Chapter 132
No longer tears of light like before, but ordinary tears—salty tears, warm tears, tears that soaked the white bandages wrapped around her head, soaked her cheeks that were no longer pale, soaked the ground beneath her kneeling knees.
"I've finished everything. I've avenged you. I've punished those who took you away from me. I've found a husband who loves me, who will protect me, who will guide me until the day I die. So don't worry about me anymore, Mother. Don't worry about me anymore. Because I'm no longer alone. Because I already have a new family. Because I—I'm happy now, Mother. I'm truly happy now."
And when the word "happy" left her lips—when for the very first time she admitted that she was happy, that she was no longer trapped within the endless cycle of revenge, hatred, and despair, that she could finally smile without guilt and cry without shame—Ling Xu rested her head against Huan Zheng's right chest, feeling the warmth of his body, feeling the strange yet calming rhythm of his heartbeat, like a river flowing across smooth stones without haste.
Then, reflexively and without realizing it, her hand began to stroke the chest of the man who had become her husband. She caressed him gently, lovingly, filled with gratitude that she had met this man, that she had walked beside him through blood, fire, and tears, that she had died eleven times and risen eleven times.
And in the end, at the conclusion of this long journey, she was no longer alone. She had Huan Zheng. She had The Singer. She had The Silent One and Mu Yao and the children who would be born a few months from now. She had a family. She had a home. She had a place to return to after wandering for so long through a scorching and barren desert.
Huan Zheng, who witnessed the adorable behavior of his first wife—who saw Ling Xu resting her head against his chest, who felt her hand gently caressing him, who felt her white hair streaked with colorful vein-like patterns brushing against his chin like soft feathers fallen from the wings of a bird flying too high—instinctively stroked Ling Xu's multicolored hair softly.
He stroked it with slow movements, movements full of meaning, intentionally gentle so Ling Xu would feel comfortable, so Ling Xu would feel safe, so Ling Xu would understand that she no longer needed to be afraid, that she no longer needed to hide, that she no longer needed to stay strong all the time.
Because now, she had Huan Zheng, who would protect her, who would take care of her, who would always remain by her side until death.
And even after death, if he believed in reincarnation, he would search for Ling Xu in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that again, until Ling Xu grew tired of his presence and asked him to leave.
But that happiness did not last long, because suddenly, from behind the old banyan tree at the edge of the empty field, The Singer appeared.
Not with cautious steps like someone who did not wish to disturb them, nor hurried steps like someone being chased by death, but with her signature confident stride, with her red hair fluttering despite the absence of wind, with eyes shining like stars in the dark night sky.
And without any warning, without asking permission, without caring that Ling Xu and Huan Zheng were sharing a warm and meaningful moment, Singer immediately hugged Huan Zheng from behind.
Not an ordinary embrace that merely brushed against him, but a tight, warm embrace, filled with the desire to never let go, to never part, to never allow anyone—not even Ling Xu—to take Huan Zheng away from her.
"Huan Zheng," The Singer whispered, her voice no longer melodious like when she sang in the bamboo pavilion, no longer firm and steady like when she delivered ultimatums, but filled with desire, filled with longing, filled with something too immense to be expressed through mere words because words were simply too small.
"I missed you. I missed you so much. I missed your embrace. I missed your kisses. I missed—"
She did not finish her sentence, because she did not need to.
After embracing him to her heart's content—after feeling the warmth of Huan Zheng's back, after sensing his heartbeat quicken in surprise, after realizing she never wanted to let him go, that she wanted to hold him forever—Singer moved to stand in front of Huan Zheng.
She stood so close that their breaths mingled as one, their eyes locked together, their hearts pounding because she was about to do something she had never done before in front of Ling Xu. Something bold. Something reckless. Something that might ignite a civil war between Huan Zheng's two wives.
And with a swift, sudden movement that no one could anticipate, Singer kissed Huan Zheng on the lips.
Not a simple kiss that merely touched, but a deep, wet kiss, overflowing with the desire she could no longer restrain. A kiss that shocked Huan Zheng half to death, a kiss that caused Ling Xu—who was still resting her head against Huan Zheng's chest—to immediately look up, a kiss that made the air around them feel as scorching as the artificial hell from before.
And when the kiss ended—when Singer pulled her lips away from Huan Zheng's with a loud "smack" echoing clearly through the silence of the empty field, with a satisfied smile on her lips, with eyes gazing at Ling Xu triumphantly, as if silently declaring:
"Look, Ling Xu. I can do what you can't. I dare to kiss him right in front of you. I dare to show that I love him, that I'm not afraid, that I will never back down, that I will always stay by his side no matter what you say, no matter what you do, no matter how desperately you try to become the most important person in his eyes."
Ling Xu, seeing The Singer's behavior—seeing the red-haired woman kiss her husband before her very eyes, seeing the satisfied smile on her lips, seeing the victorious look in her eyes—felt her chest tighten.
Not because of the Cancer plague, for the plague had already become part of her, but because of anger. Anger born from jealousy she could not control. Anger born from the realization that she could never be like Singer, that she could never boldly kiss Huan Zheng in public, that she could never openly and shamelessly display her love.
Because she was Ling Xu, the daughter of a Goddess who had been violated and abused before her eyes, and since childhood she had been taught that showing emotions was weakness, that being gentle was proof that you could be destroyed, that loving wholeheartedly was a recipe for ruin.
"How childish," Ling Xu mocked, her voice no longer broken and tearful like when she buried her mother, no longer filled with happiness like when she rested her head against Huan Zheng's chest, but sharp and piercing, like a dagger slowly driven into someone's back, like a knife slicing layer after layer of flesh until nothing remained but bone and marrow that could never heal.
"Only children feel the need to display affection in public. Adults simply know they are loved—they don't need to prove it with indecent, wet kisses."
To be continued…