Chapter 127
"I forgive you," Ling Xu whispered. His voice was no longer cold and resolute like when he delivered his ultimatum in the artificial hell, no longer hollow and empty like when he released the entirety of the Cancer plague's nature, but soft, incredibly soft, like a mother stroking the hair of her feverish child, like a nurse wrapping her patient's wounds with clean and warm cloth.
"Not because you deserve forgiveness, not because what you did can be forgiven, but because I'm tired, The Silent One. I'm tired of hating. I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of being someone who can only see the world from the perspective of a victim. And I want—I want to know what it feels like to be free, The Silent One. Free from the past. Free from revenge. Free from everything that has bound me all this time."
And at the corner of the empty space behind his white bandages—where tears of light had once flowed when he heard about the deaths of Huan Mei, Huan Shu, and Huan Yan—something wet began to gather. Not tears, because he had lost both of his eyes, and without eyes, no tears could fall. There was only pain, pain with no outlet to escape, pain that settled in his chest, rotting, rotting, rotting. But this time, for the first time in his life, that pain no longer felt like a burden, but like a memory. A memory of his mother who would never return, a memory of a stolen childhood, a memory of everything he had sacrificed to reach this place, this terrace of the new palace, standing before Pendiam who knelt begging for forgiveness, beside Huan Zheng yawning in boredom, in front of the Singer smiling faintly because he knew Ling Xu had finally managed to let go of what had bound him for so long.
And The Silent One, upon hearing the words "I forgive you" come from Ling Xu's mouth—upon hearing that after thousands of years spent living beneath the shadow of the God of the Vast Cosmos's soul, after thousands of years as a puppet dancing upon a stage designed by someone else, after thousands of years of never understanding what it meant to be a complete human being, someone capable of choosing, capable of making mistakes and learning from them—finally breathed in relief, finally smiled without guilt, finally felt that there was hope, that there was a future, that there was a second chance for those who truly wished to change.
And amidst the happiness slowly creeping into his chest like morning sunlight slipping through the gaps of curtains, he remembered someone—a girl he had met six months ago, when he still lay weak upon a recovery bed, when his temporary body was still unstable, when he still could not walk without the aid of a cane.
That girl—Mu Yao was her name, a young healer from a small village on the outskirts of the capital, with long black hair and calm eyes, with a smile capable of melting anyone's heart, with a gentle and soothing voice like the flow of a countryside river—had cared for him for days, weeks, months, without ever asking who he was, without ever demanding compensation, without ever asking for anything other than for him to rest and recover.
And The Silent One—who once could only remain silent, who had never known what it felt like to be loved unconditionally, who once believed that love was something to be fought for, won, forced—felt something he had never experienced before, even when he was still young and uncorrupted by the soul of the God of the Vast Cosmos, even when he could still smile without burdens and laugh without guilt.
He fell in love.
For the second time in his life—after his one-sided love for The Singer that had transformed into obsession, then hatred, then destruction—he fell in love once more, but this time differently, more maturely, no longer filled with ego and the desire to possess, but with sincerity and the desire to protect.
"Mu Yao," The Silent One whispered within his heart. His inner voice was no longer flat and empty like when he had still been a puppet, no longer deep and heavy like when he merged with the soul of the God of the Vast Cosmos, but soft, incredibly soft, like a lover calling the name of their beloved in the middle of a silent night.
"I'll be home soon. I'll return to you soon. And this time, I won't leave again. I won't abandon you again. I won't let anyone—not even myself—hurt you."
Several days after that forgiveness—after Pendiam departed back to the small village on the outskirts of the capital, after Mu Yao welcomed him with a warm embrace and a smile that made him forget he had once been a monster, after he decided to begin a new life together with the woman who had taught him that love did not need to be attained through violence, that love could grow from kindness, patience, and sincerity—Ling Xu, Huan Zheng, and The Singer gathered within the palace courtroom, a room once used by corrupt rulers to plan their crimes, a room that had now been cleansed, consecrated, and transformed into a place where justice was upheld.
Not the blind and cruel justice they once knew, but wise justice, justice that considered every side, justice that not only punished, but also protected.
"We have to decide their punishment," Huan Zheng said. His voice remained lazy as always, still sounding like someone reading a grocery list at the market, yet behind that laziness, something stirred, something that people who still believed justice must be upheld might call anger, the belief that the guilty must be punished, that those who committed crimes could not simply be left alone.
"The dozens of humans who once enjoyed it, the dozens who provoked them to continue violating your mother before her head was severed. We've captured them all, gathered them all, proven their crimes through the authority of Dao we possess as Complexity Dao cultivators. Now, the decision is yours, Ling Xu. You have the greatest right to determine their fate."
Ling Xu, upon hearing Huan Zheng's words—upon hearing that the dozens of humans who had destroyed his life, who had torn his mother away from his embrace, who had forced him to grow into an orphan whose only loyal companions were revenge and hatred—were now within his grasp, now beneath his authority, now entirely at his mercy, felt his chest tighten.
Not because of the Cancer plague, because the Cancer plague had already become part of him, but because of the decision he now had to make, a decision that was not easy, a decision that would determine whether he would become the same executioner as they were, or become something better, something more humane, something capable of breaking the endless chain of violence.
To be continued….