Chapter 126
This novel was merely an illusion.
Nothing more than a daydream in broad daylight. Nothing more than meaningless scribbles on the walls of his consciousness that would never be seen by human eyes other than his own.
"Maybe," Theo whispered again. His voice was no longer confused and strange, but tired and sluggish, like someone who had thought too much and was beginning to run out of energy to keep thinking.
"Maybe it was just a special plot. Maybe my subconscious is whispering, giving me ideas, writing stories for me without needing me to think about them. Maybe it's normal. Maybe it's nothing worth worrying about. Maybe..."
And Theo did not finish his sentence.
He simply lay down on his bed—a bed whose sheets had not been changed for far too long, a bed whose springs had begun sticking out in several places and stabbing his back whenever he moved too quickly, a bed that had witnessed him for years as he fantasized about Ling Xu and Huan Zheng and The Singer and The Silent One and all the characters who would never be known by anyone other than himself.
And when his head touched the pillow—a pillow too flat from being used too often, a pillow that had lost its original shape like the memory of a dream too beautiful to become reality—he closed his eyes.
Not closing them like someone about to sleep, not closing them like someone avoiding the light, but closing them like a writer closing a book he would never publish, like a reader finishing the final chapter and choosing not to read the sequel because he felt the story was already enough, like someone choosing to believe that Ling Xu and the others were nothing more than characters in his imagination, nothing more, nothing less, and never anything beyond that.
Fhhh!!
Six months had passed since the final battle within the void that had once been an empty canvas, since the soul of the God of the Vast Cosmos vanished forever, since the three Cultivation Wheels—Ling Xu, Huan Zheng, and The Singer—united for the first time in history and shattered the chains of fate that had bound them for thousands of years.
Six months during which life in the realm of humanity moved peacefully—not peaceful like a lake untouched by wind, but peaceful like an ocean after a storm, still carrying small waves upon its surface while its depths had already become calm, serene, and ready to become a home for creatures that had never been born before.
Six months during which The Silent One—whose original body had been destroyed, whose soul had nearly vanished together with the soul of the God of the Vast Cosmos, and who now resided among the consciousnesses of Huan Zheng, The Singer, and Ling Xu—managed to obtain a temporary body, a body that allowed him to once again feel the pleasure of being human, to feel the warmth of the morning sun, the chill of the night wind, and most importantly, the pounding of his heart when meeting someone who made him want to become better.
"I swear," The Silent One said one afternoon, when they gathered on the terrace of the new palace they had built atop the ruins of the old palace of humanity's corrupt rulers. His voice was no longer flat and empty like when he had still been the puppet of the God of the Vast Cosmos, but trembling, nearly breaking into tears, because he was remembering everything he had done, everything he had destroyed, everything he had ruined beyond repair.
And now, before the people who had forgiven him, he no longer knew what to say other than the truth.
"That the provocations I spread to begin the Harmony Conflict—which resulted in thousands of Goddesses being violated and abused, which resulted in their heads being severed and collected, which resulted in your mother, Ling Xu, dying in the most humiliating state I had ever seen in my thousands of years of life—all of it began because of the will of the soul of the God of the Vast Cosmos, not because of my own intentions. I... I will never be able to forgive myself, even if all of you already have. But I promise, as long as I still breathe, as long as I still possess this body, as long as I can still move and speak and think, I will spend the rest of my life atoning for sins that can never truly be redeemed."
The Singer, who sat on a rattan chair beside Huan Zheng—with his red hair blazing like embers refusing to die now tied back with a black silk ribbon, with eyes no longer dim and sorrowful like when he searched for Huan Zheng throughout the universe, but bright, alive, filled with hope he never thought he would feel again—let out a long sigh, a sigh that sounded like wind whispering through dry leaves after a storm had passed, a sigh carrying the burden of a difficult decision, a decision they had discussed for days, weeks, even months, because forgiving someone who had destroyed your life was not something that could be done instantly, not something decided with a single nod or shake of the head, but a process, a long and painful process, a process that made you question whether you truly had the heart, whether you truly were willing, whether you truly could forget everything that had happened.
"After thousands of considerations, The Silent One," The Singer said. His voice was no longer melodious like when he sang within the bamboo pavilion at the edge of the universe, no longer filled with fire like when he fought The Silent One within the artificial hell, but calm and measured, like a judge reading a verdict within a silent courtroom, a verdict no one could argue against because it had been born from deliberation, discussion, and mutual agreement.
"We—I, Huan Zheng, and especially Ling Xu, who has the greatest right not to forgive you because his mother was one of the worst victims of the depravity you allowed to happen—have decided to forgive you. Not because we forgot, The Silent One. Not because we take lightly what happened. But because we realize that revenge will never bring back those who are gone. That hatred will never heal wounds that have already been torn open. That the only thing we can do to honor those who died is to live, The Silent One. To live peacefully. To live happily. To live without allowing the past to keep destroying the future."
Ling Xu, who sat in the chair to Huan Zheng's left—with white bandages still wrapped around his head, with his white hair streaked with vein-like patterns now neatly combed and tied with a deep ocean-blue ribbon, with his third eye still tightly closed yet pulsing softly with a strangely calm rhythm like a river flowing across smooth stones without haste—said nothing.
He only stared at The Silent One with an unreadable gaze, a gaze that made coldness creep along The Silent One's spine even though there was no wind, even though the evening sun still warmed his skin, even though he had spent years no longer fearing anyone.
Then, after a moment—after The Silent One nearly ran out of breath from holding back the increasingly rapid pounding of his heart, after the Singer nearly opened his mouth to ask what Ling Xu was thinking, after Huan Zheng nearly yawned from boredom while waiting—Ling Xu nodded.
A single nod that felt like releasing a burden he had carried alone for centuries, a single nod that felt like forgiving not only The Silent One, but also himself, a single nod that felt like saying he had suffered enough, hated enough, been a victim for long enough, and now, now it was time to become the victor, to become someone who could not only kill, but also forgive.
To be continued….