Chapter 133: A Fading Light
Normally, Luo Nianshang could have easily caught the evil god, but she was too weak.
But even if the evil god survived, she wouldn’t be a threat. A fading remnant of a soul was no match for the combined might of the Ejian Sect.
And that was exactly what happened. The evil god, having exhausted her power, finally reached the Ejian Sect, her form reduced to that of a small, white flower.
It was an unusual sight. White had never appeared in her sea of flowers.
Two roots served as legs, two round leaves as arms, the flower itself her head.
But her petals and leaves were damaged, as if frostbitten, which, in a way, they were.
She peeked out from behind a bush, her gaze fixed on the Ejian Sect’s protective formation, her heart filled with resentment, then she spotted a disciple approaching the entrance.
As the disciple passed the bush, she leaped, clinging to his robes, then she climbed, her movements frantic, until she reached the bamboo basket he was carrying.
The basket was filled with medicinal herbs. Hidden among them, she was inconspicuous.
She had infiltrated the Ejian Sect. She was about to flee when the disciple suddenly decided to check his inventory. She was buried beneath a pile of herbs.
Powerless, weaker than an ant, she had been handed over as part of a mission, then passed on to the person who had requested the herbs.
She struggled, trying to free herself, but it was futile. Exhausted, she fell asleep.
It was strange. She was just a fragment of memory and divinity, yet she could still dream. And her dreams were always the same.
She saw a girl, her sword at the evil god’s throat, but unlike before, the girl’s face was clear now.
She stared at the ordinary, yet not unpleasant, face, her voice a bitter whisper. “Even after a thousand years, am I still something you need to discard?”
But the girl in her dream couldn’t answer. She simply stared at the evil god, her eyes wide with fear, her hand trembling, her sword wavering. She wasn’t the valiant hero the evil god had expected.
A wave of heat washed over the evil god, the ground beneath her turning into a searing hot pan.
She woke up to find herself about to be thrown into an alchemical furnace.
She would rather be killed by Luo Nianshang.
But the alchemist noticed the extra ingredient, the small, white flower that didn’t belong. He plucked it out, tossing it aside with a look of disgust.
She tumbled across the floor, stopping near the doorway.
She struggled to her feet, her pride wounded.
She had no more tears to shed. She simply left, her steps unsteady.
Her goal was simple. Even if she was going to disappear, she would choose her own ending.
She would follow her dream’s guidance and find that girl.
Her arrival hadn’t caused any disruption. The Ejian Sect’s disciples continued their routines, their lives unchanged.
She felt a surge of resentment. Despite her fragmented memories, her desire to inflict pain, to see this world suffer, hadn’t diminished. She couldn’t accept the Ejian Sect’s peace and prosperity.
But some things were beyond her control.
She glared at them, then, her gaze softening, she turned away, avoiding the crowds, her instincts guiding her.
Fortunately, Er Ya’s reincarnation wasn’t particularly successful. She didn’t live on the main peak, or even the mountainside.
In her current state, she couldn’t travel far. The closer the destination, the better.
She reached the outer sect disciples’ residences, then, in a small, inconspicuous corner, she found her.
She paused, her heart calming, her movements cautious as she approached the door. It was locked. She couldn’t get in. But the window was open.
She assessed the distance, the height of the windowsill, her own small size. It wasn’t impossible. She began to climb, her movements slow and deliberate.
A leaf, reaching the windowsill, its stem straining, finally pulled her up.
She peered inside. The room was spartan, its only decoration a simple, sheathed sword hanging on the wall.
She turned, her gaze falling upon a girl sitting by the window, a brush in her hand, writing something.
It was an ordinary scene, but to the evil god, it was different. Every stroke of that brush seemed to be connected to the fate of this world.
She climbed through the window, landing silently on the floor.
She had become so light, her weight insignificant.
With each step, she felt her power returning, until finally, she was in her human form.
She approached the girl, her footsteps silent, her gaze fixed on the words flowing from the brush.
It seemed to be the ending of a story. The last three characters were “The End.”
And the preceding sentence was, “This is a god’s choice.”
She Yuwei, having finished writing, rubbed her shoulders, her exhaustion overshadowed by a sense of accomplishment. “Finally done,” she said. “I can finally report to Cat Master.”
The evil god paused, realizing who this “Cat Master” was.
This was a strange world. She was the only one who was hated.
She Yuwei tried to push her chair back, but it wouldn’t move. She turned to see someone standing behind her.
Her eyes widened in terror. “Who are you?!”
The evil god, enjoying her fear, her voice a soft, menacing purr, said, “I’m here to kill you, of course.”
