...So, is there really nothing left now? Facing the verdict of the Heart-Searching Thunder, is Han Qianling just going to sit back and wait for death?
After realizing the impasse they faced, Luo Jiujiang's eyes instantly turned bloodshot. Time was so precious at this moment, even verbal communication seemed too slow and too expensive. A single glance was enough to explain everything.
Yes. Han Qianling replied to Luo Jiujiang with his eyes: I will definitely die.
He knew Luo Jiujiang just as well as he knew himself. He was acutely aware of the hatred he had harbored towards the world for years, and even at this critical moment, the threat of death didn't lessen it in the slightest.
The most ironic thing is that because of the butcher knife hanging over his head and ready to fall at any moment, Han Qianling's crazy desire to drag the entire world down with him has become even more pronounced than before.
Luo Jiujiang was speechless for a moment.
What could he do now? Did he hate the Heavenly Dao? But he had learned from the Dragon God's previous experience of destroying the world. The Heavenly Dao wanted to test the benevolence of the only dragon, and it couldn't be wrong in any way—because even now, this dragon could at least drag most of the cultivation world with him to his grave.
So should Han Qianling be blamed? But what was Qianling's fault? His emotions were instilled by the Dragon God. His father didn't consider him his own son, but only a tool to carry on his evil thoughts and wishes. His mother probably had no feelings for him either, perhaps wishing she had never met him.
How hard and difficult it was for him to control his evil thoughts at all times, not to hold everything he saw accountable, not to crush every ant within his "ability", and even to show a polite smile to the descendants of humans who had blood debts with him.
He has already fallen in love with Luo Jiujiang.
The Holy Land has only two seasons: spring and summer. There are no harsh winters here, and snowflakes are a rarity in this world. As long as the sky is clear and the daytime is bright, the Holy Land is usually as warm as spring, and this precious place chosen by Han Qianling for his tribulation journey is even more vibrant with flowers.
However, under the bright and warm sun, among the flowers and plants as gorgeous as brocade, and in the spring breeze that gently brushed his face, Luo Jiujiang felt the chill penetrate from his bones to his lungs. A dignified Nascent Soul cultivator was actually shivering all over because of the cold.
He has a blade one foot long, but he cannot force the heaven to ask questions; he has a three-inch eloquence, but it cannot even persuade the will of the world to change its mind.
Born in this world, if he can't even save the life of his beloved, what's the point of Luo Jiujiang!
His Qianling was right in front of him, and his Qianling was about to die!
However, as if fearing that this wasn't enough to irritate Luo Jiujiang, Han Qianling turned his eyes away slightly. He seemed to have made up his mind, and the choking tone in his voice had been completely smoothed out, leaving only a sense of toughness.
He said coldly and decisively: "I was the one who lied to you first. You can kill me as you please without complaint - but if you don't want to do it, then go away."
At this time, the thunderclouds of the heavenly tribulation had dispersed without a trace, but a second layer of dark clouds was slowly accumulating above the two people's heads.
Han Qianling's effortlessly pretended calmness finally broke free. He suddenly raised his hand and pushed Luo Jiujiang backwards. Every word he said was squeezed out from between his teeth, revealing a fresh smell of blood: "I told you to get out—"
What are you still doing here? Do you have to wait until the very end, when I can no longer control my crazy and cruel desires, and drag you to your death?!
If you love this world, I will not touch an inch of the three thousand worlds; I love you so much that I will not let you shed a drop of blood even when I am about to die.
Luo Jiujiang deserved to live his entire life under the sun, a carefree and unrestrained young man. He wanted to witness the sun rise and set for a thousand years, walk through a garden ablaze with blossoms ten thousand times. Wherever there were people, there were his friends, and hidden treasures of wine he had personally buried.
Thousands and tens of thousands of years from now, when Luo Jiujiang's lifelong legend finally comes to an end, he might recount old stories with his children under the shade of a tree: "When I was young, I loved a man named Han Qianling. I've loved many people in my life, but I've never felt the intense, passionate love I felt back then..."
Taking a deep breath, Han Qianling was still half immersed in the future he had painted for Luo Jiujiang. He gritted his teeth and thought: If this is really possible, I will surely be smiling even in the afterlife.
——But if Han Qianling really accepted everything and suppressed all the resentment in his heart, how could blood seep out from between his fingers in his clenched fists?
He was unwilling to accept it, but it was useless to be unwilling; he was unwilling to accept it, but it was of no benefit. Even though he was full of resentment, he finally swallowed it all with blood and turned it into a forced sentence "I lied to you, you can kill me or cut me."
It has never been Luo Jiujiang who owed Han Qianling, it has always been only Han Qianling who felt guilty towards Luo Jiujiang.
Even if Luo Jiujiang drew his knife and killed him right now, it would only be because Han Qianling had wronged him.
Han Qianling's usually clear and cold voice was now completely broken and hoarse. His vocal cords were broken and he cried out with every word: "Luo Jiujiang, I told you to get out of here—"
There was sadness in Luo Jiujiang's eyes, and that sadness dyed every inch of his eye sockets red; there was anger in Luo Jiujiang's eyes, and that anger burned straight to his head. He suddenly drew out the Chengxue from his waist and shouted angrily: "Han Qianling!"
Eighteen years ago, Luo Jiujiang had never called Han Qianling's name so angrily. Even after thousands of years, he still had never spoken Han Qianling's full name so impolitely.
In his entire life, Luo Jiujiang only called Han Qianling like this once.
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