Help Her (The Girl with June 30th) is a book about the girl.She was granted a miracle

The world calls me the God of Dreams—some also call me the Demon of Dreams. God or demon, even I find it muddled and absurd, unable to tell what kind of creature I truly am. I only know that after my death, I was appointed to govern “dreams,” “visions,” and “illusions.” Some people even worship me solely in hopes of having pleasant dreams. I was never anything vile or malicious—if they wished to dream, I let them dream. Still, everything has its own laws. To dream of what one desires, one must fulfill exactly ten conditions set forth by those who govern Dreams. If they succeed, they are granted the dream they wish for. After holding my post for thirty years and six months, I grew idle and carefree, imitating the others by “bestowing blessings.” Thus, I granted one to some random little girl. Yet barely thirty minutes and six seconds later, I was harshly reprimanded by my peers. They said I had acted foolishly—for one who governs Dreams is never allowed to bestow blessings. I stood there dumbfounded. After the matter was thoroughly explained, I was punished. Thirty strokes. The staff snapped into six pieces the moment the thirtieth blow landed. Only then did I finally realize my mistake. And so, I had no choice but to mend the wrong I had caused. Every day, I followed the girl, observing her. At night, I watched to see what thoughts she wished to dream of. After some time, I came to understand that because of my misguided grace, she was perpetually submerged in “dream-delusions.” Since childhood, she spoke to herself, imagined nonsensical things. I thought to myself: this child must surely have lost her wits. I was furious—irrationally so. Why was it that I meant to bless her, yet ended up harming her? I began to think this must be an ancient karmic enemy from countless past lives, dragging me down into a filthy mire. Enraged, I beat the Drum of Injustice to lodge a great complaint. The celestial bronze drum had not been struck for hundreds of years, yet once I beat it, gods and demons from all directions gathered to witness the affair. I reported everything in full detail to the magistrate, believing justice would surely be restored. Who could have imagined that the ruling would be even harsher? I was sentenced to six rods, each rod striking thirty lashes. Not only that—I was further punished by being ordered to follow that girl and repay the debt for the rest of her mortal life. Thirty years after my death, for the first time, I cried in grievance. Before the court, I threw myself on the ground, wailing and rolling about shamelessly before thousands of gods and demons. They laughed at me without restraint. I refused to leave, consumed by injustice. I cried and threw tantrums for thirty days and six hours straight. They all stayed and watched the entire time. At last, with no other choice, the magistrate granted me a special privilege. He allowed me to take along one deity of matchmaking, one official from the God of Wealth’s manor, one Scholar, and one refined literatus. He said these people would help me repay the debt owed to the girl, and ordered me to return. I stubbornly refused. He warned me that if I did not comply, I would be beaten again. I was unafraid—until he added that he would also punish the four others. Their gazes then fell upon me, sharp enough to tear me apart. Frightened and unwilling to involve anyone further, I finally agreed. Leaving the court, I looked at the four of them, and together we went to the literatus’s estate to talk. I do not know which domain that man governed, but his residence was truly enormous. The five of us sat down to discuss matters. The Scholar, hot-tempered by nature, vented his anger the moment he realized he had been dragged into a mess for no reason: “Well done, truly well done. Had I known this, I would never have gone to the court just to watch the spectacle.” The god of matchmaking, however, was far more enthusiastic: “Hey, why say such things? Helping others is a good deed. I myself lack great abilities—let me handle the girl’s romantic fate.” The official from the God of Wealth’s manor laughed heartily: “Then I shall assist with wealth and reputation.” I nodded in agreement, though resentment still simmered within me. I turned to the Scholar and snapped: “Since things have come to this, you must help as well. Stop complaining.” The Scholar’s face darkened like the bottom of a soot-blackened pot: “You’re all very impressive. Very impressive indeed.” His anger peaked, and after a long pause, he finally spoke again: “I’ll take charge of her education and prospects.” Seeing him finally relent, I smiled at last—though not without flashing him a scornful grin. Then we all turned to the literatus, who was calmly sipping his tea. He said: “I have nothing special. My home merely has a pond from which one can see the girl. With a bronze mirror placed there, one can read her thoughts effortlessly.” He smiled. “You are all welcome to stay at my estate and observe her at your convenience.” Everyone nodded in agreement. Each of us took a room, and the pond was relocated to the most auspicious spot nearby. Every day, we took turns watching the girl through the pond. At night, we gathered by the water, drinking wine together. Years passed. We became close companions, all of us treating the girl as though she were our own flesh and blood. The Scholar, who once despised her, now boomed loudly: “Why not help the child ascend? That would be good too. When she comes here in the future, we’ll acknowledge her as our own. I’ll train her into a top scholar.” I punched him: “She’s a woman—what kind of top scholar are you talking about?” We argued endlessly, until the official from the God of Wealth’s manor interjected: “If any of you were to directly cause her death to bring her here, retribution would surely follow.” We glanced at him. He smiled, but it sent a chill down our spines. The matter was dropped. Lately, however, I’ve noticed something strange—the look in the matchmaking god’s eyes has been odd. He keeps staring at the literatus. That gaze… it’s not something one can misunderstand. Much later, when the truth was finally exposed, the literatus explained everything to us from beginning to end. All of us pounced on him and beat him senseless.