The House of Spiders: The Ring Nursefather Hong Lu's Story

Such vibrant freshness, even after an entire day outside the storage.

In a mere month, you've absorbed the finer points of this technique like a sponge - down to the microscopic subtleties only relentless obsession can hope to capture.

A chalky-white gallery showered in even dryer, sterile light.

Laid upon the sharp-angled machine palm was a beating, bright-red heart. Just as the child observed earlier, there was even a vibrant sheen to it, as though it was only recently removed from "storage" - or a body.

Faust intends to commit your teachings in their entirety to Faust, down to the smallest marginalia.

Because Faust is a genius.

You may succeed yet indeed. Many Students have I cultivated under my tutelage, but I have not seen anyone master the arts as quickly as Faust does... not since that child.

I have no more heart-sculpting lessons to give. Starting tomorrow, we will shift our focus to the details.

Ah. Do you mean to let Fascia partake in your artwork again?

... Yes. It would be best if Fascia experienced the work in the most holistic manner - through her digestive organs.

Bravo... Utter perfection, both the journey and the destination.

The child closed his eye, his lips drawing a satisfied smile.

His bliss could be attributed not only to his reunion with this long-lost delight of guiding a protégé, but also to the fact that the protégé was a rare kind of voracious genius who readily devoured his teachings.

When do you expect Fascia to be completed?

... Uncertain as of yet. The intensity of dedication seems to directly correlate with the anxiety about shortcomings.

Maestro, how much time... did you dedicate to perfecting Tibia?

Many years, a decade of which was solely dedicated to sculpting and polishing its form.

The child gazed down upon Tibia, his eye gleaming not with pride, not with love, but... something more.

When Tibia earned its status as a Magnum Opus, it was for its... plasticity.

It retains the nigh-infinite possibilities of the human corpus: an automated judgment to instinctively transform, lengthen, and harden itself in response to environmental stimuli.

My colleagues at The Ring were most captivated by Tibia, but... Alas, Tibia was a once-in-a-lifetime project, as its creation consumed the entirety of my physical corpus.

If plasticity is the primary concern, perhaps the corpus of another, worthy of aesthetic appreciation, could have been used as medium for your next project?

The corpora of others are unfamiliar media when compared to one's own. After all, none knows the body more intimately than its owner - potentialities and limitations alike. Mine, I perceive in exact precision. The act of artistic creation using media with which one is so innately unfamiliar only serves to fill the world with pointless mediocrities, don't you think?

Truly, Maestro.

So... never dismiss the hours dedicated to art as squandered, Faust.

Your art has subsumed even parts of your cerebral matter - time will only perfect it.

Your choice of subject matter - so very experimental and philosophical, I might add - interests me in particular. I am curious to see what inspiration the project might offer once it is completed.

... Thank you.

The child's protégé gave him a light nod of appreciation, but soon lifted her eyes to inquire, her voice curious.

If I may be so bold, Maestro...

Could you... tell me the reason why you have not removed your other eye and your hair?

I seek perspective, to explore different avenues in this existential meditation.

Aha... Well asked.

To begin... this isn't my "hair." It is a sort of prosthesis, painstakingly woven with organic fibers.

Perhaps one day I shall teach you this technique as well. Indeed, its intricacies pale abreast blood vessels or tendons, but... the imitation of hair can be an illuminating learning process to learn how color composition creates detail, and how lines can come together to form a sense of depth.

As for this eye...

Yes, I would be remiss to abandon such an indispensable window upon which inspirations are reflected. However...

... I must be considerate of the gracious host of audience who, from just behind my eye, appreciate my life and artistic endeavors within.

Audience...? Do you mean to say that your eye is a... prosthesis... "connected" elsewhere?

Not quite. Though it is an... "inheritance," it is also a precious jade... that I alone must safeguard.

Fuhu, there once was a time when I thought it was but a tool to quell their boredom, something to let them see the world outside.

But once I studied it myself, once I explored its intricacies... I must say, I was positively flabbergasted. My, it even helped me understand that there was something gramps and grannies simply could not let go.

Yes, what a fascinating creation it is.

And that... is why I did not integrate it into Tibia. So that it may fulfill the worth inhered in its existence.

Hm... I see.

Has my answer been helpful enough?

Oh. Yes. It was but a question born out of contemplation over the concept of "connection."

The protégé's curiosity was yet to be fully sated, but the child simply nodded in acceptance.

Acceptance that his protégé had already matured, paving her path that diverged from his own.

She merely needed a question to confirm the gaze of others, no more.

Very well, then...

... let us call it a day.

Said the child, noticing a flickering light by his wrist.

Ah, do we have guests?

Yes, we do. The Corridor has seen quite a lot of... uninvited guests as of late.

Uninvited guests...?

