Chapter 18: I Am Your Deceased Husband
A quarter of an hour ago, Rong Zhao arrived at the Heavenly Gate.
The Heavenly Gate shone brilliantly, like a thin veil or light silk, its misty light enveloping everything, almost blinding Venerable Rong.
He rubbed his eyes, leaned against the white jade pillar of the Heavenly Gate archway, and sat down, pressing a hand to his chest in discomfort.
The heavy weight of karma pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe, his ears ringing, his vision flickering between black and white, fragmented and disjointed.
Rong Zhao didn't know what was happening, simply assumed that he was new to the Immortal Capital and not used to it.
Before ascension, the Heavenly Dao had only outlined the general rules; the rest of the details had to be figured out on his own. If a senior Immortal Lord was willing to guide him, he could avoid some detours, or a High Immortal could use secret methods could have discerned the cause.
Unfortunately, Rong Zhao had absolutely no intention of befriending anyone.
Nor did he know how.
-
When Ming Chen arrived, this was the scene he witnessed.
A black-clad, black-haired immortal lord sat beneath a white jade pillar, bound by heavy karma, his body covered in a chaotic, inexplicable aura of malevolence, looking thoughtfully disheveled and grimy.
...
How could he be in such a wretched state even after ascending?
Just yesterday, he was perfectly clean; yet in a mere day Ming Chen hadn't been watching over him, and he ended up in this state.
Ming Chen had a strange feeling, like he'd picked up a stray dog.
But thinking about it, it made sense. Given Rong Zhao's vengeful nature, he'd probably killed many people after gaining power. He didn't know how to dispel the evil energy, nor did he know that an Immortal Lord carrying such a heavy evil energy could easily lead to a life-or-death tribulation, so he let these filthy things cling to him as he made his way to the Immortal Capital.
In a daze, Immortal Ming Chen had a strange illusion—that Rong Zhao, knowing nothing of the world, couldn't possibly survive without him.
This illusion made his heart inexplicably soften .
But the next instant, that softness vanished without a trace.
Rong Zhao raised his head, glanced at him, and coldly asked, "Who are you?"
The wind blew through the Heavenly Gate along the jade-paved street, ruffling Ming Chen's long, silvery hair.
His true form wasn't much different from his avatar, only his hair color was different, his features weren't as soft as Meng Zhifan's, and his temperament was slightly more aloof.
Ming Chen thought of this.
Perhaps Rong Zhao had forgotten. Or perhaps he simply never cared about the mortal who died by his sword, which was why he couldn't even recognize such a subtle change.
-
The newcomer remained silent.
Rong Zhao couldn't help but squint.
The light near the Heavenly Gate was bright, coupled with the white jade floor tiles and the white jade archway, and the person was dressed entirely in white.
The tinnitus grew increasingly intense; his vision was fragmented into a chaotic mosaic of black and white, he could only see a blurry mass, barely discernible as a human shape.
"Who are you?" Rong Zhao asked again, forcing himself to stand despite the cold sweat beading on his forehead. He condensed a long sword from the Rao Zhi Rou in his hand and raised it slightly to point it directly at Ming Chen, "What do you want?"
...That very sword had once pierced his heart, causing excruciating pain.
Yet, only a day later, it was pointing at him again.
"Who am I?" Ming Chen sighed softly, abandoning all pity and soft-heartedness. He took a step forward, instantly appearing behind him, and said in a low voice, "I am merely a High Immortal from the Heavenly Sea Realm."
A vast surge of immortal essence rushed in, unstoppable and overwhelming, almost frantically annihilating the opponent's immortal essences with near maniacal ferocity.
Rong Zhao was bewildered, not knowing what was happening.
He only felt a sudden lightness throughout his body; the heavy burden that had been pressing down on him since entering the Immortal Capital had vanished, leaving him feeling light and airy, as if floating on clouds.
Suddenly, a sweet, metallic taste rose in his throat, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Then he vomited several mouthfuls of dark red, viscous blood.
Blood continued to gush from his mouth, and the belated excruciating pain almost shattered him instantly, draining the color from his face until he turned deathly pale.
Unable to keep his footing, he collapsed to the ground.
The relentless, agonizing pain slowly eroded Rong Zhao, leaving him unable to even scream. He curled up on the ground, trembling and struggling, his vision blurred by blood. His fingers dug gruesome bloody scratches into the white jade tiles.
All these years had passed, yet he felt as if he were still trapped at the bottom of the 199 steps of Crimson Dragon Mountain.
Pathetic, weak, utterly vulnerable.
Subjected to humiliation.
Suddenly, he felt a lightness in his body; he was lifted up like a blood-soaked rag.
Among the various tribulations sent down by Heaven, the four tribulations of wind, thunder, rain, and fire correspond to the four towers of the Heavenly Sea Realm. Immortals who received their tribulations would go to their respective towers to undergo the tribulation.
The thunder from the Thunder Tower could refine malevolent energy.
Ming Chen carried the half-dead Rong Zhao straight to the Thunder Tower.
Each level of the Thunder Tower had forty-nine bolts of heavenly thunder; the higher one went, the stronger the thunder became.
Ming Chen brought him to the first level.
