Chapter 215: For My Sister, Become a Man

The rain stopped.

It wasn't the torrential downpour outside, but the rain in Chen Shao's mind that stopped.

There is no Air-raid Shelter here, no Ouyang Feng's death‑hastening Tang sword, and no concrete boulder that could crush a spine.

This place is a gray‑white ruin.

The sky is a bleak white, like the sheet covering a face in a morgue.

The ground is strewn with gravel and rubble, the fragments of countless collapsing memories.

Some fragments still project scenes: a torn backpack, glasses stuck in mud, and, many years ago, in a filthy alley, several stray dogs barking wildly around a trembling little boy.

The wind here is dead, unable to stir a speck of dust.

At the center of this ashen world crouches a tiny figure.

It is a boy of about seven or eight.

He wears an ill‑fitting adult shirt, the cuffs rolled up several times, still longer than his knees. He buries his head in his knees, both hands clasping his head, like an ostrich thrusting its head into sand, trembling all over.

"Wuwu......"

The boy keeps crying.

The sobs are thin, like mosquito whines, irritating to the ear.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Footsteps.

Heavy and steady, they scrape against the broken debris, producing a teeth‑aching friction sound.

The boy trembles even more. He curls his body tighter, wishing he could become a pebble, as long as he remains unseen.

A hand lands on his shoulder.

The hand is large, hot, and carries an indelible scent of blood.

"Stop crying."

The voice is lazy and hoarse, laced with casual arrogance, yet tinged with a barely perceptible fatigue.

The boy carefully lifts his head a fraction from his knees, peering up through eyes already reddened by crying.

Standing before him is a man.

A man who looks exactly like his future self.

But he wears no glasses, his hair slicked back, exposing a full forehead. The face that was once refined is now covered in blood.

This is Li Renge.

He is the murderous lunatic Chen Shao, who treats lives as weeds.

Little Chen Shao hiccups in fright, snot bubbles out, and his body instinctively recoils.

"Look at your so‑little ambition."

The lunatic Chen Shao doesn't strike him nor hurl harsh words. He simply flicks the messy hair from his forehead back and plops onto the rubble pile opposite the boy.

He rummages in his pocket, apparently searching for a cigarette, but only pulls out a handful of sticky blood.

"Tsk."

He casually rubs his hand on his trouser leg, looks up at the grim gray sky.

"This place is about to collapse," the lunatic says.

Little Chen Shao sniffs, his voice trembling: "... Did I mess up again?"

"Again?" the lunatic raises an eyebrow. "This time it's not a mess‑up, it's total ruin. The bodies outside have rotted into dumpling filling, the organs shattered. That pervert is about to finish us off with that Tang sword."

Little Chen Shao's face turns deathly pale in an instant.

"What... what about Yao Yao? Yao Yao is still down there... the stones will crush her!"

He tries to stand abruptly, but his legs feel like noodles; with a thud he collapses back to his knees.

The lunatic looks at him; Du Yan's eye shows no mockery, only a flowing sorrow.

"What can you do if you go out now?" the lunatic points to his chest, "You're about to die."

Little Chen Shao is stunned.

Despair floods him like a tide. He wants to cry, but his tears seem dried up.

"I'm useless..." he clutches his head, his Nail digging into his scalp, "I can't protect her... I can't protect anyone... it's always been like this... if only I had the courage to pick up a brick back then..."

"If you had dared to pick up a brick then, I wouldn't exist in this world."

The lunatic suddenly cuts him off.

Little Chen Shao freezes, staring blankly at the other.

The lunatic rises from the rubble, dusts off his backside, walks to Little Chen Shao, squats, and aligns his gaze with the timid child.

"You've always thought I'm a robber, right?"

The lunatic grins, tugging at the wound on his face, and blood drips again.

"You think I'm a demon that slipped into this body when you're weak. You fear me, hate me, yet have to rely on me. Whenever you can't handle things, you hide and let me out to bite."

Little Chen Shao dares not speak, only shivers.

"Actually you're wrong," the lunatic says, extending his index finger to gently prod the boy's chest. "Chen Shao, I'm not an outsider. I am you."

"No... impossible..." Little Chen Shao shakes his head frantically, "I'm not bad... I'm not that cruel..."

"Right, you're not cruel." The lunatic sighs, his gaze turning distant. "Do you remember when you were ten? Those senior bullies cornered you in an alley, stole the money you saved for Yao Yao's cake, and stepped on you in the mud, making you bark like a dog."