She reached out, her fingers gently tilting She Yuwei’s chin up, her face close to She Yuwei’s.
Her grip wasn’t strong, her proximity revealing a weakness that even She Yuwei, with her limited experience, could sense.
She pushed the evil god away, then, her movements swift and decisive, she grabbed the sword from the wall, its blade still dull, its edge unsharpened, having never been used. Her hand trembled as she drew it, its familiar weight a cold comfort.
Memories of her past life surfaced, the image of her senior sister’s mangled body a stark reminder of her own weakness, her own fear.
Her heart pounded, her breath catching in her throat, her grip on the sword loosening, then tightening. She looked up to see the sword’s tip at the evil god’s throat.
But the evil god simply smiled, stepping closer, and She Yuwei instinctively retreated, her sword wavering.
The evil god laughed, amused by her fear. She hadn’t expected Er Ya’s reincarnation to be so… pathetic. She grabbed the blade, her smile turning cruel. “You can’t even hold a sword steady,” she sneered. “You’re useless.”
She Yuwei knew she was weak, but being insulted like this, her anger flared, and she glared at the evil god, her voice defiant. “Is fighting the only way to be useful?!” she shouted. “I can write stories! Can you?”
The evil god was taken aback, then she burst out laughing. “You pathetic creature!”
She Yuwei was about to retort when she noticed the blood welling up on the evil god’s hand, its color a vibrant green. It trickled down the blade, its scent, sweet and floral, filling the room.
The scent was familiar, and She Yuwei, her head throbbing, a series of fragmented, painful memories flashing through her mind, clutched her head, her body swaying slightly.
The evil god’s power, flowing from the wound, was fading. She could barely maintain her human form.
She had hoped Er Ya’s reincarnation would be her end, but this girl couldn’t even hold a sword steady.
Bai Jingxue had insisted that she and Er Ya were different people, but the evil god didn’t believe her. She was simply a different facet of Er Ya’s being.
And she had always been more forgiving of herself.
If this girl didn’t want to kill her, then so be it.
Her body began to shift, her other hand transforming into a leaf, its green fading, turning brown and brittle.
She Yuwei, dropping her sword, frantically tried to tear her clothes, to create a bandage, but the fabric was too strong.
The evil god, amused by her clumsy attempts, this time her laughter genuine, a sound devoid of malice, sat down on the floor. “Do you remember now?” she asked, her voice soft. “Aren’t you going to kill me? Like you did before? Discard me?”
She Yuwei remembered, but after countless reincarnations, those memories felt distant, like stories she had read, their details tragic and heartbreaking.
She didn’t answer. She simply knelt down, embracing the evil god, her voice a soft whisper. “You’ve suffered enough,” she said. “It’s time for the curtain to fall. Time to go home.”
The evil god was silent, her body stiff. She had never been embraced like this.
Her fragmented memories offered only glimpses of a cold, lonely existence, her thin clothes offering little protection against the biting wind, her arms wrapped around herself, her body huddled in a corner, seeking warmth.
It felt like that now, but it was different. It was… comforting.
She looked at her reincarnation, her voice a soft question. “If you don’t want to wield a sword, then what do you want to do?”
She Yuwei, feeling the cloying sweetness of the flowers intensifying, her heart sinking, but her smile unwavering, said, “I wanted to write the saddest stories in the world, to earn a river of tears. But I’ve changed my mind.”
The evil god’s consciousness was fading, her head drooping, her chin resting on She Yuwei’s shoulder. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I want to write happy stories,” She Yuwei said. “Stories that make people smile. Would you like to read them?”
Her voice was hesitant, almost pleading.
The evil god’s lips twitched. “No,” she whispered. “I only like… pain.”
“Are you still lying to yourself?” She Yuwei asked, her voice soft.
The evil god’s eyes fluttered closed, her voice a broken whisper. “Do you… believe me?”
She Yuwei shook her head. “No.”
The evil god’s other hand transformed into a leaf, then she smiled, her voice filled with a strange sense of peace. “Then I never lied,” she whispered.
When Bai Jingxue and Lü Qingyan arrived, the evil god was gone, leaving behind only a pile of white petals, their color as pure as freshly fallen snow.
She Yuwei knelt there, the petals covering her like a shroud, her gaze fixed on her hands, her voice a soft whisper. “It’s over,” she said. “The cycle of suffering is finally broken.”
The colorful flowers in the Land of Fallen Gods withered, replaced by white blossoms, their petals swaying gently in the breeze, as if bidding farewell.
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