He sat not far away, watching Rong Zhao futilely try to summon the Rao Zhi Rou, his weapon to block the heavenly thunder. The crystalline threads would wear a cocoon like shield, only to be repeatedly cleaved, leaving his clothes torn and his body covered in countless red welts resembling whip marks, like a butterfly struggling in its death throes.
Its wings were riddled with holes and wounds; in the end, it could only curl up into a ball and tremble slightly.
...
Ming Chen suddenly felt restless.
He felt he had gone too far, but upon reflection, compared to what Rong Zhao had done to him, it didn't seem so excessive.
Even so, he stood up nonetheless.
To Immortal Ming Chen, the lightning strikes on this level were as weak as raindrops, easily brushed away.
"I've heard that the Thunder Tower was originally built to punish sinners," he said, lifting his robes and crouching beside Rong Zhao. His voice, deep and soft amidst the deafening thunder, was like a lover's whisper. "This tower contains forty-nine bolts of heavenly thunders. Sinners are imprisoned here, suppressed layer by layer, never to rise again. You are here..."
He wanted to ask if he felt even a little regret .
A hand reached out, interrupting him.
A trembling, bloodstained hand, with a bright red lightning wound across the back, gripped his robes tightly.
There was not a trace of remorse.
If it had claws, it might have torn a piece of flesh from his body.
"I..." Rong Zhao's voice was weak and barely audible, almost drowned out by the thunder, yet filled with a chilling hatred. "I have no grudge against the Immortal... we just met for the very first time... why... why torment me to this extent—!"
"No grudge? Just met?" Ming Chen repeated softly, feeling a void in his heart. He looked down at him, remained silent for a long time, and then said softly, "It seems your memory isn't very good."
After a moment, estimating that the malevolent energy had been refined enough, he picked up Rong Zhao and left the Thunder Tower.
-
"Splash—"
A dark figure was thrown into the warm pool, a layer of blood rising to the surface.
Rong Zhao was caught off guard and drowned. He thrashed around for a few moments before reaching the edge of the pool, coughing repeatedly.
His soaked, tattered clothes clung tightly to his body, outlining his slender waist.
His wet hair clung to his pale face, water droplets sliding down his bloodless lips. His eyes glistened from the water, tinged with a slightly reddish hue.
Amidst his disheveled state, there was a hint of pitiful vulnerability.
He was soaking wet in the water, then quickly scooped out, still dripping wet, and carried to the bed.
The embrace was surprisingly gentle.
Silver-white hair fell down, tangling with his black hair. Nose to nose, a warm touch brushed against his cool lips.
Rong Zhao finally saw Ming Chen's face clearly.
The instant he saw it, his pupils constricted, as if his heart had suddenly plunged into an icy abyss. Instinctively, he gripped the sheets beneath him, his hands clenching so tightly the veins on the back of his hands bulged.
"You..." Rong Zhao murmured, feeling like he was dreaming, "Who are you?"
This was the third time Ming Chen had heard this question.
He didn't answer, but simply reached out to strip Rong Zhao of his clothes. The clothes were tattered from being struck by lightning, easily torn off.
Beneath lay a fair skinned body covered in dark red welts, crisscrossing like a dense network of whip marks.
And that wasn't all.
There were also the bruises and bite marks from the previous day in the cave, a mix of old and new, blue and purple.
Ming Chen's eyes darkened slightly as he gently traced a mark on Rong Zhao's collarbone with his fingertip, his other hand supporting his waist.
The temperature of his fingertips was like a red-hot iron, the touch sending a chill down Rong Zhao's spine.
For some reason, Rong Zhao shivered slightly.
He stared intently at that face, so familiar, yet not quite right, feeling as though his consciousness detached from his body, drifting aimlessly like duckweed on the water.
This wasn't Meng Zhifan, Rong Zhao thought. An Immortal Lord’s avatar could retain memories and 20% of their immortal essence, while Meng Zhifan was just an ordinary mortal.
He had clearly asked about his origins and even secretly visited the village where Meng Zhifan used to live; everyone there knew him.
Dao Companions did not lie to each other.
Meng Zhifan wouldn't lie.
...
... ...
He suddenly trembled and let out a muffled groan.
Rong Zhao was badly injured and had no strength to struggle, but he felt real pain, so much so that he broke out in a cold sweat.
His disheveled black hair clung to his body, damp and heavy with moisture, as if he were being forced to drown, like a nightmare from which he could not escape.
The other man leaned down, kissing and licking his bloodless lips until they were rosy and moist, and his cheeks flushed with a faint peach-like color.
"Who am I?" The hot, damp breath brushed against his ear as the object inside him began to move.
Although not very rough, it was hardly gentle either, and Rong Zhao winced in pain.
He arched his neck and struggled weakly, trying to pull away, but was grabbed by the waist and pressed back down.
"Mmm..."
Rong Zhao's lips trembled, opening and closing silently, a hoarse, dying sound escaping his throat, his clear black eyes turning red and moist, his fingertips scratching futilely at Ming Chen's back.
Ming Chen raised her hand, her fingers threading through his damp hair, and cupped the back of his head, whispering in his ear in a low and gentle voice, "I am your deceased husband."
Author's Note:
Some readers are wondering why the High Immortal's avatar died, but the tribulation of love was not considered passed.
To overcome the tribulation of love, one must either completely let go of the relationship or become a couple. The High Immortal did neither, so he didn't overcome it.
