Chapter 101
"And Huan Zheng—whether because he truly fell in love, whether because he felt the need to have something he could protect amidst the chaos that never ceased, or whether he simply wanted to know what it felt like to return home after months of sleeping on the battlefield with the earth as his bed and the sky as his blanket—decided to marry her. Not with a grand celebration attended by thousands of guests from across the universe. Not with a wedding dress made of star silk and a crown of sunlight. But simply, in a bamboo pavilion at the edge of the universe, with only a few witnesses: me, the Singer, and several soldiers who had been loyal to him from the very beginning. And from that marriage, two girls were born, Ling Xu. Two girls whose faces each resembled their father and mother—Huan Shu, the elder, with a face more like Huan Zheng, with lazy eyes and messy hair, yet with a smile more like Huan Mei's, warm, gentle, capable of melting anyone's heart who saw it. And Huan Yan, the younger, with a face more like Huan Mei, with long black hair and calm eyes, yet with a personality more like Huan Zheng, lazy, indifferent, caring about nothing except sleeping and eating and occasionally reading books under the old banyan tree in their backyard."
Hhhh!
"That marriage lasted for twenty years, Ling Xu."
The Silent One stood still for a moment.
His dark, burning eyes stared at Ling Xu with a gaze that was no longer strangely gentle as when he spoke of the birth of Huan Shu and Huan Yan.
Instead, it was flat, empty, like the surface of a lake that had not been disturbed by wind, humans, or animals for far too long.
For he was entering the most bitter part of the story.
The part that made even him—despite being a monster who had destroyed entire civilizations simply because his love was rejected—feel something lodged in his chest.
Something that might be called irony by those who still believed the universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"You ask why Huan Zheng said 'what does all of this mean' after sacrificing everything to free his family from all kinds of slander, Ling Xu? Then listen carefully, because this is the most illogical, most painful, most... human part of this story."
He exhaled.
A breath that sounded like wind whispering through dry leaves before a storm arrives.
A breath that carried the weight of a story he had never told anyone.
Because even for him, a monster who had witnessed thousands of years of suffering, this story still felt too bitter to swallow.
Then he continued, his voice suddenly heavier, deeper, filled with astonishment he could not hide.
"Huan Zheng, despite being known as The Lazy One, the number two among the three Cultivation Wheels, someone whose name alone made humanity and the entire universe tremble like frightened leaves, still had an identity, appearance, and face that were almost unrecognizable to anyone who had never seen him directly."
"He was not someone whose photograph was displayed on every street corner. He was not a hero whose face was carved into every monument of victory. He was not a name spoken with reverence in every speech of humanity's leaders. He was merely a shadow, Ling Xu. A shadow that moved behind the curtains. A shadow that never sought recognition. A shadow that preferred to sleep atop an ox cart rather than stand on a stage and receive applause from people he did not know."
The Silent One paced back and forth before Ling Xu.
His steps were neither hurried nor relaxed.
They were measured.
Like a teacher lecturing in a silent classroom.
Like a storyteller trying to bring his characters to life with the right words.
Because he knew this story mattered.
Because this story would explain everything.
Because this story was the key to understanding why Huan Zheng—a man who could make the entire universe stop breathing simply by opening his eyes—chose to be a sloth who cared about nothing.
"And unfortunately, Ling Xu—so unfortunate that even I, who has never felt pity for anyone, felt a strange tremor in my chest when remembering it—Huan Zheng, before he was sentenced to death by the Supreme Court of Humanity, lived his life as a cultivation laborer. Not as a war general. Not as a commander. Not as a respected hero. But as a laborer. As a worker. As someone who did rough work that no one ever wanted. Paid with barely sufficient copper coins. Returning home with a body full of wounds and sweat and dust. Yet never complaining. Because he was too lazy to complain. And because he loved his family too much to burden them with problems they did not need to know."
The Silent One stopped.
He looked at Ling Xu with an oddly sharp gaze.
Like a judge about to deliver a verdict.
Like an executioner about to behead a convict.
Like someone who wanted to ensure that his listener truly understood every word he spoke.
Because nothing was sadder than telling someone's suffering to someone who could not understand it.
"Time and again, Huan Mei—his beloved wife, whom he greeted every morning with a lazy smile before going to work, whom he returned to every night bringing souvenirs from across the universe—asked Huan Zheng to reveal his identity as the number two of the three Wheels of Cultivation.
So that he could be recruited by dozens of famous sects in the human world and teach as a master.
'You could earn a large salary, Zheng,' Huan Mei said, her voice soft, persuasive, full of hope.
'We could live better. Huan Shu and Huan Yan could study in the best sects. They wouldn't have to suffer like we did.'
But Huan Zheng—with all his laziness, with all his fear of attention he never wanted, with all his desire to live peacefully without being disturbed—always refused.
'No, Mei,' he answered, his voice lazy, flat, like someone declining an invitation to a party because he preferred sleeping at home.
'I don't want to attract attention. I don't want to be famous. I just want to live peacefully, without anyone knowing me, without anyone looking for me, without anyone hunting me. Let us remain like this.
It is enough.'"
Hhhh!!
"And because of that constant refusal, Ling Xu—because Huan Zheng never listened to his wife's suggestions, never used his true identity to improve his family's life, never became a hero to his wife and children even though he was a hero to the entire universe—conflict after conflict became inevitable," The Silent One continued.
His voice was no longer heavy and deep, but bitter, like coffee without sugar on a cold morning, like medicine that never tasted sweet no matter how much honey was added.
Because he was not telling of lost happiness, but of widening cracks, of deepening resentment, of love turning into bitterness because no one was willing to yield, because no one was willing to listen, because no one was willing to see from another perspective.
To be continued…