Visitors with intentions other than to appreciate my gallery. Some of them discourteous enough to vandalize my installations or, in more severely troublesome cases, attack me.

Should you will me so, I could assist with trouble of such nature -

That won't be necessary. All outcomes are in unpredictable flux until they are experienced firsthand, no?

If these visitors are the civil kind, it would only be right that I return their kindness by playing the curator to this gallery of mine - with the recent addition, it would indeed be quite the timely visit for them.

I must admit, I am also motivated by a curiosity to find out whether my newfound intent during my tenure here has been properly communicated.

The child gave a faint smile, then began descending the spiral staircase alongside the protégé.

It was, indeed, no false alarm.

A squad of people, all dressed in bright blue gear, was wandering through the gallery of art installations.

Though it was quite a spacious hall, they were threading their way between the sculptures with extra caution...

Has this location ever been recorded before? By the looks of it, we've just walked into one of The Ring's galleries.

No, I think we might've stepped wrong somewhere along the way. ... This might be the first time this location's been observed.

... and from the tense anxiety tinting their voices as they talked to each other, it was clear that they had stumbled in here by accident.

Hey, who knows... Might be one of those places where no one survived to deliver the report -

Greetings.

...!

There's been a recent influx of guests in the same uniform as yours.

Ah, could it be that you are their colleagues? If only you had made a group reservation ahead of your visit... I would have prepared a more structured curation for our visitors. I don't suppose you were terribly interested in that?

Great. I suppose he's the one who caused all those no-returnee expeditions...

Prepare to engage - !

Non.

My, it seems that today's guests are quite impatient.

The strangers in blue all raised their weapons and braced for a fight, but the child returned their hostility with a graceful, amicable bow.

Allow me to introduce myself first - I am Hong Lu, Maestro, and the proud owner of this gallery.

A private gallery, I might add; we rarely receive guests who lack even the frailest connection to this establishment... let alone an invitation or a reservation.

... Still, I will always view the expanding accessibility of art to the public as a positive development, regardless of how it occurs.

"Art?" What, is that what they call these bone chunks -

Let's not provoke him. I think we just walked into a "Corporist" gallery of The Ring.

I don't want to find out how he'll react to negative reviews of his work -

No, no. This is most wonderful.

That a complete layperson could possess the knowledge of the art movement I spearhead.

So... we're good?

It is true that many without the predilection toward gore find it difficult to appreciate the aesthetic philosophy of Corporist art.

As much as I desire to invite many to delve headfirst into this artistic discipline, I mourn the reality that there are restricting hurdles that prevent understanding.

That is why I have sought out a new avenue of contemplation the day I became a Maestro.

Knowingly or not, every corner, every side, every surface of your lives is touched by movements of art.

If I could weave and coalesce those slightest brushes into a singular, all-encompassing masterpiece, something that could move the hearts of all fellow men... Yes, then I could be said to have created the true magnum opus of the century.

And that was the child's honest, genuine belief.

As others placed the blame upon him for the movement's struggles, for the absence of its anchor, he slowly faded away from the mainstream and became a has-been so far removed from his prime...

... But even after he arrived at the House of Spiders, he never once stopped creating his art for that singular purpose.

Art that could be understood and appreciated by every resident of the City, even those without the slightest connection to the discipline. A thread that makes kindred souls out of all humanity.

And the end of that lone, red thread was looped at the tip of his fingers, the culmination of his endeavor.

This thread is twined threefold from the tendons of the right heel cord, taken from a... certain "material" that flickered my first light of inspiration.

The subject matter: Deconstruction... and reinvention.

Let's follow the thread, shall we? Please, do join me as each artwork of my oeuvre tells its tale, and... slowly familiarize yourselves with it.

... Ah.

854 signals foun - Wait. Is this... They're all... organic tissue?

The readings are coming from... they're above us. No, under us. Wait, no. Behind the curtains, inside the pillars - they're everywhere.

And now, we together witness the moment of convergence.

Excitement pulsing through his machine body, the child gently tugs on the thread...

... and the two lost souls, unwitting and unwilling participants to this performance, watch helplessly as a red-and-pale something emerges from every surface around them with a discomforting din.

The child's research, his studies, honed and perfected over many years in the House of Spiders...

This is... disgusting.

Who in their right mind... would call this... art?

... Oh please, don't give up so quickly.

... may have culminated in yet another failure.

Now, the show begins.

But it may be that failures and the like no longer matter to the child.

For he is but a madman, a Maestro who has long since forgotten his once-desperate desire to be understood, to be acknowledged.

The lack of acknowledgement from the audience only signified the dullness of their sensibilities, after all.

He had faith that one day, someone will arrive with due recognition.

Title: Corpus Theater.

Do enjoy.