Chapter 72
He embraced Huan Zheng from the front, tightly—so tightly—like someone drowning who finds a piece of wood in the middle of a dark ocean, like someone lost in the desert who finds a well beneath the scorching heat, like someone who has lost everything and finally rediscovers the one thing that gives their life meaning.
And within that embrace, amidst the black flames that were beginning to fade, the bone walls that were starting to crack, and the thickening silence as if the world itself did not dare disturb this moment, The Singer whispered—her voice wet, broken, trembling as it escaped her lips like a frightened leaf.
"I miss you so much, Huan Zheng. Every day, every night, every second, since you disappeared—since they said you had been sentenced to death, since they said you would never return—I have never stopped missing you. I never stopped searching. I never stopped hoping. Even when everyone said you were already dead, that there was no point in searching anymore, that I should move on, that I should forget you and continue my life—I couldn't, Huan Zheng. I couldn't forget you. I couldn't continue my life without you by my side. Because you are the only one who keeps me sane in this mad world, the only one who makes me believe that there is still goodness among all this evil, the only one who makes me still want to live even when life itself feels like a punishment I never asked for."
She took a breath—a breath that felt like swallowing all the longing she had buried for thousands of years, a breath that felt like releasing every burden she had carried alone for millennia, a breath that felt like the end of a search that had never borne fruit until today, until this artificial hell, amidst black flames, bone walls, and unending screams—then she continued in a softer, deeper, heavier voice.
"And those lackeys of the Supreme Court of Humanity... I will kill them all, Huan Zheng. One by one. Slowly. With my own hands. Because they dared to separate us. Because they dared to take you from me. Because they dared to make me suffer for thousands of years without knowing whether you were still alive or already dead, whether you still remembered me or had forgotten me, whether you still loved me or had come to hate me. I will kill them, Huan Zheng. I will make them regret the day they decided to sentence you to death."
Ling Xu, who just moments ago had been standing at a distance, trying to process what had just happened—the gust of wind that separated her from Huan Zheng, the appearance of the red-haired woman emerging from nothingness, the tight embrace filled with longing—now decided to move closer again.
Not because she did not trust Huan Zheng, for she had died eleven times alongside that man and their trust had been tested by fire, blood, and death itself, but because she felt something unsettling in her chest—something warm yet uncomfortable, something pulsing yet out of sync with the rhythm of her Humanity Domain, something that people who still believe jealousy is a sign of love might call jealousy, even though Ling Xu had never admitted that she loved Huan Zheng.
Not because she was ashamed, not because she was afraid, but because the word "love" felt far too small to describe what she felt toward that lazy man who always yawned at the wrong time and slept atop an ox cart while snoring, what she felt after walking with him through burning cities, collapsing universes, and deaths that never truly died.
Yet after only two steps forward, her body—light from having let go of everything she had built and choosing to become empty—suddenly froze.
Not because of a spell, not because of an attack, not because of fear, but because of the sight she perceived through her tightly shut third eye—or rather, the vibration she sensed from the air surrounding Huan Zheng and the Singer who were still locked in a tight embrace—made her unable to move, unable to blink, unable even to breathe.
For the Singer, the woman with blazing red hair who once had been one of the three Cultivation Wheels, who once had been Huan Zheng's comrade at the front lines, who once—if the memories she received from her Humanity Star Consciousness were correct—often laughed together with Huan Zheng in the bamboo pavilion at the edge of the universe, was now comfortably rubbing her head against the front of Huan Zheng's body, like a cat seeking attention, like a lover longing for affection, like someone who had lost everything and finally found the one thing that gave her life meaning—and refused to let go again, no matter who watched, no matter where they were, no matter whether the world around them was burning or not.
"Huan Zheng," Ling Xu whispered in her heart, her inner voice no longer calm like the surface of a morning lake, but churning like a storm-struck ocean, "who is this woman? And why is she pressing her body against you as if you are the only one who can save her from drowning? You belong to no one. You are your own self—the lazy man who yawns at the wrong times, who sleeps atop an ox cart while snoring, who is always by my side even when the world surrounds us from all directions. But if you must belong to someone, then belong to me. Because I have died eleven times for you. Because I have lost both my eyes for you. Because I have swallowed entire divine civilizations and turned them into flesh within my stomach for you. Because you are the only one who makes this long journey feel meaningful, the only one who makes me still want to live even when life itself feels like a punishment I never asked for. And I will not let anyone take you from me, no matter who she is, no matter how beautiful her hair is, no matter how soft the mountains on her chest are."
The Singer, who just moments ago had been happily rubbing her head against Huan Zheng's chest, enjoying the warmth of the man she had long missed, enjoying the rhythm of his heartbeat—which strangely remained the same as it had been thousands of years ago—not hurried, not panicked, indifferent even as the world burned around him—suddenly lifted her head. Her blazing red eyes, like embers that refused to die out, caught sight of Ling Xu standing several meters away, with white bandages wrapped around her head, with her third eye on her forehead still tightly shut yet pulsing rapidly as if restraining an anger she could not release, with her body trembling slightly from the flames of jealousy beginning to burn within her chest.
"Oh," the Singer said, her voice still melodious yet strangely flat, like someone who had just realized there was an uninvited guest at her party, "I'm sorry, I didn't notice your arrival, Miss...?"
To be continued…