Xie Zhiwei groped as he walked forward, stumbling over the pebbles at his feet. Red light permeated the area like miasma; fortunately, his mouth and nose were under a mask so he didn’t choke. After the sudden explosion, there was only stagnant silence left inside. He could sense no spiritual energy at all, to say nothing of the presence of living things. Xie Zhiwei panicked a little—no, a lot.
The System never mentioned whether the hero could die in the story. Of course, he was sure that the hero was an exception and always ran into all sorts of minor and major abuse. But the plot was so crooked now that he couldn’t believe the protagonist’s position was unshakable. If this story had no hero…could it still be called a story? What would be the point of his own existence? Wouldn’t all his previous work have been in vain?
Xie Zhiwei didn’t dare think deeply, but quickly shut his eyes. Red Lotus slowly unfurled behind him, outshining the red light and cutting through it like a knife to scatter the rays. He finally stabilized his divine sense and used it to slowly search until he found a faint movement. It was the sound of breathing, nearly nonexistent but very familiar. Even though he was still far away, Xie Zhiwei could tell it was the same labored breathing Mu He had suffered when he was tormented by Black Lotus four years ago. He stepped forward with long strides until a cold voice pierced through the hazy red light.
“Who’s there.”
The hero had matured. Even if he was weakened, he couldn’t be underestimated. Xie Zhiwei didn’t dare reply but found the source of his voice. A slender figure was gradually revealed before his vision.
Mu He leaned against a stone wall, one hand clutching Qingping Sword as he pointed the weapon before him. His spiritual energy caused his white robes to flutter about him, ethereal and handsome as if he could soar at any time. But his eyes were empty and bloodshot, completely at odds with his immortal bearing. Whatever happened left his expression harsh and wild, his forehead full of sweat. He could sense Xie Zhiwei’s footsteps if they were even slightly heavier than usual, peering forward through the nightmarish scarlet haze as his consciousness cleared slightly.
“Chi Yan, you’ve finally come,” Mu He looked up expressionlessly while pointing Qingping Sword at Xie Zhiwei. A stream of green light shot out and hit Xie Zhiwei like water reaching a sponge, quickly seeping in to disappear. Xie Zhiwei’s heart thumped as he stopped in his tracks. He looked at the sword tip only three inches away and gulped.
The hero was really clear about his likes and dislikes. Even reduced to this state, he didn’t hesitate to shout bloody murder. But Qingping Sword was useless right now. Despite this, Mu He had no way to compensate with another stab. He creased his brows, lips tightly pursed as his body shuddered. The sword was turned with its blade facing down until it hit the ground, supporting him so he didn’t collapse. Xie Zhiwei discovered that his other hand was clutching something. It kept releasing red light, which traveled through Mu He’s wrist and into his body, spreading to his limbs. Each cycle of light twisted his expression in pain.
This was the blood agate rejecting its claimant. The hero had to endure massive suffering to expel the excess murderous qi contained in the stone before he could use it for himself. The original novel described it as such, but with Qiu Chongyun helping from without and Tantai Meng within, no one could ambush him during the process. Now his harem was empty and his novel bro (Chu Zhishi) held a grudge, so Mu He’s state was nothing but wretched.
Xie Zhiwei couldn’t help feeling sorry. Whether past or present, he was the only one who had protected the hero. Truly, this protagonist role was a failure.
Another pulse of light spread throughout Mu He’s body, and his lips turned white. He couldn’t help squeezing his eyes shut as his body staggered. Xie Zhiwei reached out to help him, only to see his right hand hanging down listlessly. The knuckles were wobbling as if a slight touch could knock the blood agate from his hands. He recalled that the protagonist’s right hand was still broken and drew near for a closer look. Thanks to long years of poor blood circulation, the hand was deformed and its joints swollen and black. The fingers themselves were surprisingly gaunt and looked like the digits of a dried-out corpse, very gruesome.
Had he failed to heal it, or were there other reasons?
Xie Zhiwei refused to believe it. He grabbed the hand and Mu He shook. “Go away,” he said as his eyes flew open, the blood-red irises ready to devour Xie Zhiwei whole.
