breaking Dawn
As Ling Xiao transformed his consciousness into light, gradually dissolving and peeling away the plot bracelet, time existed in another form deep within Liang An's consciousness. That pure white void space, symbolizing the consciousness of the main god, unfolded once more.
He floated in the boundless pure white, without up, down, left, right, past, or future. The place was empty and silent, like a scene from the beginning or end of the universe. The coldness and sorrow brought by He Yuzhi's lingering obsession had long since dissipated, leaving only this absolute "nothingness."
He was like a speck of dust, without memory, without purpose, simply drifting.
After an unknown amount of time, a sliver of golden light emerged from the pure white. The light was not dazzling; rather, it was somewhat dim, somewhat... broken.
It was that golden thread-bound book.
But it was unrecognizable. The once gleaming, gilded cover, imbued with boundless rules and oppressive power, was now covered in scorched black marks, as if burned by heavenly fire and carbonized by time. The text and patterns on the cover had completely vanished, leaving only uneven, dark scars. The book's own radiance had dimmed, presenting an illusory, collapsing state.
The pages slowly turned automatically, the movement sluggish, as if it had exhausted its last bit of strength. Flowing from them was no longer the merciless script of rules, but a transparent figure barely formed from a faint, dark golden light. The figure vaguely retained the outline of its former ethereal grandeur, but it was now tattered and broken, like a flickering candle in the wind, its light uncertain.
The figure "looked" in the direction of Liang An's consciousness. There was no indifferent scrutiny, no condescending pressure, not even any obvious emotion. That "gaze" pierced through the pure white, landing on Liang An and lingering for a long time.
A profound sense of weariness permeated the figures, the books, and the entire pure white space. It was a kind of exhaustion that had traversed a long period of time and carried too many "destinies" and "variables."
After a long silence, a sigh, seemingly coming from the end of time, from the very source of rules, drifted out. The sound was utterly desolate, devoid of any divine arrogance, yet strangely carrying a sense of relief, like the last morning bell in an ancient temple, its lingering resonance eventually fading into silence.
"Never mind..."
The two words fell softly, yet they seemed to contain immense power, shaking this last prison of consciousness.
The dark golden figure began to disintegrate from its edges, transforming into countless tiny specks of light, like fireflies, like dust, silently dissipating. The charred, thread-bound book also crumbled inch by inch, its pages turning to ash, its cover cracking into powder. Their dissipation was not destruction, but rather a return, a natural dissolution after a heavy burden had been lifted.
As they dissipated, the pure white space that had trapped Liang An also began to collapse. It wasn't a violent tremor, but rather like a chalk drawing being erased, starting from the edges, silently turning into nothingness, revealing a deeper, more primal darkness behind it. That darkness wasn't terrifying, but rather a tranquility like returning to the womb.
Liang An felt an invisible, gentle yet irresistible force enveloping his consciousness. That force had no will; it simply followed the final correction of some kind of "law," gently lifting him, guiding him in a certain direction—beyond pure white, deep within his consciousness, a warm, familiar anchor point shimmering with the light of life—rapidly falling and returning.
The descent felt both fleeting and eternal. He passed through blurry light and shadow, skimmed over countless fragments of memory, and finally, abruptly merged with that warm point of light!
"laugh--"
A very faint sound, as if something had been burned off, rang out in the hospital ward.
Immediately following was Ling Xiao's sudden holding of his breath and the muffled thud of his heart pounding like a drum.
The instant Liang An's consciousness returned to his body, the black bracelet on his left wrist suddenly became scorching hot! The heat wasn't physical; it was a burning sensation that pierced his very soul. Then, to Ling Xiao's astonishment, the bracelet, which clung tightly to his skin without a connector, vanished into thin black smoke in an instant, leaving no trace, as if it had never been a mere illusion.
Meanwhile, on the monitor, Liang An's temperature, which had been slightly below normal, began to rise steadily and quickly returned to normal. A faint tinge of color seemed to return to his pale face.
Ling Xiao froze by the bedside, his knuckles white from gripping Liang An's right hand so tightly. He stared intently at Liang An's face, his eyes unblinking, afraid to miss the slightest change. The exhaustion, anxiety, and feigned composure that had accumulated over the past six months all transformed into a surging mix of anticipation and fear, threatening to overwhelm him.
He saw it.
Liang An's thick, serene eyelashes, like butterfly wings startled by a gentle breeze, trembled slightly at first, then the trembling became more pronounced. Once, twice…
Then, slowly and somewhat laboriously, it was lifted.
Upon waking, his pupils were somewhat unfocused, veiled by a hazy mist, staring blankly at the ceiling, as if still trying to discern his surroundings. But soon, his pupils began to focus, slowly rotating, gradually adjusting to the soft light in the ward, and finally settling on Ling Xiao's face.
Their eyes met.
Time loses its meaning in an instant.
Ling Xiao saw those eyes he had longed for countless days and nights. Although they still carried the confusion and weakness of someone just waking up, they were indeed Liang An's eyes, eyes that belonged only to Liang An—clear and gentle, reflecting his own haggard face, with sunken eyes that were almost distorted by ecstasy.
Ling Xiao's lips trembled violently. He wanted to speak, to call Liang An's name, to laugh, to cry. But all the sounds were stuck in his throat, turning into a series of broken sobs. Tears welled up unexpectedly, large, hot drops falling onto his clasped hands with Liang An's, then sliding down the back of Liang An's hand.
He opened his mouth, tried several times, and finally managed to utter a hoarse, barely audible sound, filled with heavy sobs and an incredulous tremor:
"Liang...An...?"
On the hospital bed, Liang An's eyes cleared completely. He blinked, his long eyelashes brushing against his eyelids, his gaze carefully tracing Ling Xiao's face, as if trying to make up for all the time he had missed in the past six months.
He felt the strange, burning emptiness lingering on his wrist; the cold ring that had bound him for who knows how long, like an extension of his wrist, had vanished. An unprecedented sense of ease and wholeness welled up from the depths of his soul and spread to every part of his body.
free.
It wasn't just a physical awakening, but the breaking down of a deeper set of shackles. This world no longer had a supreme "god" consciousness, no longer had a "plot" bracelet forcibly pushing things forward. For the first time, his fate, his emotions, and the future of himself and his loved ones were completely and truly in their own hands.
His dry throat moved as he tried to speak. A slight stinging sensation came from his throat, but the words flowed clearly from his lips, low and weak, yet like the first breath of spring piercing through a long winter, carrying the faint sound of life reviving:
"Lingxiao..."
Looking at his tear-streaked face, at the overwhelming joy and lingering fear in his eyes, a mixture of bittersweetness and warmth welled up in his heart. He slightly moved the fingers that Ling Xiao was holding tightly, responding with a gentle yet firm pressure, and then, with a slight but genuine upward curve, he forced his pale lips to arch upward.
"I'm back."
Outside the window, the winter sun pierced through the clouds, filtering through the pale blue curtains and casting warm dappled light onto the pristine white sheets. Dust motes danced silently in the beams of light, as if celebrating the dawn of a long vigil that had transcended reality and illusion, despair and hope.
(End of main text)
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