Little Chen Shao's body trembles violently; it's the nightmare of his whole life.

"Back then, you held a shard of glass in your hand," the lunatic continues, his voice light yet hammering on Chen Shao's heart. "You wanted to stab them. Truly, in that instant you wanted to thrust the glass into the neck of the leading big fat guy, watching blood spray out."

"But I didn't do it!" Little Chen Shao screams, "I threw it! I didn't do it!"

"Right, you didn't. Because you were scared. Scared of prison, scared that no one would care for Yao Yao, scared of becoming a bad child." The lunatic laughs, a pitiful laugh. "So you forcibly cut that murderous thought out of your mind."

"You cut off all your anger, all your cruelty, all your ferocity, even all your courage and resolve— and threw them into the darkest Trash Can at the bottom of your heart."

The madman pointed at himself.

"That Trash Can is me."

Boom—

In the distance, the ruins began to collapse, massive shards of memory peeled from the sky and fell into the endless Abyss.

Little Chen Shao widened his eyes, staring at the blood‑soaked man before him.

"The reason I'm this mad is that I'm built from all your negative emotions," the madman spread his hands, an indifferent look on his face, "The reason I'm strong is that you turned all your 'won't' into my 'will.' You kept all the kindness and weakness for yourself, and threw all the sins and power at me."

"Do you know what this is called?"

The madman leaned in, and Du Yan stared intently at the little boy.

"It's called avoidance."

Little Chen Shao opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Because we are separated, we are both incomplete," the madman sat up straight, looking at the collapsing world, "And because of that incompleteness, each of our growth potentials is limited. If one of us takes full control of this body, the potential will be re‑unlocked, granting endless possibilities—that's why I always say you should hand your body over to me completely."

"You're a cowardly waste, I'm a monster of pure slaughter. As long as we remain divided, we'll never defeat that knife‑wielding pervert, nor save Yao Yao."

"But now it seems— even if I fully command this body, it's still not enough. It must be even more thorough."

"W‑what should we do?" Little Chen Shao clutched the madman's pant leg, as if grasping at the last straw.

The madman said nothing.

He lifted his head and looked at the sky.

At the top of the gray‑white heavens, a massive, scarlet eye was slowly opening.

That's not an illusion. That's the Weird—Dominating Demon Eye's true form, parasitic in their left eye. It watches this place, waiting for worship.

To repair that body rotted to mud, to gain power that can counter Ouyang Feng, one must sacrifice the soul entirely to it.

Not half.

All.

"There's only one way."

The madman lowered his head, looking at Little Chen Shao at his feet. In his gaze, for the first time, a thing called 'gentleness' appeared. Paired with his snarling face, it looked especially odd.

"From today on, stop being a shrinking turtle."

Wh-... what?

The madman suddenly reached out, grabbed Little Chen Shao's collar, and lifted him up.

"Listen up!"

The madman's voice rose sharply, sounding like a roar.

"Chen Shao! You're a damn man! Yao Yao is your sister, not mine! Why does it always have to be me cleaning up after you? Why must I be the one killing and setting fire up front while you play saint in the back?"

Little Chen Shao was stunned by the shout, tears swirling in his eyes.

"I'm tired." The madman released his grip, setting Little Chen Shao back on the ground, "Killing every day is exhausting. And… that eye has a huge appetite. It will only help us get past this hurdle if it devours a soul."

He pointed at the ever‑growing blood eye in the sky.

"I'll go feed it."

Four simple words.

Little Chen Shao stared blankly for a full three seconds before grasping what those words meant.

"No!" He lunged forward, clutching the madman's waist, "You can't! You'll disappear!"

"Let go!"

The madman shoved him away with great force; Little Chen Shao landed on his rear.

"Don't make it sound like a life‑and‑death parting, disgusting." The madman brushed off his clothes disdainfully, "I was originally the rotten flesh you cut away. Now I'm just returning to my original place."

He turned, back to Little Chen Shao, and walked toward the massive blood eye.

After two steps, he stopped again.

"Hey."

The madman turned back, his silhouette upright as a spear.

"Since you've reclaimed this portion of power, don't disappoint me again."

He raised his right hand, clenched it into a fist, and thrust it forward at Little Chen Shao.

It was a very over‑the‑top move, yet at that moment it made one want to weep.

"Chen Shao. For your sister… become a real man."