Chapter 35
The silent space was filled with breaths so heavy, as if the air itself was reluctant, unwilling to witness what was unfolding.
Until now, Huan Zheng continued to slump, utterly absorbed in wounds unseen by the eye.
There, his body bore the weight, merely carrying the poison settling within the flow of his meridians.
Ling Xu, standing not far from him, restrained herself, limiting even the lightest movements that could have offered aid, as if the palms of her hands were bound to the coldest, most unfeeling of wills.
Her gaze fixed on a distant point, yet not the sky; rather, something closer, lower, as though searching for an answer on the silent ground.
Between that distance, awareness crept in—she chose to let the poison remain lodged within Huan Zheng's body.
She only soothed, did not remove it, unwilling to break the chain that bound him, as if the suffering were a necessary part of the path that had to be endured.
The atmosphere thickened, like dense fog hanging in the air, pressing upon the soul of anyone within.
Huan Zheng still writhed within his limitations, where pain and poison merged, combined into the heaviest of breaths, while Ling Xu, her eyes no longer showing emotion, remained standing, imprinting her presence like a statue untouched by time.
The act was not mere reluctance, but a decision, a will born from a deeper layer, whether from conviction, hatred, or perhaps a need yet to be understood.
The silence shook more fiercely than a scream, for embedded within it was an unspoken acknowledgment that suffering was a tool, and Huan Zheng's body merely the vessel to bear it.
The space around them narrowed, swallowing all possibilities of gentleness.
Each passing second moved slowly, like a thin blade slicing the nerves.
Ling Xu appeared immersed in her own thoughts, no longer caring whether the body before her could endure or not.
The Mastruya poison, which should have been a burden to be removed, now became a means of control, precisely like an invisible cord spun to bind continuously.
The fall of forty-nine Lintang Kemahaesaan from her grasp still lingered, etched deeply in body and soul, like invisible slices that kept bleeding.
Even if unnoticed by others.
The gift, which should have served as a bridge of trust, instead transformed suddenly into a stab, a form of the bitterest betrayal when Huan Zheng turned, attempting to nullify his own existence.
Only because of the Mastruya poison planted within the core of the star did Ling Xu still stand, even though survival itself was now nothing more than a part of the delicate game between intent to endure and looming vulnerability.
The world they inhabited was not friendly, where Deities like Ling Xu had become, paradoxically, the most fragile humans, and humans had risen as rulers, singular and merciless.
Ling Xu understood fully, aware that she must manage, reevaluate everything.
Be it strategy, cultivation path, or the direction to take merely to survive.
Xuelan Camp became the only reasonable destination, not merely for promised comfort, but for hope, a simple plea to find a proper bed—at least for a body forced to continually bear the burden of battle.
In the complexity of an inverted world, she chose one thing, focusing her aim on the small, as if that bed were a sign that she still had the right to rest—even briefly.
Meanwhile, Huan Zheng's presence was increasingly reduced in Ling Xu's mind.
He was nothing more than a shadow, a moving hallucination at the periphery, a subordinate assigned to guard without being consulted, given no space to gaze at the sky in peace.
All his actions were locked to instruction, as if he were merely an instrument, a tool to be played to complete Ling Xu's symphony of strategy.
Boredom, compulsion, even the suffering that pressed upon the soul—all considered meaningless, for Ling Xu had grown too indifferent, unwilling to care about anything concerning that human.
What mattered was only that he remained nearby, guarding, watching, even if bound by invisible chains restraining his steps.
After his body recovered from the two curses unleashed by Ling Xu herself—the creeping sickness in the form of cancer and the Mastruya poison that nearly paralyzed each meridian—Huan Zheng stood with mixed feelings.
He knew well that his recovery was no gift, but the result of will, a form of Ling Xu's power choosing to hold him at the brink.
Between life and death.
Thus, when he met Ling Xu's gaze, which held something deeper than mere control, a curiosity stirred within his mind.
There was something hidden behind her eyes, a design beyond comprehension, and so he chose to look, lingering longer, attempting to capture even a fragment of meaning from that piercing, secret-laden stare.
But curiosity mingled, stirred with a dense reluctance.
Huan Zheng, who had previously vowed to follow Ling Xu's conditions to guard, standing ready to protect his master in any situation, now felt tempted, daring to question whether his first training as a subordinate must be executed so hastily.
In his mind arose criticism wrapped in complaint, for his body and spirit, newly recovered, seemed forced again to shoulder a greater burden.
He was reluctant to move, reluctant to uphold the promise already spoken, yet on the other hand, unable to release himself from that steadfast gaze.
His greatest question was not only about the burden of training, but the direction of their journey. Why had Ling Xu bound their steps toward Xuelan Camp, a place even humans hesitated to remember, let alone attack?
From Huan Zheng's perspective, the camp offered nothing, providing no gift beyond barren soil, the dull earth that could be dug thirty centimeters deep.
Producing no benefit whatsoever.
He could not understand the purpose, intent, or benefit of this mission, so his mind could not cease questioning.
Perhaps behind Ling Xu's precise steps lay a secret, a greater decree.
Yet for Huan Zheng, all of it appeared only as the most tedious compulsion.
The silence, initially woven from gaze and question, suddenly broke, shattered by a decision that left no room for explanation.
Ling Xu, without a single word, without a hint, chose to lift herself from the ground, shooting through the air with unseen wings, leaving Huan Zheng frozen in bewilderment.
The wind chasing her movement swept across the ground, sending dust particles flying, clinging to Huan Zheng's still-standing, stupefied form.
As if nature itself sought to assert that he had been abandoned, that the distance between them was now not merely a step, but the span of heaven and earth.
To be continued…