Chapter 62
"Not because I am certain, not because I am ready, not because I am not afraid—but because there is nowhere else left for me to go."
"The civilization of the Gods has become flesh within my stomach."
"Now, it is the turn of human civilization to become ash in my mouth."
The collapse began without sound, without lightning, without the thunderous roar that usually accompanies the destruction of something great—there was only a subtle vibration that spread from her chest to her fingertips, from her fingertips to the crown of her head, from the crown of her head to the ceiling of the void that remained a silent witness.
The Star of Humanity that she first received in that dark and damp cave—from the old man in worn robes whose identity she still did not know, from a giver who never asked for anything in return except that she remember humanity is not always depraved—detached with a silent explosion that only she could feel.
For a moment, her legs wavered, like a child who had just learned to stand and suddenly forgot that she had once been able to walk.
"Let it go, Ling Xu," Huan Zheng said from afar—or perhaps from beside her, Ling Xu could no longer tell, as her focus had scattered like sand blown by the desert wind.
His voice sounded as lazy as ever, yet strangely also like an order she could not defy, like a law of nature that needed no explanation as to why it must be obeyed.
"Do not hold it back. Let it flow. Let it go. Your Star of Humanity is only the first of a thousand things you must release tonight."
Yet within her chest, in the place where the Star of Humanity once pulsed warmly like a second heart that never tired, there was now only a hollow.
A hollow that was cold.
A hollow that was empty.
A hollow that gaped like the mouth of an infant who had never been fed.
And from that hollow, she could hear voices she had never heard before—or perhaps voices she had long buried in the darkest corners of her consciousness, now emerging because there was nothing left to restrain them, flooding her thoughts like a torrent no dam could hold back.
"Look at them," the voice whispered—a voice that strangely resembled her own, yet older, more bitter, more ravenous.
"Look at those who call themselves the Second Divine, who sit upon golden thrones made from the bones of the Gods they slaughtered, who drink wine from the skulls of the Goddesses they violated before beheading them, who laugh every night because they believe their victory is eternal, because they believe no one will ever dare to retaliate, because they have forgotten that in the darkest corner of the universe, a little girl grew into adulthood with only one purpose in her life: to burn everything until nothing remains."
Within the sea of consciousness that still raged—where torrents from Star, Longitude, Crystal, and Dew that she had shattered continued to surge like an unending storm—something moved from the darkest corner, from a place untouched by light, time, or death, from a space where the Cancer plague had long resided patiently, waiting for the right moment to speak.
"Ling Xu," the voice whispered, not through vibrations that shook the bones or words heard by the ears, but through a presence that suddenly filled her entire consciousness like mist seeping through unseen cracks.
"I can help you accelerate this process. I can tear down what remains that you still hesitate to release. I can drown it into the depths of the sea faster than you can imagine. I can make you stand at the threshold of Humanity before the count reaches one thousand—but on one condition."
Ling Xu, hearing that, was not surprised—she had been with the Cancer plague for too long to be startled by its whispers, too accustomed to the hunger embedded in every word spoken by this entity that was never truly satiated.
Still, she asked, not with a voice from her pale lips, but with a vibration sent directly into the darkest corner of her consciousness, where the plague rested comfortably among the remnants of flesh she had yet to digest.
"What condition?"
And the Cancer plague answered, its voice suddenly heavier, deeper, more absolute—like a law of nature that cannot be denied because it is that very law.
"Strengthen your resolve, Ling Xu. Not the resolve to become strong. Not the resolve to avenge your mother. Not the resolve to burn all of human civilization—because you have possessed those resolves since the moment you first opened your eyes in that broken hut that once served as a God's cage. What I ask for is something deeper. A resolve that becomes the reason you chose to walk this path of cultivation. Not as an escape. Not as a weapon. Not as a tool to kill. But as an answer to the question you have long avoided because you fear what you might find if you dare to ask it: what is all of this for? What is the purpose of continuing to walk when your feet are already torn and bleeding? What is the purpose of continuing to kill when your hands are already drenched in blood that will never dry? What is the purpose of continuing to live when life itself feels like a punishment you never asked for?"
On the other side of the void that was once called the universe, Huan Zheng had finished.
Not with a triumphant shout.
Not with an explosive surge of Qi.
Not with a dramatic transformation like those he had often seen in other cultivators when they broke through to a new realm.
But with a single lazy exhale that felt like removing clothes that were too tight after a long day.
A single blink that felt like opening a window on a cool morning.
A small vibration that felt like water finding a gap between rocks and flowing calmly downward without asking permission from anyone.
"Humanity," Huan Zheng murmured within his heart.
His inner voice was still as lazy as ever, yet there was a tone beneath it he had never shown anyone—a tone of a man returning home after being lost for so long, realizing the front door was still open and the rocking chair on the porch still gently swayed in the wind, realizing that even though he had become something no longer human, god, or cultivator, he could still feel the warmth of memories that would never return.
"It has been a while since I last set foot here. I almost forgot what it feels like."
He turned toward Ling Xu—the girl still standing before him with her eyes closed, her body still trembling from the remnants of an unfinished collapse, her face still wrapped in bandages even though there were no longer eyes behind them that needed covering—and for the first time in this long journey, Huan Zheng did not feel lazy, did not feel like yawning, did not feel like lying down upon the void and sleeping for a thousand years.
To be continued…