These eyes, in every fragment, clearly reflected him—the figure sitting on the throne, radiant yet cold and lonely.
Love? How dare this tiny, earthly emotion try to approach this absolute throne?
absurd.
blasphemy.
Intolerable.
A cold will was born at the core of the throne, pure, absolute, and unquestionable.
Then, the scene switched, accompanied by the excruciating pain of a soul being torn apart.
He saw himself—the figure on the throne—raise his hand. No unnecessary movement, just the flow of thought.
A beam of light, so pure that it is indescribable, burst out from the fingertips, transcending the constraints of time and space, and accurately piercing through Mu Xinrong, who was wearing a star robe.
The holy white robe was instantly drenched in gushing, scalding crimson, like a giant red lotus suddenly blooming in the snow. The pupils of those eyes, filled with love, suddenly dilated, and the clear reflection within them instantly shattered into millions of pieces of despairing glass.
His body fell backwards like a puppet with its strings cut, and the light of life faded rapidly.
"No--!" Chao Youye let out a broken roar under the real sycamore tree. His body shook violently, and his fingers dug into the rough and cold tree trunk so tightly that his nails almost broke.
But the scene didn't stop. The fragments kept adding up and roaring!
In another world, he stood at the edge of a smoke-filled battlefield, a cold observer. Mu Xinrong, clad in tattered armor, struggled to shield a crying civilian child behind him as he faced a surging tide of monsters.
His figure at that moment was tall and heroic. Then, the will of the throne descended. The invisible force of rules distorted space, and the ground beneath Mu Xinrong's feet instantly turned into a black hole that swallowed everything.
His last expression was one of astonishment. He didn't even have time to react with fear; he subconsciously pushed the child out of the danger zone. The next second, he and the entire space were completely annihilated, leaving not even a trace of dust behind.
Only the child who was pushed out sat blankly on the safe land, looking at the abrupt, empty nothingness.
"Ah--!" Chao Youye's throat was strangled by an invisible force, his purple eyes widened due to severe pain and suffocation, and large patches of blood-red appeared at the edge of his vision.
In another world, a peaceful countryside. Mu Xinrong put down his hoe, wiped the sweat from his face, and with a satisfied smile after a hard day's work, he walked towards the farm girl who was waiting for him at the edge of the field, carrying a water jug and smiling shyly.
The golden glow of the setting sun gently enveloped them. Just as Mu Xinrong's hand was about to touch the bowl of water the girl handed him, a silent, space-shattering dimensional blade suddenly appeared from behind him, severing him and the gentle setting sun in half.
The warm blood was like splashed ink, instantly dyeing the girl's terrified face red, and dyeing the golden rice fields red.
The severed upper body was even leaning forward due to inertia, with a faint smile on his face that was about to touch happiness.
"Stop... stop!" Chao Youye suddenly bent down, a strong urge to vomit rushed into his throat, but he could not vomit anything. Only large beads of cold sweat fell on the ground covered with dead leaves.
The blood vessels in his temples were throbbing wildly, and each beat brought a deeper tearing pain.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
The images flashed, overlapped, and accelerated frantically! Countless Mu Xinrongs, countless ways of dying! Burned to ashes by divine flames; frozen to powder by ice.
Instantly drained by the power of time, reduced to dry bones; chopped into countless fragments by space; wiped clean of all traces of existence by the tyrannical power of the mind... Every time, it was him! An extension of the icy will of the throne!
Every time, the pair of eyes that reflected his figure solidified the unbelievable, bone-deep despair of being completely betrayed by the beloved at the last moment of life!
Every killing is accompanied by deeper fear and deadly worship from billions of lives beneath the throne.
Every betrayal makes the light of the throne brighter, colder, and more... lonely.
Scarlet blood, sticky, warm, cold, splattering, flowing, solidifying... like layer after layer of thick paint that never dries, it is repeatedly smeared on the cold throne.
The light from the throne penetrated the blood and reflected a weird and desperate halo.
Countless afterimages of Mu Xinrong wailed silently under the blood-red throne, their eyes staring blankly upwards, with only one name engraved in them: Chao Youye.
"No...it's not me...it's not me..." Chao Youye curled up under the cold trunk of the sycamore tree, her body shaking violently uncontrollably, her teeth chattering, and cold sweat soaking her school uniform on the back.
Every breath felt like inhaling a scalding steel needle, piercing his lungs. Deep within his violet eyes, he seemed to reflect the bloodstained throne, fixed intently by the gazes of millions of dead souls.
An indescribable fatigue and icy hatred coming from the deepest part of his soul, like the cold current from the deepest trench, instantly overwhelmed him.
To that throne, to that high and mighty self, to that endless cycle of reincarnation stained with the blood of the beloved!
Why? On what basis?!
This crazy, endless torrent of fragments seemed to tear him apart and assimilate him completely, dragging him under the eternally cold throne.
Under the paulownia tree in reality, Chao Youye's body suddenly spasmed, as if struck by an invisible electric current.
He curled up even tighter, holding his head tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white from the force, his nails digging deep into the roots of his hair.
A suppressed, beast-like howl emanated from his throat. The old scar on his forehead, which had long since healed, leaving only a faint mark, now felt like it had been burned anew by an invisible iron, sending waves of sharp, phantom pain piercing his skull!
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