Chapter 78
Ling Xu, upon hearing those words, felt his chest tighten.
Not because of the Cancer plague, for it had long become a part of him, but because of the sudden surge of anger rising from a place he had thought was already empty, already burned to ashes by the flames of vengeance he drenched every night with tears that never truly dried.
"Huan Zheng," he said, and this time his voice was no longer cold, no longer threatening, but rough—very rough—like stone grinding against stone, like someone spitting onto the ground in disgust.
"If you still have even a shred of dignity, if you still remember that you are not a dog who would lick the fingers of anyone who feeds you, then you would know that you would far prefer for the saliva on that woman's index finger to be smeared with animal filth—because at least animal filth is honest about what it is, not pretending to be honey when in truth it is merely poison that will slowly kill you from within."
Several minutes passed in that man-made hell like water flowing over slippery stones—without sound, without trace, yet leaving behind a surface colder than before, more alert, more prepared to face a truth that might be more terrifying than black flames or walls of bone or the screams that never ceased.
The Singer, who just moments ago had been teasing Huan Zheng with her wet finger and wounding Ling Xu with confessions of the thousands of nights she had spent with that lazy man, now stood still.
Her glowing red eyes no longer gazed at Huan Zheng with desire or at Ling Xu with hatred, but instead at the white bandages wrapped around the girl's head, at the third eye on her forehead that remained tightly shut yet pulsed with a strangely familiar rhythm—a rhythm she had felt thousands of years ago, when the Cancer plague first spread and made the entire universe tremble.
Back when she, The Silent One, and Huan Zheng had to hide in the deepest cave at the edge of the cosmos just to ensure they would not be infected, when she heard whispers from the consciousness of that plague.
Not threats, not seduction, but something far more terrifying than both: patience—cold, absolute patience, like a hunter who knows that in the end, all prey will come to it, no need to chase, no need to lure, only to wait.
"You… you are its vessel," The Singer whispered, her voice no longer melodious, no longer filled with lust, but hoarse, like someone who had just awakened from an endlessly long nightmare, her blazing red eyes now trembling.
Not out of fear—because she was one of the three Wheels of Cultivation, and fear had long died on the battlefield—but out of astonishment.
Because she had never imagined that the consciousness of the Cancer plague she had long been tracing, secretly investigating behind The Silent One's back, would appear before her in the form of a frail divine girl who had lost both her eyes and now stood in this man-made hell with white bandages around her head, offering her first kiss to Huan Zheng and threatening to leave forever if he dared to lick her wet finger.
"That ultimatum… it came from you. The voice that made the entire universe stop breathing, that turned the Supreme Gods into flesh upon their thrones, that made the judges of the Supreme Court of Humanity feel their seats tremble as though the earth beneath their palace suddenly remembered it could move—that was your voice, Miss. And Huan Zheng… Huan Zheng was beside you when it happened."
Ling Xu, upon hearing that confession, did not respond with words.
He simply nodded—one nod that felt like releasing a burden he had carried alone for so long, one nod that felt like entrusting his greatest secret to a woman he had only moments ago considered a rival, an enemy, a madwoman who could not control her lust and wanted to steal Huan Zheng from him.
But before he could even open his mouth to ask why the Singer had suddenly changed from a woman full of desire into a woman full of questions, the red-haired woman had already stepped forward.
Not with a threatening stride like a tigress about to pounce, but with careful steps, like a detective approaching a crime scene, afraid of disturbing evidence hidden beneath dust, blood, and tears.
"Listen, Miss—I don't know your name, and for now, I don't need to," said The Singer, her voice now calmer, more measured, though her eyes still burned with an unquenchable flame.
"But I need to clarify one thing before we continue arguing about who has more right to Huan Zheng or who deserves to kiss that lazy man's lips."
She paused for a moment, glancing briefly at Huan Zheng—a strangely gentle look, like a lover about to apologize for a lie—before turning back to Ling Xu with a sharper, more focused gaze, like a surgeon about to cut layer by layer to find a hidden tumor within.
"I am not the mastermind. Not the provocateur who whispered poison into the ears of humanity's leaders before the Harmony Conflict. Nor am I the culprit who turned once-wise soldiers into bloodthirsty monsters who violated the Goddesses before beheading them. What I have done—what I have always done for thousands of years—is simply gather information about what The Silent One has been doing lately. Because believe me, Miss, The Silent One's behavior is far more suspicious than the terrifying image he has always presented as the number one menace among the three Wheels of Cultivation."
Huan Zheng felt a chill crawl down his spine when he heard the name 'The Silent One' from the Singer's lips.
Not a chill of fear—for he had faced death too many times to fear a name—but a chill of knowing.
Because he knew, with absolute certainty, that if The Singer—who once laughed with him in the bamboo pavilion at the edge of the universe, who once embraced him every night even though he never asked—now suspected The Silent One, then something was terribly wrong, something that had been rotting from within without him ever realizing it.
"The Singer," he said, his voice no longer lazy, no longer weary, but heavy, deep, like a rumble trapped behind a mountain ready to erupt at any moment.
"What did you find? Don't hide anything. Now."
The Singer let out a breath—a breath that felt like swallowing all the unease she had suppressed for thousands of years, a breath that felt like releasing every secret she had kept in the darkest corners of her memory, a breath that felt like the end of a search that had never borne fruit until today.
Until in this man-made hell, among black flames and bone walls and endless screams, before Huan Zheng—the man she loved, longed for, searched for across the universe without ever finding—and Ling Xu—the girl who tried to take her happiness, who made her fiercely jealous, who made her feel that she must protect Huan Zheng from any touch carrying the aura of the Cancer plague's host.
Because she did not know whether that aura was dangerous or not, because she was unwilling to take the risk, because she had already lost Huan Zheng once, and she would not let it happen again, no matter what she had to sacrifice.
To be continued…