He and It Chapter 184: Inquire Here (12)

Chapter 184: Inquire Here (12)

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: GaeaTiamat

 

Zhou Yi sighed deeply, unsure of what to say.

He was the youngest immortal. Before Yan Huan decided to become the Ghost Dragon and seize limitless power, he first chose to massacre almost all the immortals who had raised him and conferred his title. At that time, Zhou Yi was just half a step away from ascension. For that half step, he cast a divination for himself and foresaw that the path to immortal ascension was essentially a path to death.

In a panic, he discarded his tortoise shell and milfoil stalks, ¹ and blocked all his fellow cultivators about to ascend. He couldn’t save the true immortals, but he could still save others.

Thanks to his divination skills, Zhou Yi not only saved his own life but also the lives of many others. He saw a bleak future shrouded in hopeless sunlight, which prompted him to seek a way to break the stalemate. Ultimately, divine guidance led him to the Cliff at Bell Mountain, where he sacrificed his semi-immortal pristine body to create a path through the void.

At the bottom of the Cliff of Bell Mountain, he unexpectedly encountered numerous beasts formed from the resentment of deceased gods, tearing at a struggling body. No, it wasn’t a corpse—the person was still alive, barely breathing and struggling!

In shock, Zhou Yi immediately cast his spiritual treasure, exterminating the beasts formed from the gods’ resentment. However, before he could act, he saw that the person’s blood had already purified the beasts, and left corroded marks on them.

He rushed near and turned over the body. Zhou Yi’s heart sank as he recognized Liu Fuguang and understood the Ghost Dragon’s ultimate aim.

—The Great Good was on the brink of death, unable to stand against the Great Evil. The three thousand worlds were about to face their most difficult and bleakest time.

Zhou Yi quickly saved Liu Fuguang and healed his wounds, but he couldn’t mend the scars or his hollow, broken dantian. Helplessly, he cast a divination and placed Liu Fuguang in the last unfinished tomb, with its location and entry method entirely secret. The jade coffin of ice spirit was enough to preserve him for ten thousand years.

Having done all this alone, Zhou Yi concealed himself to ensure the plan proceeded smoothly and that Yan Huan couldn’t trace him, for only he knew Liu Fuguang’s whereabouts.

Then, the worlds endured the six-thousand-year-long Ghost Dragon Sun Devouring world.

The nation of Eastern Swamp vanished. The Ghost Dragon’s head occupied Tang Valley at sunrise, and its tail coiled in Yu Trench at sunset. Its divine power grew uncontrollably, as did its size and form. People no longer loathed Yan Huan, as even the emotion of “hate” was swallowed by immense fear and submission.

Most people referred to him as the Ghost Dragon, while demonic cultivators and certain other cultivators worshipped him as the “Supreme.” Even though following him meant death, they still did so willingly, believing they had found faith.

Zhou Yi watched from the shadows, finding them both pitiful and laughable.

Yan Huan needed no faith, just as the rise and fall of the sun and moon were unaffected by human will. He had become so primordial, so dull and slow-witted, that he’d almost transformed into the laws and principles that governed the heavens and earth. What continued to tether him, like a flimsy silk thread binding a raging mad bull?

—Regret.

As someone who had witnessed most of the truth, Zhou Yi dared to speculate.

It was regret, deeper than the sky and vaster than the sea, that entirely controlled Yan Huan’s soul.

Guilt was the beginning of all submission. Enormous guilt could even make a person spontaneously bend their knees. The Ghost Dragon needed no one’s faith, but did he harbor immense, belated guilt towards his former Dao companion?

Undoubtedly, yes.

The tangled story between Yan Huan, Liu Fuguang, and the true immortals had evolved into an indistinguishable mess over the long years. Zhou Yi had no intention of getting involved, but there were things he had to inform Liu Fuguang about.

Many complex emotions surged through the young immortal’s heart as he looked at Liu Fuguang, who was weak, exhausted, and barren, like a thin, brittle leaf nearly drained dry by Yan Huan’s pathological strength.

