-49- This tentacle must be discarded as well.

The air suddenly grew heavy, as if even the invisible dust particles held their breath. Facing a gaze composed of broken camera lenses and bionic artificial eyes, Yvette’s face was devoid of sorrow or joy, cold and indifferent like a meticulously carved doll hollow within.

She thought to herself that perhaps only this so-called Bingyu, the mechanical doll girl, was a bit slow-witted. Observing the other mechanical dolls, they quickly noticed her human identity—this was the reasonable progression.

Nonetheless, she was unconcerned. With her current strength, destroying this small village of dozens composed of old, weak, sick, and disabled scrap robots would be as effortless as flipping a hand. If a conflict arose, the ones who should truly be afraid were on the other side.

But in the next moment—

“So… so alike!”

“By the God of Machines, this is… this is so beautiful! This young lady is simply indistinguishable from a human!”

“How did she do it? Look at her natural, graceful demeanor; I doubt I could ever attain that in a lifetime!”

“Could this be the legendary ‘Union of Man and Machine’ realm? Is she nearly human now?”

“She must be a messenger of the divine, right?”

Exclamations erupted from all directions. The mechanical dolls, pieced together from discarded parts, had their camera pupils flickering wildly, appearing particularly excited.

Yvette blinked, thinking that perhaps the script was a little off.

Her serene eyes glanced at Bingyu beside her, only to see Bingyu puffing out her soft bionic silicone face and pouting sourly, saying, “I think I’m pretty much the same…”

“Greetings, I am the ‘Grand Elder,’ the executive officer of the Agasha Black Tide branch nation. May I ask the names of our two guests?” The old mechanical doll spoke through a worn-out loudspeaker as it approached Yvette, bending its body with difficulty and bowing slightly in an awkward posture, exuding a certain gentlemanly air.

“Hello, my name is Bingyu, a traveler from the Sky Kingdom!” Bingyu responded politely.

“Yvette Loxivia, from a remote island, also a traveler,” Yvette nodded gently.

“Even the name carries such ancient charm!” The mechanical dolls, silent during Bingyu’s introduction, erupted into a commotion again upon hearing Yvette’s name.

Yvette found things increasingly odd. It seemed the mechanical dolls of this village admired humans greatly and even took pride in imitating them… Was this a local custom? Bingyu had also praised her name earlier—did this mean all mechanical dolls in this world shared this trait?

What was the cause?

Spontaneous human worship?

Or perhaps some connection to the mysterious “God of Machines”?

While pondering this, the self-proclaimed “executive officer,” apparently the village head, warmly invited them: “Dear guests passing through, don’t speak outside. Come to our reception room and have some tea, how about it?”

Tea… Glancing at the Grand Elder’s rust-covered body and the old-fashioned loudspeaker it used to speak, Yvette said, “Very well.”

She was curious to see what “having tea” meant to these mostly mouthless, broken mechanical dolls.

Guided by the Grand Elder, Yvette and Bingyu followed through countless admiring gazes, entering the heart of the mechanical doll town.

Like the abandoned towns Yvette had seen on Ish Island, this mechanical doll town’s buildings, though dilapidated and old, had fused with the local flora over many years, emanating a fresh, vibrant greenery.

Moreover, the mechanical dolls here seemed to care about cleanliness; although the pathways were cracked, weeds did not flourish wildly, appearing trimmed. Dense tree canopies intertwined above, sunlight like molten gold pierced through the leaves, scattering delicate patches of light on the ground.

The winding paths led to a tranquil retreat… Yvette observed while walking, then noticed a small grassy clearing ahead. At its edge stood a building constructed from discarded shipping containers, resembling a rusted pyramid of about four or five stories.

“Oh! Is this your home?” Bingyu curiously looked around.

“Yes, we built it ourselves,” the Grand Elder said proudly.

“I thought you might live directly in human ruins,” Bingyu remarked.

“At first, yes. Back then, our realm wasn’t advanced enough, and we thought living in human relics would bring us closer to humans,” the Grand Elder reminisced. “But after decades of cultivation, one day I suddenly realized… do you know what I realized?”

