Chapter 37
Now the situation was different, for his body, slowly showing signs of surrender, was instead forced, pushed beyond limits, squeezed to prevent losing the figure that grew ever more distant ahead.
The acceleration, increasingly wild, turned the sky into a silent battlefield.
Huan Zheng flapped his strength with all his power, though each movement carried a sharp ache that defied explanation.
His muscles screamed, meridians vibrated like strings pulled too tight, yet still ignored.
Ling Xu kept moving away, the figure once clear now appearing as a dark speck in the distance, almost impossible to distinguish between a worthless shadow or a trace that was indeed real. Huan Zheng's vision blurred repeatedly, shaken between certainty and doubt.
Yet in the midst of exhaustion, a strange determination ignited.
He decided to accelerate again, pushing his body to speeds far exceeding his stamina.
Every heartbeat was felt vividly, like fire gnawing at flesh from within; every breath felt like swallowing a blade—but he refused to let go.
The reserved cultivation energy he had stored was used, recklessly allowing it to drain wildly, squandered in abundance just to shrink the ever-widening distance.
The line between determination and foolishness thinned, as in this chase he no longer pursued merely a Young Master, but risked his very existence.
The sky bore witness to unspoken suffering, where a body squeezed to the marrow continued, forced to run beyond limits that should have been impossible.
Huan Zheng pumped power from a core growing ever more fragile, channeling energy as if the reserve was inexhaustible, though each pulse cut through his body from within.
Breath came in gasps, chest quivering as if struck by wave after wave of lightning, while his vision blurred amid shattered awareness.
Muscles that should strengthen screamed in agony, yet were forced to move faster.
There was a will beyond explanation, something burning his soul more fiercely than physical pain, and it was that will that dragged him forward, as if losing Ling Xu meant losing the last light illuminating the darkness of his life.
Ahead, Ling Xu's figure grew ever more distant, increasingly hard to distinguish between reality or a shadow deceived by distance and light.
Every second the gap widened, turning the air into a chasm separating the two existences.
Ling Xu herself did not look back, as if her presence had become the peak of a mountain to be gazed upon, impossible to reach.
Her movements were like a shadow of wind, untouchable and impossible to match, leaving fragments of hope for the one pursuing.
In fleeting blurred glimpses, Huan Zheng's face seemed reflected in cracks of the sky, fading amid exhaustion, yet his determination always guided him back, defying the body that sought to collapse.
Stamina, continuously drained, became a demon gripping him, stealing every remaining ounce of forcibly drawn strength.
Huan Zheng nearly lost control, almost plummeting to the ground, his body repeatedly falling freely through layers of air that shook violently, before, with remnants of consciousness, he forced himself to grasp the sky again.
At altitudes where birds dared not flap, he persisted, always fighting even as the world behind his eyelids shifted between darkness and light.
His heavy eyelids repeatedly closed, then forced open, ignoring the groans of a body no longer able to bear the load.
Imagination and reality intersected, nearly swallowing his sanity, but the desire not to fall behind became a flame driving his wings.
Again and again.
Amid the oppressive roar of the sky, Huan Zheng's voice echoed faintly, like a plea thrown into a bottomless chasm.
He hoped, even with a body near collapse, that Ling Xu might slightly restrain her speed, granting a sliver of leeway to avoid being entirely dragged into the abyss of failure.
That plea was not merely a cry, but an inner wail, wrapped in short breaths and a trembling body.
Yet the sky responded only with the coldest silence, as if the suffering were merely an echo unworthy of attention.
Ling Xu ahead did respond briefly.
Her movements slowed for a moment, like a faint signal that Huan Zheng's voice had indeed been heard.
But that slight easing was not an answer, merely an illusion soon torn apart by reality.
Before long, her speed ramped up again, even faster than before.
As the distance widened, Huan Zheng's heart was struck by helplessness, realizing that what he chased was not merely a Young Master, but a figure who had cast aside compassion for the burdens and obligations that demanded she remain far ahead.
Within him, a question stirred.
"Does my duty demand such absolute hardness of heart, even if it means letting that person suffer at the brink of death?
As long as life persists, that is enough."
A decision born of cold calculation, not mercy, made his steps increasingly ruthless.
His body shot forward, vanishing into a distant shadow, too fast to be followed.
At that point, Huan Zheng's vision became further distorted, witnessing Ling Xu's figure shimmer and fade, a sign of a distance too vast to reach.
Within the whirlwind of a sky burning with every pulse, Huan Zheng stored his rage, anger fiercer than the pain in his own body.
In the depths of his subconscious, he growled, cursing Ling Xu's decision that ignored his cries of exhaustion.
Twice he had hoped for mercy, and twice he was struck by the absence of sympathy.
His heart ignited with shadows of malice, a fleeting desire to slash the back that drifted further ahead, as though that was the only way to prove he was no puppet, no toy to be squeezed until lifeless.
But that shadow never came to pass, for in the face of reality laid bare, he had no room to resist.
Hatred narrowed itself, converging on Ling Xu, whom he saw as an Enlightened Outcast, a lowly goddess unworthy of demanding sacrifice.
To him, the greatest humiliation was not his body being wrung dry, but being forced into submission—compelled to acknowledge that even in a world that degraded the Gods themselves, he still remained beneath another's shadow.
Across every level of cultivation, from the most basic to the most legendary, his name had been an undeniable source of dread.
Every layer of power that others took pride in stood instead as proof of how utterly unreachable he was.
From the Foundation of Stars—encompassing the Lower Star, the Common Star, the Singular Star, and the Supernatural Star—none could dare challenge him.
Ascending to the level of the Celestial Meridians—crossing the Radiant Sky, the Lantern Glow, the World's Glitter, and its thunderous pinnacle, the Starless—his might remained unrivaled.
And to those who had reached the Grand Cosmos with its ten Crystals of Descent, or touched the Sovereignty of Dao through the stages of Seed, Root, Branch, Leaf, Fruit, and Dew—all those achievements were nothing but childish play, mere children frolicking before him.
To be continued…