“Immortal Lord,” Zhou Yi said softly, as if afraid that too strong a breath might shatter Liu Fuguang’s frail body. “The Ghost Dragon should have your portrait by now.”

Liu Fuguang immediately looked up, and stared at the immortal.

His senses and nerves were numb from the continuous pain, but his sudden gaze still held traces of his former brilliance.

“The Ghost Dragon has awakened. To avoid alarming him, I can only rely on tortoise shell divination to act.” Zhou Yi explained. “While escaping the pursuit of the ghost beasts with your four friends, I had to throw out your portrait to buy time…I couldn’t arrive in time.”

Liu Fuguang closed his eyes, feeling an overwhelming fatigue rising from his heart.

“…It’s alright,” he said hoarsely. “It’s not your fault.”

Zhou Yi glanced at the four young cultivators frozen in behind him and continued, “By now, their appearances are known to thousands of ghost beasts. Even their sects will be implicated. After all, the Ghost Dragon’s desire to find you surpasses anything I’ve ever seen.”

Liu Fuguang let out a low, humorless laugh, his eyes devoid of mirth. He asked hoarsely, “What more does he want? I’ve given him everything I could. My blood, my flesh, my Dao-heart, and a true heart that he sees as worthless but was the best I could offer…What more does he want? My miserable life?”

His voice trembled slightly, not crying but laden with such bitterness that it left one’s tongue numb.

Zhou Yi opened his mouth, feeling heavy-hearted. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “The Ghost Dragon has been trapped in dreams for six thousand years. He…he regrets.”

“You say he regrets deeply. What could he possibly regret? I can’t see it, nor do I want to.” Half-opening his eyes, Liu Fuguang spoke wearily and softly, “To be honest, and you may laugh at this, in his dream, there was a moment when I seemed to be a character in it. I heard him say he hated me. I thought for a long, long time and could only tell him, ‘It’s okay, I don’t hate you.'”

Unable to support his weak body any longer, he slowly leaned back against the hard rock wall. “Just as he could never learn to love, I could never learn to hate. When I was lying in the coffin, sometimes I would wake up briefly. Every moment of clarity, I thought about him, about how I developed feelings for him.”

Taking a breath, Liu Fuguang forced a smile. “After thinking it over and over, it was probably the first time I saw him. That day, I saw his true form. Somehow, he was smiling, but I always felt he was crying. The way he looked at me seemed like he had been crying for many years, numb and in pain…”

He gradually sank into the quicksand of his memories—Liu Fuguang still remembered the scene when he first met Yan Huan.

The world had always been kind to him, so much so that he wanted to give back and share this abundant love with the outside world. He helped Yan Huan not only to become his Dao companion, but also to be his friend, his family, everything he had never had. Of course, he harbored a small, unrealistic hope in his heart that Yan Huan could learn to love him, no matter what kind of love it was.

However, Yan Huan didn’t want those things. Over the years, they were in an awkward period of adjustment. Perhaps he had been too naive for too long, and the Ghost Dragon tolerated him for too long. After learning the truth, Yan Huan no longer had to endure. He mercilessly and physically made it clear to Liu Fuguang.

I don’t care about you. I never needed you.

“You know, from birth, I was loved by so many people. Everyone treated me well. When I saw Yan Huan, I couldn’t help but say to myself, ‘How pitiful he is. If I could share some of the love I’ve received with him, heal his wounds, and make him less sad, how wonderful that would be!’” Trapped in his memories, Liu Fuguang murmured, “But lying in that coffin, I finally realized that Yan Huan didn’t want me. My presence was a burden, my love was an anchor. To him, my pity was a humiliation…”

His voice grew quieter and quieter, until it was indistinguishable from a dream.

“…Please, stop suggesting that he still feels guilty towards me or has lingering feelings. I am too tired. I may never learn to hate, but I now know what pain and fear feel like.”

Having spoken so much at once, drained his energy, Liu Fuguang took deep breaths and closed his eyes again, not saying another word.

