Chapter 96

Endless Longevity

Lan'an asks for nothing; he only seeks the king's pity.

This leaves Fu Guang unsure what attitude to adopt toward him; she believes everything has a price, and she carries an inner scale, weighing others against herself—only when the scale is balanced enough does she feel at ease.

The scorching, undisguised emotion makes Fu Guang frown; her passion is too scalding and burning, so she does not stop Lan'an's affectionate gestures of kissing and hugging.

In her long years, she has also encountered such people, and she herself has executed such people.

Those who remain in her memory at first merely longed to be by her side; then, as time passed, their insatiable greed grew ever stronger, becoming a frenzy.

Those people would say she is cold-hearted and indifferent, why can't she even glance at them, yet before they only said it was enough to be by her side.

Master said, desire for cultivators is a sea of love and hatred, something that must never be lightly involved in.

That is a poison, which will cause one to lose all reason.

Fu Guang, Master hopes for you, Endless Longevity—Master's visage reflected in her eyes, her words extremely firm, you will go very far; do not halt your steps because of external causes.

Fu Guang raised a hand to cover her forehead, where cold sweat poured forth; chaotic memories gave her a splitting headache, she lowered her eyes—indeed she had walked very far, very far.

Because cultivation knows no age, talent and luck pull people apart; misfortune that strikes at unknown times, and the Five Declines of Heaven and Man that come when one cannot advance, make this path ever longer as one walks it, while familiar faces grow ever fewer.

Her heart beat as usual, yet she felt some pain, some breathlessness; a crystal-clear tear traced her cheek and fell into Lan'an's open palm.

At this moment, the girl's tearful, downcast gaze resembled the uncontaminated goddess statue he had once seen in a polluted zone, where every divine sculpture there lowered its eyes.

It is as if the sculptor did not know the gods' appearance, unable to paint their eyes; the explanation beside the statue says the mortal world is too bitter, the gods pity mankind, lowering their eyes to express sympathy and reluctance toward the suffering of life.

This caused the S-rank Sentinels who had accompanied him on the mission to sneer incessantly; most sentinels do not believe in gods, they trust only their own strength—otherwise why would a war spanning a thousand years have spread, and why would it never cease?

Moreover, even if gods existed, why would those high and mighty feel that the masses suffer, while he himself does not know whether others suffer, but he never feels his own suffering; only the weak blame heaven and resent others—whoever makes him suffer, he kills.

A life of no consequence—gone is gone; to him, death is no less a homecoming, with no kin, no friend, a solitary existence—what harm is death? This was Lan'an's former thought.

But now he hopes his death will have value, rather than fading away insignificantly, like a person drowned in the vast ocean, silently and without a trace.

If death cannot yet come, then might his king be allowed to pity him?

"King, please pity me for now." Lan'an sighed, wrapping his arms around the girl; her soft body held the weight of a thousand jin, he buried his head in her shoulder, his voice muffled.

Because of mental resonance, he knows the girl's thoughts, but that is the future—however the future may be, it is far less important than the present; he only longs for this moment.

He looked pleadingly at his king; those eyes, gleaming with gold and full of divinity, glanced at him once, as if looking at a hopeless soul willing to drink poison.

"Fu Guang, please pity me for now."

Fu Guang closed her eyes; her final words were only: "Then, follow my steps."

A wave of dizziness swept her mind; Fu Guang's expression shifted, casting off divinity and becoming lively again, no longer the detached, otherworldly look.

She paused, gazing at the dim seabed, thinking she had likely committed the sin of arrogance, wondering how this life would unfold before she'd even begun—wasn't that arrogance itself?

New life, new companions, new experiences should not be stained by the dust of ages; a new chapter might bring her entirely new changes, and it is not impossible.

She looked ahead, steadied her emotions, and said with a smile, "Let's go, let's explore a bit—this is essential for me to become an A-rank Guide."

"Mm."

Lan'an was delighted; not knowing whom to show off to, his excitement at being accepted by the king could only be expressed by hooking his tail onto the girl's gleaming golden tail, conveying his surging emotions.

"You stay here, I'll be right back." Lan'an's eyes shone bright; he blew a huge bubble, his gaze piercing as he looked at Fu Guang.

"Go quickly, return quickly." Fu Guang's eyes flashed; since Lan'an was willing to go, she naturally did not stop him, lest she dampen his enthusiasm.

She curiously circled the huge bubble, and, driven by curiosity, she puffed her cheeks and gave it a try.

"King, this is something only male merpeople can do." Lan'an gazed at her beside her, smiling broadly; what he did not say was that this skill had been developed for his partner's safety.

Once Fu Guang dove into the great bubble, Lan'an then swam away, tail wagging, satisfied.

The great bubble is highly elastic and strongly defensive; at the very least, Fu Guang's fingernails cannot tear it.

With Lan'an's departure, Fu Guang does not wish to think of the future or the past; her thoughts cease, she simply holds her tail peacefully, gazing into the unknown darkness.

After a moment, she summoned Darkening Light, closed her eyes, and as her fingertip glided across the strings, a pleasant melody rang out.

Fu Guang played the guqin without fixed form, letting her heart pluck the strings at random.

My score follows my intent; the music's resonance conveys my heart.

Lan'an returned, the music pure and seamless, without a hint of noise; he held aloft a transparent blade of grass that, to the naked eye, merged with the darkness, standing not far from the great bubble.

In the dark environment, the girl's visage still seemed to emit light, and he was a moth born to fly toward the light.

Sensing Lan'an's mental fluctuation, Fu Guang's fingertip paused on the string, her closed eyes turning toward his position.

"Am I disturbing you?" Lan'an asked somewhat hesitantly.

"That's overly humble," Fu Guang thought, and she replied directly, "No."

Fu Guang pondered, then added, "I would rather have a companion than—"

"Forget it, you can call me Xiao Yu, treat it as an intimate person's address." Fu Guang shook her head; the road must be walked step by step. Don't overly desire.

"Okay." Lan An's sharp fingertip twitched; he replied slowly, waiting for the girl's voice to dissipate in the water ripples before he spoke.

Xiao Yuer.

"A child of the sea." He too is a child of the sea, a companion; he will be.

Fu Guang remained silent, didn't refute; a title is just a form of address, as long as it's not wrong it's fine, casual.

"Xiao Yuer, is this the herb you need?" Address can be intimate, but in terms of name and pronoun respect is still needed.

Lan An used his fingernail to prick the large blister, handing the transparent, water-flowing medicinal herb to Fu Guang's hand.

"Got it, then leave here." Fu Guang, like drawing silk from a cocoon, wrapped the main part of the herb in rich water element.

Since the task is already completed, the hard-to-see abyss still hinders her movement; the earlier she leaves, the better.