Chapter 100
Her body, light from having let go of everything she had ever built and choosing to become empty, moved without sound.
Without vibration.
Without the slightest hesitation.
And when she turned to face The Silent One—facing the man who had orchestrated all of this, who had destroyed Huan Zheng's life, who had killed her mother, who had violated and passed around helpless goddesses, who had turned the world into hell simply because his love was rejected—her third eye, which had long burned with a grayish-green light, now pulsed faster, stronger, more impatient.
Like the Cancer plague awakening from its slumber, sensing that its host was angry.
That its host was grieving.
That its host needed a power she had never used before because she had always relied too much on Huan Zheng, too comfortable under the protection of that lazy man who never seemed serious in protecting, yet always made her feel safe.
"Pendiam," she called, her voice no longer broken as when she had called out to Huan Zheng.
No longer wet with tears as when she cried in his lap.
But cold.
Very cold.
Like ice that never melts no matter how long the sun shines upon it.
Like death that never asks for permission before claiming its victim.
Like something that has died eleven times and does not fear dying a twelfth time, because death has become an old companion, no longer an enemy to be feared.
"Is it true—"
She stopped, swallowing as if swallowing a thorn lodged in her throat.
And for a moment, the composure she had painstakingly built began to crack.
Like a mirror falling onto marble.
Like a mask that could no longer conceal what lay beneath it.
Because the question she was about to ask was not about battle strategy, or an enemy's weakness, or how to kill Pendiam quickly and efficiently.
But about Huan Zheng.
About the man who had become her home.
About the man who—something she had never known, never asked, always assumed—had been merely a fellow traveler, equally lonely, equally wounded.
Yet had a family.
Had a wife.
Had children.
Had a life he had never spoken of.
Never mentioned.
Never revealed, even though they had shared death eleven times and walked side by side through blood, fire, and tears.
"Is it true that Huan Zheng… already has a family?"
The Silent One scratched his head—a gesture that seemed strangely human.
Too human for a monster who had destroyed entire civilizations simply because his love was rejected.
A gesture that made Ling Xu, for a moment, forget that the man before her was an enemy.
That he was the mastermind behind all her suffering.
That he was the cause of the brutal violation of her mother and thousands of other goddesses.
And for the first time, the expression on The Silent One's face changed.
No longer flat and empty like the surface of a windless lake.
But slightly confused.
Slightly puzzled.
Like someone who did not understand why such a simple question was asked with such weight.
Like someone who forgot that not everyone knew Huan Zheng's past.
That not everyone had access to the secret archives he hid in the darkest corners of the universe.
That Ling Xu—the girl with white bandages on her head and a third eye glowing grayish-green—was one of those who did not know.
Who had never known.
Who might never have known if she had not asked now, in this man-made hell, among the smoking ruins, before corpses that still bled even though their hearts had stopped beating hours ago.
"You really don't know, do you?" Pendiam said, his voice no longer flat and empty, but slightly surprised.
Slightly disbelieving.
Like someone who had just realized that things he considered trivial were unknown to others.
That secrets he thought had become public knowledge were still neatly hidden behind a curtain of silence he had never drawn open.
"Huan Zheng—Pemalas, the second of the three Wheels of Cultivation, the man who would rather sleep on an ox cart than celebrate humanity's victory with wine, laughter, and the severed heads of Goddesses—never told you about his past? Never told you about his wife and children, about the home he once had, about the life he once lived before he chose to become that lazy man who cares about nothing but sleeping, eating, and occasionally killing enemies if they disturb his rest."
The Silent One let out a long breath—a breath that sounded like wind whispering through dry leaves before a storm.
A breath carrying the weight of a story he had never told anyone.
Because no one had ever asked.
Because no one had ever cared.
Because everyone was too busy with battles and political schemes and overlapping assassination plans like spiderwebs in an untouched corner of a room.
Then he nodded.
A single nod that felt like opening a long-locked door.
A nod that felt like granting Ling Xu access to Huan Zheng's dark and wounded past.
A nod that felt like a judgment—that she had the right to know.
That she deserved to know.
That she could no longer live in ignorance after everything that had happened, after everything she had sacrificed, after everything she had felt.
"Yes, Ling Xu. Huan Zheng has a family. Decades ago—before the Harmony Conflict reached its peak, when humanity was still preparing their final assault against the weakening gods, when blood flowed in every corner of the battlefield and screams became lullabies for those too exhausted to cry—Huan Zheng, who was already known as Pemalas but not yet as extreme, not yet as indifferent, met a woman. Her name was Huan Mei. An ordinary woman, Ling Xu. Not a cultivator. Not a Goddess. Not a being with extraordinary power capable of shattering the sky or splitting the sea."
Fwoosh!!
"She was just an ordinary woman, with long black hair and gentle eyes. With a smile that could make Huan Zheng—who had already begun to show signs of his laziness—smile again. With a warmth that could melt the frozen heart of a man who had seen too much death, too much betrayal, too many things that should never have been seen by anyone, not even by his cruelest enemies."
The Silent One stopped, looking at Ling Xu with a gaze that was strangely gentle.
Like a grandfather telling stories of his youth to grandchildren sitting in his lap.
And for a moment, Ling Xu forgot that the man before her was a monster.
Forgot that he was the cause of all her suffering.
Forgot that he was an enemy she had to kill.
Because in this story, in this narrative about Huan Zheng, Huan Mei, and their two daughters, The Silent One was not the Pendiam she knew.
But a witness.
An observer.
Someone who had also seen how love could be born in the midst of war.
How a family could be formed upon ruins.
How happiness could be found even when the world around you was burning.
To be continued…