Chapter 2942

The dark clouds finally dispersed, and the moonlight, like water, once again bathed the Cai Lu Terrace in light.

The thick stack of documents in the basket had long since burned to ashes, even the blue smoke had ceased, leaving only wafts of scorched fragrance.

Their foreheads pressed together, and they remained that way for a long time before finally parting.

The flush on Sun Fuling's cheeks had not yet faded; she had wanted to bury her head in the crook of his neck, but fearing she might aggravate the wounded, she instead propped her chin with her hand and gazed at him sideways.

After a long while, she spoke softly:

"Your wound has split open."

Fighting while injured—truly a hardship for him.

"I know, I just need to rest a couple more days." He Lingchuan spoke weakly, feeling as if his body had been drained, as though he had returned to the state when he first woke, "We've both made the enemy bleed, so this counts as even, right?"

As soon as he finished speaking, he gasped in pain. Sun Fuling pinched his waist clockwise.

Their four eyes met, and suddenly they both laughed, laughter unstoppable.

But after just two chuckles, He Lingchuan began to cry out in pain.

The wounds on his waist, abdomen, and chest were truly split open.

Sun Fuling stroked his hair affectionately, yet still felt a twinge of guilt:

"Well then, there are still several routes of fleeing soldiers from Ba Ling, scattering in all directions, estimated at least seventy or eighty thousand. I will go and slaughter them all, not leaving a single one, then extract their life force and transfer it to you, so you may recover faster. How does that sound?"

She is, after all, the God of Death. To her, this poses no difficulty at all.

He Lingchuan raised his hand to caress her red lips. How could such ruthless words come from such beautiful lips?

But he knew that if he merely nodded, she would truly carry it out.

"If you do this, Qing Yang will surely take you as a confidant." He Lingchuan lifted the thin blanket on her body, searching here and there, "Where is Sun Fuzi? Where have you hidden my gentle and kind Sun Fuzi?"

"Here I am." Sun Fuling took out medicine from her storage ring and began to tend to his wound, her technique meticulous, her expression gentle.

Just as she had done for many years past.

In the Panlong World, when he used to go out leading troops in battle, often returning home wounded, Sun Fuzi had likewise carefully changed his dressings.

This scene overlapped across time and space, leaving him with a sense of disorientation.

How many in the world can truly feel the beauty of a dream come true?

Now he finally had the time to observe closely, and He Lingchuan noticed that her pupils were the same pale amber as Sun Fuzi's. When he gazed into her eyes, it seemed he could always see deep into her depths, yet also as if he could see nothing at all.

He brushed aside the hair on her forehead:

"Why do you always wear a mask?"

In the Panlong World, the Red General removes her mask only when Lady Lady Lady Mitian descends, revealing Lady Lady Lady Mitian's visage. She has twelve masks, which she rotates depending on her mood.

Not only He Lingchuan, but even Shi Shi Chu has never seen her true face.

Because the Red General wears a mask, this has become a trend in Panlongcheng, with both the Great Wind Army soldiers and civilians donning them.

"Lady Lady Lady Mitian differs from other deities. Having been designated as Lady Lady Lady Mitian's vessel, I must simultaneously accept her divine power's transformation." The Red General spoke slowly, "In the first few years of this transformation, I could not endure the power of the Death God; my body and face would either swell and deform hideously under divine force, or rot and wither into emaciated wreckage."

She paused: "During that time, my facial changes were too great, I feared others would call me an ugly monster, so I put on the mask."

He Lingchuan was moved, reaching out to stroke her visage:

"Was it very painful?"

At that time she was still a little girl, how could she bear the transformation of an ancient holy god? Though the black dragon lay dormant in her subconscious, it would not be awakened, nor show even a trace of power, lest Lady Lady Lady Mitian discover it. Thus she had to endure alone.

Immortal disciples speak of "Yi Jin Fa Sui," referring to practitioners shedding the old and being reborn. But He Lingchuan believes Zhong Wuhan's suffering back then far exceeded that by more than tenfold!

That was true "shedding the womb and exchanging the marrow"—to cast off one's mortal flesh and become a powerful vessel capable of containing the power of the ancient Death God.

And that pain was not fleeting, not a momentary spasm, but continued unabated for several years!

Even if she shed every tear, no one could help her.

For a girl, the world at that time was her personal purgatory.

Moreover, little girls love beauty—how could Zhong Wuhan bear to look at herself in the mirror then? The most helpless recourse was simply to cover her face.

The Red General softly hummed: "When I could no longer endure, I thought of ending myself. But Lady Lady Lady Mitian told me this was His trial for me; if I could not succeed, Panlongcheng would not deserve His protection. Dean Xu had told me twice that his father, drunk, would secretly weep. At that time I thought, if I failed, what would become of my father and Panlongcheng?"

He Lingchuan gently embraced her, sharing in her past burden and lonely sorrow.

Sun Fuling did not dwell on the pain, only speaking lightly:

"If we calculate by Panlong World's time, when I first met you, Lady Lady Lady Mitian's transformation was not yet complete, merely no longer as painful as in childhood. In truth, once I truly adapted, I also formed the habit of wearing the mask. There's nothing wrong with that—I greatly enjoy being the Red General, and I like intimidating enemies on the battlefield."

She had long grown accustomed to it. Not only to the mask, but also to the pain.

She could remain quietly in one's personal purgatory. Two hundred years ago in Panlongcheng, it was thus; for two hundred years in the Great Fang Hu, it has been the same.

He Lingchuan grasped her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles.

Both are vessels sacrificed to the heavenly gods, yet his youthful life, compared to hers, was as blissful as paradise.

He Chunhua clearly harbored ulterior motives, yet allowed his eldest son to enjoy sixteen years of brocade and jade, free from worry; Zhong Shengguang clearly bore the weight of the world and loved his daughter, yet had no choice but to let her struggle alone in the Death God's trial, enduring endless suffering.

How ironic is that?

The most pitiable is that her fate differs from He Lingchuan's—two hundred years ago, Panlongcheng met a tragic end.

The entire army was annihilated, the city filled with slaughter.

She gave everything for Panlongcheng, yet awaited no good ending.

Truly, it is: good deeds go unrewarded.

Then what account do we give of the suffering she once endured, the torment she once bore?

He Lingchuan gripped her hand tightly and whispered: "Lord Zhong has always felt guilty toward you."

Sun Fuling murmured: "When I was young, my father would take me to roam the wilderness, rescuing villages plundered by bandits, visiting the disaster victims of the Snow Empress, telling me this was the world I would later protect. But once I became Lady Lady Lady Mitian's vessel and accepted divine transformation, I often wondered, why me? What great connection do those people have with me, that I should bear so much for Panlongcheng?"

He Lingchuan lightly imprinted a kiss on her fingertip.

"Only after I donned the mask and led troops into battle, time and again routing the armies of Ba Ling and Xian You, did this anger and confusion gradually fade." Sun Fuling gazed at the bright moon beyond the terrace, "Some burdens, if I do not shoulder them, then no one can."