Zhou Yi was speechless, surrounded by a helpless silence that made it hard for him to open his mouth.

As an outsider, he felt deeply empathetic, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine the feelings of those directly involved.

“…I understand.” Finally, he sighed softly, “As for the portrait…”

Liu Fuguang barely opened his heavy eyelids. His spine ached, and his chest hurt.

“What more does he want?” He lowered his eyelashes, and half of his face hidden in the shadows, which made it hard to see clearly. “Don’t make it difficult for these young ones or their sects. Whatever he wants, I can give it to him. I can give him anything.”

The initial anger and confusion upon waking had now turned into a disheartened weariness. He spoke about matters concerning himself with a calmness that broke one’s heart, as if talking about someone unimportant.

Zhou Yi knew he could no longer continue the conversation with Liu Fuguang.

Originally, he thought if the Ghost Dragon could see his former Dao companion, he would be overjoyed, willing to give even his heart in penance. As long as Liu Fuguang’s injuries and cultivation could be restored, Yan Huan’s power could be curbed, sparing the three thousand worlds from the torment of the dark sun.

But now, it was clear that one side had lost all hope, feeling neither love nor hate. Forcing a meeting was an unrealistic fantasy. It was better to make other plans.

“Rest well and take care of your body,” the immortal advised. “We will discuss the matter of the portrait later. There’s no need to rush.”

 

Red-black light radiated in all directions. Outside the overlapping worlds, the Ghost Dragon, carrying the dark sun, flew through the boundless universe, amidst a sea of worlds filled with dust.

Its body had long surpassed the limits of human measurement. The black tendrils that formed its scales overflowed with all sins and evils. Every drop that fell to the ground grew and spread into countless ghost beasts. Wherever the aimless Ghost Dragon flew, the dim light of the dark sun shone. It spiraled madly for eighty-one days and nights until, exhausted, it veered off its orbit and fell towards the world below.

In past years, this usually marked the end of Dragon Patrol Day. The Ghost Dragon would return to Tang Valley to sleep for endless days until it woke again, wreaking havoc. However, for once, the Ghost Dragon’s behavior was different. During its descent, its dragon body rapidly shrank. By the time it crashed into the vast fertile land, it had twisted into a “human” form.

It was a mass of entangled limbs—different legs trampling and crushing each other, numerous arms flailing, some bursting into willow-like spines, and intestines coiling like serpents. From afar, it looked like a terrifying, chaotic flame. Up close…

No, no one could look up close. Anyone who saw that “god” at first glance would fall into immense bewilderment and fear, never regaining their sanity.

It was restraining its body, which had grown unchecked for over six thousand years, trying to return to its human form.

It unhesitatingly cut off the outburst of limbs, bones and cascading flesh. After who knows how long, it finally finished trimming and was left with just a head, neck, torso, and four limbs, while a vast mountain of flesh had piled up on the boundless plain.

Yan Huan clumsily stood up. He staggered, and stepped  in a sea of blood that drowned his “feet.” He limped for a long time before he suddenly remembered he had forgotten something.

Slowly he raised his crooked fingers, and clumsily touched his face. The once-beautiful godly visage flowed back over his terrifying true form.

He was back.

After thousands of years, he was finally standing on the earth of the Mortal Realm in that form and appearance.

My dream went wrong. That was no accident.

His nine eyes twisted eerily. Yan Huan walked naked through the sea of flesh and blood. I must find out the reason. No matter what, I must find out…

The more he walked, the more proficient his steps became. By the time he could walk like a normal person, a vast army of ghost beasts had landed before him.

Yan Huan felt neither fondness nor dislike for those derivatives of his body. He merely ignored them as usual. For thousands of years, except for matters related to Liu Fuguang, nothing else mattered to him.

Suddenly, the ghost beast army split neatly in the middle. When he saw the ghost Kui approach with its body marred, Yan Huan’s gaze became terrifyingly focused.

He carefully took the scroll deeply embedded in the ghost Kui’s body into his hands.