The cage called “Hirofi”

Unbelievable!

That was the only word that came to An Ran's mind after he had initially digested the information.

He, An Ran, a staunch atheist, a corporate slave whose sharp edges had been worn down by the concrete jungle of the city, an ordinary person who couldn't even control his own life—had actually... become a god?

Or a goddess?!!!

No, that's not right.

That conclusion was too hasty and too absurd.

This must be some form of extremely realistic near-death experience.

Perhaps after being declared brain dead, the remaining neurons were randomly firing, integrating all the random information from his subconscious—like the Western fantasy magic-themed browser games he had played and the online novels he had read—into this absurd dream.

The "life flashback" before death!!! 

Yes, that must be it!! 

Anran desperately sought a rational explanation deep within his consciousness. 

He refused to accept the identity of "Hylophia Kainestis," which sounded like a nickname given to oneself by someone in the late stages of "middle school syndrome." 

He must find evidence, decipher this "dream," and wake up from it.

This time, An Ran was no longer passively accepting it; he was ready to take the initiative. 

He set "Hirofi" and "Hui Guang Sheng Nu" as keywords and conducted precise searches and retrievals in the flood of information. 

This process was tedious, lengthy, and extremely mentally draining.

Each successful "lock-on" felt like straining to discern half a line of lyrics from among tens of thousands of simultaneously broadcasting radio stations. But An Ran, relying on the extraordinary endurance honed by being repeatedly tormented by countless "client dads" in his previous life, persevered.

Gradually, more and more information fragments were retrieved from the depths of the sea, piecing together an increasingly clear—and increasingly chilling—picture in his mind. "…Merciful Holy Maiden of the Radiant Light, please forgive my sins. I should not have dozed off during yesterday's ceremony.

This was the daily confession of a young priest, his voice filled with the fear of divine punishment characteristic of youth.

"...Great Hylophia Kainestis, may your glory forever shine upon the human empire of Aredoria.

"Please bless my merchant captain's long journey, so that the silk we are transporting may fetch a good price. I am willing to offer you eleven gold coins..." This was a merchant's prayer, every word tinged with shrewd calculation.

...Holy Maiden, please save my daughter! She hasn't broken her fever in three days, and if this continues, she will die! I bow to you, and I am willing to trade ten years of my life for her safety..."

This was a mother's desperate cry, her grief and helplessness so heavy that it shook Anran's consciousness.

The Human Empire of Aredoria. 

The Radiant Holy Maiden, Hylophia Celestia. 

These two names were etched deeply into his consciousness. 

Every prayer he heard, no matter how different the content or how varied the emotions, ultimately pointed to the same being—him! 

No! 

To be precise, it should be "Him"!

At this moment, her sense of luck was being ruthlessly stripped away bit by bit. 

And what finally broke her last psychological defense was a prayer from a child, innocent and carefree. 

"....Holy Maiden Sister, Mom said you are the most beautiful and kindest god in the world." 

"Today, the teacher took us to visit the Holy Light Cathedral, and I saw you!"

"You're so tall and big, taller than the giants in storybooks!" 

"Your dress is covered in so many gems, sparkling in the candlelight, more beautiful than the stars in the sky." "When I grow up, I want to be just like you!" Saint Hui Cathedral. 

Tall. 

A dress with gems. 

These keywords combined like a black lightning bolt, instantly shattering An Ran's last illusions. Anran finally understood, 

this wasn't a hospital, nor a dream. 

He had truly traveled through time and space, and been placed inside a giant statue within a building called "Saint Hui Cathedral" in the capital of another world. 

He was Hylophy Celestis, the guardian deity of this empire. 

Irony?

A ordinary person who couldn't even afford his mortgage in his previous life had, after death, been "promoted" to a sacred statue of a goddess worshipped by millions. A goddess? 

Was this some made-up story from a forum? 

But what was this "sacred statue"? It was an immobile, speechless, and insensitive cold shell carved from stone or some other material. Not only that, but it is also an information processing terminal, forced to receive millions of "service requests" from "clients"—endless requests ranging from national affairs to neighborhood disputes, from birth, aging, sickness, and death to trivial matters. The sheer volume of information is enough to crash this computer. 

It is also an eternal prison.

Pull

When this realization became fully clear, a despair deeper than death slowly yet irresistibly rose from the depths of his consciousness.

He recalled a science fiction novel he had read in a previous life, about a digital life form uploaded to the network, achieving immortality yet losing all freedom. Goodness!

Is that what I am now?

Cyber Saint, Cyber Goddess?!

In his previous life, An Ran had found that concept cool, but now that he had fallen into such a predicament, he finally understood how terrifying that torture truly was.

Eternal life, accompanied by eternal confinement.

He, An Ran, had already died.

And she, Hylophia Celestia, had just begun her endless, hopeless sentence.

"What a fucking blessing..."

In the "time" that followed, he abandoned all futile thoughts and struggles, entering a state of near-autistic "idle mode."

He lay there numbly, "listening" as the prayers washed over his consciousness.

Just lying there? 

He heard the Knights Templar singing hymns praising her before setting out to crusade against heretics. 

He heard noblewomen in their luxurious private prayer rooms competing over who had donated larger, brighter gems for the divine statue.

He also heard the farmers in the fields praying for a good harvest so they could barely afford to pay the double taxes owed to the church and the lord. ......

Each of these voices represented a living, breathing life. 

At this moment, Anran felt like a voyeur, peering into the empire known as Aredoria.

He saw the filth and decay lurking in the shadows of faith, and felt the icy coldness of despair. 

Gradually, his heart—which had died as "Anran" and long since grown numb—seemed to be reawakened and softened by the daily listening, producing a faint ripple so subtle he himself did not notice it.

He was no longer merely a passive receiver of information. He began to subconsciously distinguish and categorize, 

feeling a hint of "warmth" for genuine kindness, and a surge of "irritation" for naked evil. He was no longer Anran, the corporate drone obsessed with his own KPIs. 

But he was also not yet Hylophia, the exalted saint, the divine being.

He is a unique observer caught between the two.