you that the Kester Library’s information is correct. We do possess a diary written by Dr. H. Stephenson Brian during his final days in San Diego, California, in 1928. To our knowledge, this is the only “complete” human record discussing His second son in this country. After his passing, our copyist archived a transcript in the records room. In fact, only five copies exist worldwide.

Due to the rarity of this diary, the university board strictly prohibits lending it out for interlibrary loan. However, qualified scholars may consult it onsite within the library.

Since you are currently in London, traveling to Massachusetts may be difficult within your busy schedule. We suggest you contact the doctoral staff at the British Library. We believe they can assist with interpretation, though this is not guaranteed.

Sincerely,

Taddis Presley
Librarian
Miskatonic University Library
Arkham, Massachusetts
Librarian’s Office
September 3, 1987