“Tch, don’t move,” Xie Zhiwei retorted. His entire attention was focused on the hand and for a moment, he forgot this was four years later. By the time he realized his slip, he looked up in panic, only to see that Mu He had quieted down.
Looking confused, Mu He mumbled hoarsely, “What a familiar voice, is this…also an illusion?”
The negative side effects of the blood agate included mental attacks on its host. If it was serious, the victims would die on the spot. But for someone with the hero’s mental strength, such attacks only caused him to fall into a drunken state like drinking too much wine, causing him to mumble gibberish and see hallucinations for a while before recovering.
Xie Zhiwei didn’t change his tone. “Yes, it’s an illusion.”
Mu He’s lips twitched before he sprawled against the wall. “An illusion like this…” he said self-deprecatingly, “…is really good.”
What’s good about it? What kind of hallucinations are you seeing?
Xie Zhiwei couldn’t understand Mu He’s psychological state, but there was no time to think. While continuing to admonish him not to move, he tapped a finger against Mu He’s broken hand. Thick spiritual energy poured in, flowing rapidly into the veins of his fingers. Four years of soaking in a spiritual spring hadn’t been in vain. The repair power of his energy was astonishing. In less time it took to burn half a stick of incense, the broken bones were repaired and new flesh and blood started growing in its place.
Mu He had shrunk quietly into a corner during the entire process. He had rarely looked so helpless and vulnerable, making Xie Zhiwei recall how he’d played pitiful four years ago in front of himself. He couldn’t help sighing and furtively went to pet his head. According to the settings of the hero, there’d be only less chances to do this, not more.
But just as his fingers touched Mu He’s head, the man knitted his brows. The blood agate in his hands suddenly grew bright and dazzling enough to blind one’s eyes. This damned stone was releasing its last wave of murderous qi.
Hero ah, bear with it! It’ll be fine once it’s over, the stars and seas are waiting for you to conquer them outside!
Xie Zhiwei was about to say something encouraging when his vision blurred. The dizzying red light dazzled back and forth before fragmented images appeared before his eyes. Some were in pieces, others whole.
What’s going on? Are these illusions? Can this damned stone’s strength actually affect bystanders too?
That’s not right….these seem to be memory fragments of the hero.
Xie Zhiwei calmed down and quickly grabbed a few of the bigger pieces to browse the contents. The first one depicted Mu He crawling out from under a table to grab a man’s trouser leg. The man himself was tearing at the corner of a woman’s top. She looked back in fear, revealing identical eyebrows to Mu He.
The second fragment depicted broken dishes on the ground and rice stained with mud. A ground of aggressive Pill Furnace City disciples were kicking the fallen Mu He with their feet until the boy slowly reached out a hand to stuff the dirty rice into his mouth.
The third fragment had Bai Yu looking down on a white-faced Mu He as he laid dying. Black blood flowed from Mu He’s lips, but his eyes were wide open. The pupils stared at the jade pendant in Bai Yu’s hands and Cheng Daoxiu’s malicious smile.
After finally calming down with effort, Mu He was releasing suppressed gasps again. His still-healing right hand trembled in Xie Zhiwei’s grasp. Xie Zhiwei wanted to soothe him, but was afraid of disturbing his thoughts. The only thing he could do was grasp his wrist tightly. One by one, the fragments continued to float out, seemingly like a dream but showcasing scenes from reality. All of them were the most painful experiences of Mu He before and after his rebirth. Xie Zhiwei was reluctant to see and suddenly felt indignant. He wanted to point his finger at Gallant Outlaw’s nose and give him a good scolding.
This bastard, all he has to do is move his hands on a keyboard and the characters follow the pits in his brain to live or die. The author and readers are happy, but what about the protagonist?
It was true that a man had to lose his mother, cut off his siblings, and endure hardships before Heaven entrusted him with a magnificent fate. But did Mu He ever want to be a man above all men and shoulder such huge responsibilities? Although it was powerful to blacken, the costs were heavy. Any normal person would choose to live a peaceful, down-to-earth existence for the rest of his or her life. Even being a peddler was better than seeing one’s own mother die, ah.
