In his heart, Lanxing was a reserved person. He had never said anything sweet or affectionate to Luo Cheng’an before.
This was the first time. Yet he was saying it now, when everything had already reached an irreversible point.
Luo Cheng’an didn’t know whether he regretted his choices, but his jealousy toward Zhuli had been real, and so had his desire for Lanxing to live.
For all these years, he had cursed Zhuli day and night, wishing for him to die.
He had restored Zhuli’s memories and placed the method of recreating Lanxing right before him.
He had watched Zhuli extract his divine bone. He had watched Zhuli fall into demonic corruption. The twisted pleasure he had felt in his heart had been real, too.
He had set everything in motion, bringing them to the situation they were in now.
If there had been any miscalculation, it was that he hadn’t expected Lanxing to recognize Zhuli, exposing all his schemes to the light of day.
He had known perfectly well that Lanxing would rather perish alongside the demons than allow Zhuli to sacrifice himself to the divine arrow. Yet, for his own selfish reasons, he had deliberately pushed everything to this point.
Because of his twisted love, once the truth came out, Lanxing had treated him with indifference.
He didn’t consider himself innocent. Even if Lanxing despised him, he deserved it, because he truly hated Zhuli.
He hated Zhuli for monopolizing all of Lanxing’s attention, reducing him to someone insignificant and dispensable at Lanxing’s side.
He had already resigned himself to the two of them becoming strangers from then on. Yet Lanxing had told him that he was the only friend he had had in tens of thousands of years.
He was special to Lanxing, too.
He was just as important as Zhuli…
If he had possessed the power to sacrifice himself to the divine arrow and help Lanxing defeat the demons back then, he would have made the same choice as Zhuli. He had once hated everything Zhuli had done for Lanxing. He had hated that Lanxing would rather die himself than sacrifice that spirit beast.
But now Lanxing was telling him that if the situation had been reversed, he would have refused to let Luo Cheng’an sacrifice himself, too.
Lanxing had treasured him just as much as Zhuli.
Then what had he done?
Lanxing had loved Zhuli deeply and entrusted him to Luo Cheng’an, never imagining that Luo Cheng’an himself was the true culprit behind everything.
Luo Cheng’an thought he should have been happy. He had waited so long and harbored jealousy for so many years, only to discover now that Lanxing had genuinely cared for him all along.
He had mocked Zhuli for being too caught up in his own situation to see clearly, but hadn’t he been exactly the same?
“I’m sorry.”
Luo Cheng’an clasped Xi Yu’s hand. He didn’t know how to explain himself or defend his actions. At this point, there was nothing left to argue.
“I’m sorry…”
If Lanxing had never regarded him as a friend, or if he had always been no different from anyone else in Lanxing’s heart, then perhaps things would have been easier.
But now he had tasted just a little sweetness, so sweet that his throat felt clogged and he could hardly breathe.
Before Lanxing died, he had been at peace. But now that he had survived, he was suffering.
And Luo Cheng’an had created all that suffering.
Every bit of it was his doing.
“I’m sorry, Lanxing.”
Luo Cheng’an held Xi Yu’s hand and curled in on himself. He rested his head against Xi Yu’s palm. The Heavenly Emperor, who stood above all the immortals, now looked as lost and helpless as a child.
“I’m the one who wronged you…”
Xi Yu lowered his eyes and gazed at Luo Cheng’an. His palm felt damp with Luo Cheng’an’s tears.
A wave of sorrow rose in Xi Yu’s nose, and even the simple act of breathing suddenly became difficult.
“I don’t blame you, Huai Xi,” Xi Yu said. “Just as I can’t bring myself to blame Zhuli, I can’t blame you either. I know your original intention was to keep me alive.”
If Zhuli hadn’t possessed the ability to recreate him, Xi Yu believed Huai Xi would never have restored his memories.
They had been friends for so many years. Xi Yu might even have understood Huai Xi better than Huai Xi understood himself.
He believed that Huai Xi had grown jealous of Zhuli because he loved Xi Yu. But throughout those tens of thousands of years in the divine realm, before Zhuli had ascended to become a High God, Huai Xi had countless opportunities to kill him.
Yet he never had.
Xi Yu also knew that if Zhuli hadn’t possessed the ability to recreate him, Huai Xi would have honored his final wishes. No matter how much he despised Zhuli, he would never have harmed him.
Huai Xi’s original intention had simply been to keep him alive, even if it wasn’t what Xi Yu himself wanted.
Luo Cheng’an sobbed and shook his head.
“I wish you’d blame me. I’d rather you blame me…”
Anything would be better than this—to be made to realize just how terribly he had been mistaken.
Luo Cheng’an raised his head and looked at Xi Yu. A look of resigned pain filled his eyes.
“Zhuli… he’s going to activate the Annihilation Formation. I think you can guess that much… At this point, there’s no turning back. I’m the one who caused you so much suffering. Hate me, Lanxing… All of this is my fault.”
A thousand years ago, before Lanxing’s death, Luo Cheng’an had thought Lanxing merely regarded Zhuli as a disciple he cherished and wanted to protect. But now, Lanxing had fallen in love with Zhuli.
Once the Annihilation Formation was activated, Lanxing would likely have to endure immense suffering throughout the long life that followed.
He was a god and did not place much importance on life and death. His endless lifespan was often tedious, and all his joy, love, hatred, and longing came from Lanxing.
He knew what it was like to suffer the loss of someone you loved.
Yet he had condemned Lanxing to endure that very pain for the rest of his days.
