Chapter 124: Utter Despair

That is a desire to destroy everything.

Violent, mad, without regard for consequences.

Before his eyes, a terrifying vision suddenly appeared.

The entire Dongdao was engulfed in a sea of fire.

Dongjing Ta snapped in the thick smoke, Yihui Dasha turned to ruins, and countless people wailed, fled, and died in the streets.

The red-and-white flags were devoured by the flames, reduced to ash.

And he stood upon that wreckage, coldly observing all of it.

Lingmu Jianer was startled by a flash of image in his mind, shuddering, and snapped back to awareness.

He exerted all his strength to forcibly suppress that black impulse that almost burst from his chest.

What he did not know was that deep within his heart, a seed planted by the god's own hand was being nourished by his endless hatred and despair.

It quietly revived.

One week later.

Lingmu Jianer dragged his exhausted body home after work.

He pushed open the door; the house was pitch‑black, icy cold without a trace of life.

"Aizi? I'm back."

He shouted.

No response.

"Did you go out?"

"I clearly told her to rest and recover after leaving the hospital..."

He fumbled to switch on the light, and a dim yellow glow spread across the living room.

Aizi was indeed not there.

On the dining table, however, lay a folded note, silent and still.

Lingmu Jianer's heart lurched; he walked over and, with trembling hands, opened it.

A line of elegant handwriting, like a knife, etched itself onto his eyeballs.

"I'm sorry, Jianer-kun."

"I am not worthy of you."

"Boom——!"

His mind went blank.

He rushed madly toward Aizi's bedroom and flung the door open.

Then he saw.

He saw Aizi's already cold body suspended in mid‑air.

She wore the white dress he had given her, her favorite, its hem swaying slightly in the draft.

Like a butterfly with broken wings.

At that moment, the world's sound vanished completely from Lingmu Jianer's ears.

He did not cry.

Nor did he shout.

He simply walked over, untied the rope, and gently, carefully, lowered her down.

He held Aizi's gradually stiffening corpse, sitting on the cold floor throughout the night.

That grief, beyond limits, ultimately did not turn into tears but became an absolute void.

And...... dead silence.

Behind him.

In the corner of the room, the light twisted weirdly.

A thin shadow, darker than darkness itself, quietly separated from his back and coalesced in the corner into a vague humanoid shape.

That figure had no features, no substance, simply standing there silently.

With an incomprehensible gaze, it watched the man clutching the corpse, whose soul had already died.

After Aizi's death, Lingmu Jianer's world was left only gray.

His mental state deteriorated to the extreme, he kept making mistakes at work, and the company eventually dismissed him rudely on the grounds of "incompetence."

He went to the labor department to appeal, hoping to receive due compensation, but was told the procedures were cumbersome and evidence insufficient, so the matter came to nothing.

He tried to speak for himself, but after repeated setbacks, reality battered him bloody.

This world seemed not to care at all about the life or death of an ant.

He lived like a walking corpse.

His sole spiritual support was his mother, who remained hospitalized.

Yet, fate's malice was far from over.

His mother's condition suddenly worsened sharply, and she was sent to the intensive care unit.

The doctor issued a critical condition notice, telling him that only an immediate major surgery could offer a slim chance of survival.

And that surgery fee was an astronomical sum.

Lingmu Jianer sold the sole dwelling he and his mother owned—the small house that held all his childhood memories.

He withdrew all his fixed‑term savings.

He placed those thick stacks of banknotes—his last hope—carefully into a kraft paper envelope, pressing it tightly against his chest.

He rushed out of the bank and ran toward the hospital.

That was the only chance for his Mother to stay alive.

On the street, the frenzy of war had already reached its peak.

On the giant LED screen, the Prime Minister of the autonomous region was delivering a passionate speech, declaring that he would lead the "nation" toward a "new glory."

The banners of militarist restoration spread through every corner of the city like a virus.

Countless citizens took to the streets, cheering for the upcoming "Shengzhang," their eyes fanatical and obsessive.

The whole country was like a massive powder keg with its fuse lit.

And Lingmu Jianer was just a grain of dust that no one cared about.

He clutched the envelope in his chest and walked against the frenzied crowd, looking completely out of place.

Just as he was about to cross an intersection.

A few men with buzz cuts and fierce eyes blocked his way.

It was them.

It was that group of brutes who, that night, dragged Aizi into the alley.

Lingmu Jianer's pupils suddenly contracted, and he instinctively tried to dodge.

But it was already too late.

"Yo, isn't this the little pretty‑face?"

The leading Thug recognized him, a mocking grin spreading across his face.

"What, still in the mood to go out shopping?"

His companions burst into a raucous laugh.

Lingmu Jianer clenched his teeth hard, his heart filled to the brim with anger and hatred.

But he said nothing, only wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

He had neither time nor energy now to deal with those scum.

He only wanted to save his Mother.

Yet, the more he tried to leave, the more that group blocked his way.

The leading Thug noticed the bulging envelope he was clutching tightly to his chest.

His eyes flickered, and his grin grew even more vicious.

"What treasure are you hiding in your bosom?"

Saying that, he lunged forward, snatching the envelope from Lingmu Jianer's chest in one swift grab!

"Give it back to me!"

Lingmu Jianer's eyes bulged, and like an enraged beast he lunged forward!

Bang!

A foot kicked his stomach hard, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The Thug tore open the envelope, and his eyes lit up at the thick stack of cash inside.

He pulled out a few bills, fanned them in his hand, then crouched and contemptuously slapped Lingmu Jianer's cheek with the money.

"Thanks, huh."

He grinned, showing yellow teeth, his smile full of humiliation and glee.

"Just when I'm short on cash, consider this… a donation on your behalf for the 'Shengzhang'!"

"Hahaha—haha—haha!"

The companions behind them erupted again with shrill, raucous laughter.

They took the life‑saving money, slung it over their shoulders, and strode away, quickly merging into the frenzied crowd cheering for the war.

Only Lingmu Jianer was left alone.

He knelt on the cold ground, staring at his empty hands.

Despair.

Bone‑deep despair.

It was like countless cold needles piercing every cell of his body.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came from his throat.

In the end, he, like a dying beast, let out a suppressed, painful whimper and howled in tears.

The life‑saving money was gone.

Lingmu Jianer, like a soulless husk, returned to the home that no longer belonged to him.

He could not give up.

His Mother was still waiting for him.

He began frantically making calls, borrowing money from anyone he could think of, pleading to loan‑shark firms for help.

He begged humbly, agreeing to any harsh condition.

But no one was willing to lend money to a penniless, jobless failure.

All night long.

He stayed up until his eyes were blood‑shot, his head dizzy to the point of exploding.

Just as he slumped on the desk, drifting into unconsciousness from extreme exhaustion.

A shrill phone ring jolted him awake.

It was the landline at home.

He shook his dazed head, struggled to crawl over, and answered the phone.

"Hello......"

His voice was hoarse beyond belief.

On the other end of the phone came a cold, formulaic woman's voice.

"May I ask if this is Mr. Lingmu Jianer? This is Dongdao Zhongyang Yiyuan."

Lingmu Jianer's heart suddenly rose to his throat.

"Yes! I am! My mother—"

"Mr. Lingmu."

The woman's voice coldly interrupted him, with no emotion detectable in her tone.

"Due to your payment, it was not received in time."

"Therefore, the surgery cannot proceed."

"Your mother, Ms. Lingmu Meinaizi..."

"... just now, she has already passed away."