These unscrupulous authors who only abuse their characters…
While Xie Zhiwei’s thoughts were running amok, Mu He suddenly muttered, “No…”
The last bit of skin on his right hand finished regrowing at this moment. With recovery complete, his first move was to tightly clench the fingers into a fist. The blood agate’s glow shone through his fingers as if renewing its light. Straight afterwards, all of the fragments overlapped to form a clear and cohesive picture. It was a scene Xie Zhiwei had never seen before: his own wretched appearance. He was a bit ashamed, but had to look.
This was four years ago on One Step Cliff. Mu He cradled the unmoving body tightly in his arms even though it was obvious Xie Zhiwei was dead. A few daoist disciples wanted to take the corpse, but Mu He refused to let go. He sat in the mud with the corpse, his white robes completely filthy. Despite his stubborn actions, his expression showed utter helplessness. He was crying, wailing his heart out. Even the rain on his face seemed incongruous, as if he really was shedding that many tears.
Was this the biggest blow to the hero’s psyche? Did the blood agate’s power or the hero’s memory go off-track? Xie Zhiwei’s heart flooded with an inexplicable emotion before he somehow came up with a sentence. “Don’t cry anymore.”
The image began to blur, a sign of the blood agate’s diminished attack. Xie Zhiwei thought his words were utterly stupid, but he suddenly heard a choked reply. “Okay, I won’t cry…”
All right, I’m not the only stupid one here.
The next moment, Mu He slowly straightened up. Although his eyes still shone with red light, the phantom of a black-hearted white lotus had appeared on his forehead. Xie Zhiwei was relieved that the hero had finally pulled himself together to realize Black Lotus could combat the effects of the red haze. Then his eyes widened, because the confrontation of the blood agate and Black Lotus also triggered another spiritual attack. Not only that, the rebound shot directly at Xie Zhiwei’s body.
The System issued a piercing alarm in his head. “Warning, external energy is invading your body and attempting to grab your memory fragment. Will you grant permission to release it?”
Xie Zhiwei was puzzled. “How could a transmigrator like me have any memory fragments of this place?”
The System replied, “Only one fragment exists. It has no other use. In order to prevent the exposure of your identity, I suggest you grant permission.”
Xie Zhiwei couldn’t think of when he ever got a thing and nodded. “Give it.”
The System dinged before an image floated out from his consciousness to hang between the two people. It was the misty One Step Cliff and included Yan Zhifei, Chu Zhishi, Xia Zhiqi, and the Bai father and son duo. Mu He was wearing half-old novice daoist garb as he kneeled in front of a man in crow-gray robes, eyes filled with tears. “I am Mu He,” he said. “Because my father died early, I was raised by my mother. I entered the sect to cultivate to fulfill her lifelong wish. Today, that wish has been granted. Thank you shizun, thank you martial uncles and martial aunt.”
He kowtowed three more times to the figure in front of him, who smiled slightly and nodded, his gaze filled with care and affection.
Xie Zhiwei suddenly remembered.
…when he thought it was fresh and new to see the hero cry, he had Gallant Outlaw screenshot this scene in case he never witnessed something like it again.
—
Translator’s Note: A small round of applause for Xie Zhiwei’s tiny realization…that maybe this is more than just a story, after all. Now, who’s gonna tell him to check his feelings?!
Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just wanna go apeshit?
Commit petty crimes! Sleep around the neighborhood! Swindle your way into the heart of the newest addition to the local police precinct…ahem. Sorry, this is as much as I can say without Captain Moore beating me up.
From the author of Moon Theory comes yiyuehua’s latest work, Tracing Lines. What lines, you ask? The lines of crime…of fate…of memory…and of course, love. When an amnesiac ice cube crashes into a charismatic firebrand, what else can you expect but steam? Will the ice thaw first, or the fire sputter before the cold? Either way, things are probably going to get very we—*is smacked*
Cough. I mean, uh, there’s a fluffy white cat who bites people in that novel too so like, you should totally check it out. We know from experience that uh, everything is better with a cat! Hahaha…!