Regret surged over him like a tidal wave. He understood that pain all too well, and he couldn’t bear the thought of Lanxing suffering through it.
But now, there was no turning back.
Luo Cheng’an’s tears fell like beads from a broken string, striking Xi Yu’s palm.
Xi Yu’s gaze rested vaguely on some distant point, unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“It’s not that there’s no turning back.”
Luo Cheng’an’s sobbing stopped abruptly. He sniffled, looking bewildered.
“What?”
This time, Xi Yu’s gaze sharpened. He met Luo Cheng’an’s eyes and slowly repeated himself.
“It’s not that there’s no turning back.”
“There’s one other way…”
By the time Luo Cheng’an stumbled out of Xi Yu’s room, it was already the middle of the night. His eyelids were badly swollen, and the shock and bewilderment in his eyes had yet to fade.
His heart was racing so fast that he could barely lift his feet.
His head felt heavy while his body seemed weightless, leaving him dazed. He wondered if he had ever entered Xi Yu’s room at all, and whether everything he had just heard had been some absurd dream.
Luo Cheng’an turned to look at Xi Yu’s tightly closed door. Seeing that the barrier around this floor had dissipated, he suddenly came to his senses.
It hadn’t been a dream. Everything Lanxing had just said was true.
Lanxing had said he was the only friend he had had in tens of thousands of years.
Lanxing had said he and Zhuli held equal places in his heart.
Lanxing had said there was still a way to turn things around, that there was another solution.
And then he had said…
Luo Cheng’an returned to his room stiffly and collapsed onto the bed as though all his strength had left him. His eyes were bloodshot. He raised his hand, his fingertips trembling, and a green lotus slowly materialized in his palm.
He stared at the lotus for a long time before suddenly bursting into hysterical laughter. A moment later, large tears began streaming down his face.
…………………….
He had never really understood why Lanxing hated the demon race so much that he wanted to slaughter every last one of them.
But now, everything had become clear.
So that was why. That was the reason Lanxing hated demons so deeply.
The truth was so cruel.
Luo Cheng’an laughed for a long while before his laughter turned into low, hoarse sobs.
The bright moon hung high in the night sky. The alcohol coursed through Luo Cheng’an’s bloodstream, its effects rising and falling with each pulse. Grief and fear kept him from falling asleep.
After an unknown amount of time, he rose from the bed and swept his long arm through the air. In an instant, he appeared in Lu Zhixing’s room.
Unlike Xi Yu’s room, where the windows stood wide open, Lu Zhixing’s doors and windows were tightly shut. Yet inside, the room was brightly lit.
Lu Zhixing knelt beneath the bone bed, smiling as he leaned against the lap of the figure dressed in white robes and wearing a jade crown to secure his hair—a figure who looked exactly like Lanxing.
Luo Cheng’an took in the layout, so similar to Lanxing Hall, and watched as the figure of Lanxing, seated before the bone bed, gently stroked Zhuli’s hair.
Lu Zhixing was also dressed in white, his long hair gathered beneath a gilded hair crown.
The two figures in white overlapped in Luo Cheng’an’s vision, leaving him momentarily dazed.
“They’re crazy… Every last one of them is crazy…”
He didn’t know what Lanxing had said to Zhuli to make him suffer so much that he would rather create an illusion than seek out the real person again.
But no matter what Lanxing had said to Zhuli, it had all been contrary to what he truly felt.
After his brief daze, the hostility in Luo Cheng’an’s heart surged. He suddenly reached out and struck at the illusion of Lanxing.
But his attack was intercepted halfway.
The Prophetic Feather let out a swordlike ring, poised to strike, as though it would rush straight at Luo Cheng’an the very next second.
From beginning to end, Lu Zhixing had not even opened his eyes. He merely leaned against the lap of Lanxing, gently rubbing his face against it like a languid cat nestled in its master’s embrace.
Luo Cheng’an looked at the Prophetic Feather, the demonic sword that had once struck terror into the hearts of the entire Heavenly Realm.
When the first Demon Lord had descended into the world, Luo Cheng’an had not yet been born. By the time he was born, the first Demon Lord had already perished in the Annihilation Formation, and the demonic sword had been sealed away following its master’s death.
Now, this sword served Zhuli.
Even Zhuohua could be wielded by Zhuli.
The two most powerful divine weapons in the Three Realms had both acknowledged the same master.
One was a divine weapon, the other a demonic sword. And Zhuli now possessed both divine and demonic power. No one in the Three Realms could kill him anymore.
Luo Cheng’an was no match for him, either.
But even knowing he could not win, Luo Cheng’an was driven by an overwhelming fury that felt capable of destroying heaven and earth. He rushed to Lu Zhixing’s side, seized him by the collar, and snarled viciously.
“You idiot! You absolute idiot!”
“Weren’t you about to die? Don’t you love him? With only a few days left, why aren’t you spending them with him?!”
Luo Cheng’an roared, “Why aren’t you staying by his side? Why aren’t you looking at him while you still can? What good is hugging a fake?! He’s right next door! Why won’t you go to him?!”
“Go see him…”
Luo Cheng’an’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice painfully hoarse.
“Go and see him…”
Go look at him again. Go see everything he had done for you…
Lu Zhixing looked at Luo Cheng’an indifferently, with no intention of fighting him at all.
He only wanted to hold Lanxing.
“He isn’t my Shizun.”
Lu Zhixing brushed Luo Cheng’an’s hand away and turned to look at the gentle expression on the face of Lanxing seated on the bone bed. His gaze changed, filling with warmth and delight. He took Lanxing’s hand.
“This is my Shizun.”