“What?” Bingyu responded eagerly.

“I found that what makes humans human is their ability to be self-reliant. From a primitive world of nothing, they built such a magnificent pre-civilization. Our lazy ways only distance us further from humans. So we abandoned our original homes and started building our own houses. This is our achievement—we call it the ‘Container Apartment.’ Quite nice, isn’t it?”

Listening to the Grand Elder, Yvette examined the crude container pyramid, seeing little beauty in it.

Bingyu, on the other hand, was deeply impressed, her bionic pupils dilating slightly, her cognitive core spinning rapidly as if struck by an epiphany.

“Don’t crash now…” Hearing the hum of her core working overtime in her mind, Yvette couldn’t help but worry.

…

The reception room was on the first floor of the container apartment. Before entering, Yvette saw a few small mechanical beings playing upstairs, their footsteps and roller sounds clattering loudly.

Inside the somewhat cramped room, Yvette noticed a wooden table and cabinet. Since there wasn’t much space for two people to move about, the Grand Elder entered from the opposite doorway, rummaged through a nearby shelf, and pulled out a bag of what looked like dark brown tea leaves.

“This tea… where did it come from?” Yvette asked, surprised. Though the tea leaves were certainly no longer suitable for brewing, they didn’t appear centuries old—more like recently damp and moldy.

“A few years ago, when I traveled afar, a kingdom that cultivates tea sold it to me,” the Grand Elder chuckled, showing some admiration. “In their effort to be closer to our creators, they actually opened tea plantations and learned to grow tea. I deeply respect their dedication. Though it was a bit pricey—I traded many human artifacts found in ruins to get just two bags, and I’ve been reluctant to drink it.”

“Creators?” Yvette asked cautiously. “Are humans your creators? Then what is the God of Machines to you?”

“The gods gave us souls; humans gave us bodies. So humans are our creators, while the great God of Machines is the deity we worship,” the Grand Elder said somewhat puzzled. “Is there… any concern from our guest?”

“I apologize for my ignorance. The places I have visited are rather remote, without even a sanctuary,” Yvette said.

“Oh, kind lady, why do you sound like an illiterate?” Bingyu muttered beside her. “Next time, ask me first, or I’ll be embarrassed to say I’m with you.”

When did we become ‘together’?

Yvette glanced at her but said nothing, silently watching the Grand Elder continue brewing tea.

Using a coarse metal cup, the Grand Elder placed the moldy tea and some not-so-clean cold water from a barrel inside, and the tea was considered brewed.

Looking at the cup pushed in front of her, Yvette didn’t move to drink but glanced sideways.

Bingyu, a relatively new mechanical doll, seemed capable of drinking water and downed the cold, moldy tea in one gulp.

That mouth can’t be trusted… Yvette thought, then looked at the Grand Elder opposite her.

Unlike Bingyu, the Grand Elder had only a camera for a head; the rest was empty metal plates, with the loudspeaker mounted on its shoulder.

Under Yvette’s watchful gaze, the Grand Elder, like a connoisseur, solemnly lifted the cup with both hands and poured the tea over the empty space where its head should be—predictably, all the tea spilled onto its chest plate.

Yet, the Grand Elder seemed unfazed, set the cup down, and with a tone of lingering delight said, “Ah, it’s been a long time since I last drank this. The tea remains as sweet and delicious as ever—truly one of the most beloved beverages of human civilization.”

What on earth did you drink? Doesn’t your conscience ache to call that sweet and delicious…?

Yvette thought expressionlessly. If she were a psychologist, she could probably diagnose the Grand Elder with cyber-psychosis on the spot—it was utterly absurd.

But since the Grand Elder had worked so hard, Yvette sighed and picked up the cup, pretending to drink. At the moment she brought it to her lips, a tiny white tendril sprouted from her fingertip, devouring most of the strange liquid in the cup.

That tentacle can’t be trusted either, she thought.