“We’ll talk later,” Tai He smiled at her, then as if suddenly remembering something, added, “Can you break the divine crystal? I don’t need to sleep anymore.”
“Don’t need to sleep anymore?” Tan Yin repeated his words, bewildered.
Tai He picked up a brush and ink, controlling them with his divine consciousness as he wrote out the order to summon the gods, saying, “Hmm, I’ve woken up.”
“But,” Tan Yin murmured softly, drawing closer to him, “I think it would be better if you slept a little longer.”
Tai He turned around in surprise, only to be faced with a massive embroidered tapestry, woven from black and blood-red threads. Ghostly shadows moved within it, and countless transparent hands reached out, pulling and wrapping around him, trying to drag him into the tapestry.
Behind the tapestry, Tan Yin’s innocent and childlike smile appeared, her eyes glowing with a strange light. “Keep sleeping, sleep here with me, Tai He. I’ll stay with you.”
The tapestry flew out like a living creature, enveloping his divine consciousness. It all happened so suddenly and eerily that Tai He, caught completely off guard, was pulled into the tapestry without a sound. The ice-sealed figure of Han Nü collapsed to the ground, disintegrating into countless threads that Tan Yin gathered back into her hands. Threads also crawled across Tan Yin’s face, and as they were peeled away, Han Nü’s delicate and serene face emerged.
She tucked the tapestry into her sleeve, turned to look at the hall covered in ice, and smiled slightly—content, the smile of a victor. All the light vanished abruptly, and the empty world was plunged into deep darkness. Han Nü’s voice echoed from all directions.
“You were right. I’ve been waiting for this day for over five thousand years. Wu Shuang, with your death, I can finally pass my mortal tribulation. You remind me too much of her, trapping me in this past that I can’t escape. Today, it’s you who dies at my hands. If I had been caught by you, I would have died by your hand. In the end, between people, it’s either you or me. So don’t hate me—hate yourself! Hate this world!”
There was no more speaking. The stench of blood and smoke engulfed the entire world, a place steeped in despair. Tan Yin rose to her feet, dazed, the soul-burning pain growing more intense. Her hands could no longer hold their shape, and the translucent particles of light fell from them like rain. Step by step, she walked forward on a path lined with golden light.
She would die here, in this miniature world. Tai He had died here, too. What would he have thought in his final moments? Did he regret anything? Did he hate her?
As soon as these thoughts crossed her mind, the world around her erupted into illusions. Tai He struggled inside the embroidered tapestry, his despair clearly visible. Even the sound of his soul being pulled from his body in his final moments was painfully clear. Over and over again, he called her name—sometimes softly, sometimes with agony, sometimes in desperation.
What had she said to Tai He the last time they met? The final time she saw him, she had hidden behind a pillar, watching as his eyes reddened, listening to him say, “I once hated you.” What had he been thinking at that moment?
“Tan Yin, Tan Yin…” His voice called out again, unstoppable, echoing deep into her soul.
She had once loved Tai He, had grieved for him, had waited for him. But she had never imagined that one day, he would make her feel such deep despair—a despair more profound than death itself.
Was she about to scatter into nothingness? Was this her mortal tribulation? Would she truly die here and not by Yuan Zhong’s side? Perhaps that was her final regret in this world.
Her legs could no longer move, and as her feet crumbled into particles of light, Tan Yin fell to the ground. Her face pressed against the burning surface. It was hot, painful, but she could no longer move.
In a daze, she felt as if she had experienced this scene before—the scorching floor, the small, ghostly blue pond by the bed, translucent koi fish, and beneath layers of curtains, a slender girl with a fairy-like appearance.
That’s right, that little girl had even helped Han Nü’s body rapidly transform into a human shape. Was she good or evil? It was impossible to tell.
A flood of sealed memories surged into her mind, but at this moment, all she could do was smile bitterly. Passing the mortal tribulation would allow one to become a god of Yuan Sheng, but in the past five thousand years, not a single god had survived their mortal tribulation. She would be no exception. It was too late to think about these things now. Perhaps quietly scattering into nothingness in this dead world was for the best.
Tan Yin closed her eyes, and the searing pain of the tribulation inched closer to her heart. Let it all end.
“Tan Yin, Tan Yin…” The voice called her again, but she could no longer tell whose voice it was. It sounded like Tai He, from that first meeting by the Celestial River, his gentle laughter. It also sounded like Yuan Zhong, holding her tightly, whispering with a mixture of joy and despair, “I love you.”
Tears fell from her eyes. Suddenly, everything around her turned stark white. The burning ground, the black-and-red sky—everything vanished. It was as if she was lying on an endless snowfield, where soft, cotton-like snowflakes drifted down silently.
A hand gently stroked her head. Struggling, Tan Yin lifted her head and saw Tai He’s smiling face.
His body was thin and faint, like an ink painting sketched with rough strokes. He smiled as he gently patted her hair, pointing to the south with his other hand.
In the blink of an eye, he disappeared, and so did the snowfield. Once again, she was back in the black-and-red world of flames. Was it a dream? Or not? Tan Yin lowered her head, and there on the back of her hand was a single snowflake that had not yet melted.
She looked up toward the distant south. There, faint shapes of mountains and villages appeared on the horizon. Clenching her teeth, Tan Yin stood up. She compressed what little divine power she had left, shielding it at her heart, and floated southward.
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