This is a city floating on the water.
The city is called Fontaine. The first time I walked into this city, I was a little dazed. The water flows under the city, and people walk on the water. The houses lean against the water light, the streets are like floating bridges, the day is clear, and the lights are reflected in the water at night, just like in a dream painting.
Traveler, I am a stranger, but I don’t feel lonely. Because this city has a wonderful intimacy-not to greet you enthusiastically, but quietly, in your silence, pull you into their lives.
Catherine is a woman who does things neatly. She was responsible for assigning the daily commissions of Fontaine – it sounds like a big word, but it was actually some chores in the market. For example: helping a researcher to retrieve a broken device, helping the court to deliver a document, clearing disturbing ghosts on the river bank… These jobs are just “tasks” in the eyes of others, but in my eyes, they are small paths that open to people’s hearts.
I first dived underwater to repair a device that was neither big nor small. The water was really cold, like jumping into an ice hole in the north when I was a child, shivering, and even my teeth were chattering. But my heart was warm. Because it was the hard work of the researcher, and it was a screw that could not fall off in the city’s water veins. When it was installed, it seemed as if the whole city breathed a sigh of relief.
Let’s talk about delivering documents, a letter, to the court. This job is too ordinary, but as you deliver it, you will find that this city is not built only by water, it also has rules and order, some people believe in the law, and some people sleep soundly because of a document.
The ghost thing is more like the exorcism ritual in the old countryside. They hid behind the mist, silently, disturbing people. I waved my weapon to drive them away, the children around me clapped their hands, and the old man nodded and smiled. Those “thank you” that were never said were hidden in pairs of eyes.
After each task, Catherine would say: “The reputation has improved.” I didn’t understand at first. Later I understood that this was Fontaine’s recognition of an outsider, a slowly rising trust. Just like between neighbors, if you help him once, he will hand you a bowl of hot soup; if you help him again, he will leave a light for you at the door.
What moved me even more was that these tasks were small but real. They were not as fierce as heroes saving the city, but they had a little bit of warmth. Every time I walked on the street, I met that researcher who nodded to me and that old man who called me “friend”, I knew: this city has remembered me.
The city is made up of people. Streets, buildings, water flows, and systems are the skeletons; and those commissions are the flesh and blood of the city, the connection between people.
I remember the alley in my hometown when I was a child. Neighbors helped each other. They knew which child was crying and which light was still on. Now in the world of games, in the streets and alleys of Fontaine, I have experienced the long-lost human touch again.
Later, I exchanged for the “Phantom Identifier” and “Folding Light Cone” – these props are “rewards”. But I think the biggest reward is that every day you spend in this city will not be wasted. You are not a tool for running errands, but a participant, a connector, a strange but sincere person, accepted by another world.
This makes me believe that whether in the game or in reality, as long as you walk into life and are willing to do something for others, even if it is insignificant, you can always get a little warmth and a little trace of being remembered.
The water of Fontaine flows endlessly. People walk on the water, and their hearts sink in the water. Daily commissions are just a quiet but continuous dialogue between the city and people.
The wind blows over the water, and the lights float. I stood at the bridge head and looked back at Fontaine behind me. The city didn’t say a word, but I knew that it had silently treated me as one of its own.