The dream was heavy now.
Chen Wei stood in the infinite library. Books surrounded him—thousands of them, millions, stretching into forever. Each book was a story. Each story was a god. Each god was someone he'd sat with.
The hearth god who threw pots. Heping.
The river god drowning in grief.
The war god fighting ghosts. Xingtian.
The woman in the apartment, waiting for a man who'd never come back.
The dancer in the theater, performing for fifty years.
The story god, lost between two versions of memory.
They were all there. All watching him. All waiting.
And he was carrying them. All of them. Stacked on his shoulders like books. Heavy. So heavy.
Dad.
His daughter's voice. Somewhere in the stacks.
Dad, you're carrying too much.
He tried to speak. Couldn't.
Put them down. Just for a moment.
He couldn't. They were part of him now.
He woke up gasping.
---
The ceiling was the same. The water stain was the same. The silence was the same.
But his chest was heavy.
Not metaphorically. Physically heavy. Like someone had placed a weight on his sternum and left it there.
He lay still, breathing slowly, waiting for it to pass.
It didn't.
His phone was on the floor. No new messages. Just Xiaolian's last text:
Xiaolian: Me too.
He stared at it for a long time. Then he got up, made instant coffee, and went to work.
---
The breakroom on Floor 47 was quiet.
Lao Xu at the table. Miao Miao by the counter. The Warrior against the wall. The Accountant by the window.
They all looked at him as he walked in.
Chen Wei sat down. Miao Miao appeared with tea. Disappeared.
He didn't drink it.
Lao Xu studied him. "You look different."
"I feel different."
"How?"
Chen Wei thought about how to explain it. The weight. The dream. The books. The gods.
"I'm carrying something," he said finally. "Something heavy. It's been there since I woke up. It won't go away."
Lao Xu nodded slowly. "That's the cost."
"What cost?"
"Listening. Sitting. Staying." Lao Xu's voice was quiet. "Every time you sit with a god, you carry a piece of them away. Their grief. Their fear. Their loneliness. You take it into yourself. That's how it works."
Chen Wei stared at him. "No one told me that."
"Would it have changed anything?"
He thought about it. Thought about Heping. About Mei. About the dancer. About the story god.
"No."
"No. That's why no one told you." Lao Xu leaned back. "You would have done it anyway. And the knowing would have made it harder."
Chen Wei looked at his tea. Still warm. Still untouched.
"How long does it last?"
"It doesn't. Not really. You learn to carry it. It becomes part of you." Lao Xu paused. "Look at me. I've been doing this for millennia. I'm full of gods. Every one I ever sat with. Every grief I ever witnessed. They're all still here." He tapped his chest. "They never leave."
Chen Wei thought about the dream. The books stacked on his shoulders. The weight.
"Is that why you're tired?"
Lao Xu smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. "Yes. That's why I'm tired."
They sat in silence. The breakroom hummed with its impossible frequency.
Then Chen Wei picked up his tea and drank it. It was perfect temperature. It always was.
He stood.
"Where are you going?" Lao Xu asked.
"To work. There's always more work."
Lao Xu nodded. "That's the other cost. You keep going anyway."
---
The cleanup that night was simple. Level 2. A minor deity of streetlights who was annoyed that people kept stealing bulbs. Chen Wei listened, nodded, suggested a sign. The god thought about it. Agreed. Cleanup successful.
But when he finished, the weight was still there.
He walked through the city, mop in hand, feeling every god he'd ever sat with. Heping's anger. Mei's fear. The dancer's longing. The story god's confusion. They were all there. All part of him now.
His phone buzzed.
Xiaolian: You okay? You haven't texted today.
He stared at the screen. She was checking on him. She was worried.
He typed:
Chen Wei: I'm carrying something. A lot of somethings. It's heavy.
Xiaolian: What kind of somethings?
He thought about how to explain. How to tell her about gods and grief and the weight of witness.
Chen Wei: Stories. People's stories. They get inside you. They stay.
A long pause. Then:
Xiaolian: I know what that means. I'm a nurse. I carry stories too. Patients. Families. Moments that don't leave.
He read it three times.
Chen Wei: How do you do it? How do you carry them?
Xiaolian: I don't know. I just do. Some days it's harder than others. But I keep going.
Chen Wei: That's what Lao Xu said. You keep going anyway.
Xiaolian: He sounds smart.
Chen Wei: He's tired. Really tired. But he keeps going.
Another pause.
Xiaolian: Maybe that's the whole thing. Not the carrying. The keeping going.
Chen Wei stared at those words.
The keeping going.
He typed:
Chen Wei: When did you get so wise?
Xiaolian: When my dad left. I had to figure things out.
He felt that. Right in the chest. Right where the weight was.
Chen Wei: I'm sorry.
Xiaolian: I know. You keep saying that.
Chen Wei: I keep meaning it.
A long pause. Then:
Xiaolian: I know that too.
He stood on the empty street, phone in hand, weight on his chest, daughter on the other end of a text message.
She knew. She understood. She was still there.
The mop glowed gold.
He noticed this time.
---
Back on Floor 47, the breakroom was empty.
Just the table. The chairs. The vending machine. Miao Miao's tea, waiting for him.
He sat down. Drank it.
The weight was still there. It would always be there.
But for the first time, it didn't feel like just his weight.
It felt like theirs too. All of them. The gods he'd sat with. The daughter who understood. The people who kept going.
He wasn't carrying it alone.
He never had been.
---
End of Chapter 15