“…I didn’t…lie to you…”
The hoarse and broken voice, accompanied by that drop of hot tears, once again echoed in the depths of the dead consciousness.
"Fuck!" Mu Xinrong stopped abruptly and squeezed out a dirty word from between his teeth, filled with anger that had nowhere to vent and hatred for his own weakness.
He was like a trapped beast forced into a desperate situation, his chest heaving violently.
The wind howled, stirring up snow foam that whipped his face. He stood there with his back to the snow, frozen for what felt like an age.
Finally, a huge mixture of resigned fatigue and indescribable irritability completely overwhelmed him.
Fuck traps! Fuck reincarnation! Fuck gods!
He spun around abruptly, his movement so violent it practically created a whirlwind. With a fierce look in his eyes and a desperate, desperate spirit, he strode back into the snow.
The snow creaked under his feet, with a force that seemed to be venting his anger.
He rushed to Chao Youye, his movements were not gentle at all, even a little rough.
He grabbed the other's icy arm and half-dragged and half-pulled him out of the deep snow.
Chao Youye's body was soft and weak, her head hung weakly, and her hot forehead hit Mu Xinrong's equally cold down jacket defenselessly.
So hot!
Mu Xinrong froze! The extremely hot temperature, which he could clearly feel through the thick down jacket, was like a red-hot iron, causing his fingertips to shrink suddenly!
This wasn't a disguise! How could a god's body temperature be as high as a furnace? He subconsciously reached out, and with an urgency he didn't even notice, he brushed aside Chao Youye's wet hair and placed the back of his hand against her forehead.
The heat from my palm was astonishing! Like a piece of burning charcoal in the snow! Hot, dry, and with a sickly, burning smell!
Chao Youye's breathing became more rapid and weaker, and the breath she exhaled was scorching hot, which hit Mu Xinrong's cold wrist, forming a sharp contrast.
A high fever! And it was definitely a bad one! Add to that the blood he spat out… internal injuries? Backlash? Countless theories flashed through Mu Xinrong's chaotic mind, each one pointing to extreme danger.
"Hey! Chao Youye! Wake up!" He shook her shoulder vigorously, his voice filled with anxiety that he himself didn't even realize. No response.
The person in his arms only let out a few unclear, painful whimpers, his brows furrowed, his long eyelashes soaked with cold sweat and snow water, sticking wetly to his lower eyelids, looking so fragile that it could be easily hurt.
The remaining bit of hostility that supported his indifference melted away instantly like thin ice in the sun in the face of this scorching temperature and complete fragility.
Instead, there is a deeper sense of helplessness and panic, like drowning.
No matter who he was, the embodiment of rules or the erasure program, this body was rapidly losing heat in the snowstorm, simultaneously being burned from the inside by a terrifyingly high fever! He would die! He really would die if this continued!
"Damn it..." Mu Xinrong cursed, his voice losing its previous ferocity and leaving only a hoarse, weak tone. He no longer hesitated, quickly bent down, and with all his strength, he carried Chao Youye's heavy, unconscious body onto his back.
The cold body transmitted an abnormal heat through the clothes, and it felt heavy, like carrying a piece of red-hot iron.
The wind and snow were so strong that it was almost impossible to open my eyes. Every step I took was sinking deep into the snow, feeling extremely heavy.
Mu Xinrong gritted his teeth and trudged towards the park exit, taking one foot deep and one foot shallow. The hot breath of the person on his back sprayed intermittently on the side of his neck, bringing waves of tingling and deeper palpitations.
The weak, painful gasps were like the sharpest hooks, pulling at his tangled nerves.
"...Don't...die..." An extremely subtle and almost inaudible whisper, with a hot breath, suddenly floated into Mu Youye's ears.
Mu Xinrong's footsteps suddenly stopped, and his heart seemed to be gripped by an ice-cold hand.
He turned his head stiffly and could only see Chao Youye's pale profile buried in his shoulder and neck, and her slightly trembling, bloodless lips.
Was that sound just now... an illusion?
"Mom... don't go..." Another lighter and more broken whisper was heard, with a heavy nasal tone and a childlike fear and pleading that went deep into the bones.
This time, Mu Xinrong heard it clearly. The voice was like an icy needle, instantly piercing through his layers of hard shell and reaching a soft and painful place deep inside.
He recalled a distant, dusty corner in those fragments of core data he had recalled—a narrow, dark corridor, a small figure clinging to its mother's legs, sobbing and begging, a cold "Let go," followed by the thud of a heavy door slamming and endless darkness...
So... that child abandoned in the cold corridor... was also him? Had that almighty god also experienced such unbearable, mortal abandonment?
The shock of this realization was far more powerful than even witnessing the tears of a god! It completely ripped apart the cold outer shell of the throne, revealing the equally scarred, human underbelly within.
"Cold..." The person on his back let out another muffled groan, and his body unconsciously shrank into the pitiful warmth on Mu Xinrong's back, his hot forehead pressed against his neck, like a cub seeking shelter.
Mu Xinrong's Adam's apple rolled violently, and a sour taste suddenly rushed into his nasal cavity.
He took a deep breath of cold air, forced down the burning sensation in his eyes, held the person on his back even harder, gritted his teeth, and quickened his pace, almost half dragging and half carrying the person.
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