Chapter 1 (Revised)
Zhu Fu is about to die.
This wasn't hyperbole, metaphor, or any other figure of speech—literally, he was dying.
As an evil god, he has been causing trouble for hundreds of years. Wherever he goes, no grass grows and he has done all kinds of bad things.
Everyone thought that the evil god would continue to rule the world, but unfortunately, good prevailed over evil, and he was defeated in the end.
While the righteous man was there lecturing him that the sea of suffering was endless and he should turn back, Zhu Fu was lying on the ground with a blood mist all before his eyes.
Everyone knows that although the evil god is a famous devil, he has a pair of eyes that are incomparably beautiful.
The corners of her eyes are slightly upturned, like the first soft peach petals blooming under the rising sun in early spring. Her eyelashes are long and thick, and she is so beautiful that it is captivating.
Her eyes are watery and full of spring, and she looks at everyone with deep affection.
Little did they know what kind of cruelty was hidden beneath such tenderness.
Since he was a child, people have told him that he looks very much like his mother.
His father often said that the thing that most resembled his mother was his eyes.
His mother is a famous beauty, an absolute beauty from the top of the mountain. She has thousands of admirers, but her husband is as hard as iron, and no one can cross her line.
Finally, he fell into his father's hands.
But his dad wasn't bad either. To put it in his own boastful way, he was so handsome that it was earth-shattering and made ghosts and gods cry. Everyone loved him and flowers bloomed when he saw them.
So his mother, this flower on the high mountain, was eventually picked by his father.
By the way, his mother is also a man, so Zhu Fu has two fathers.
At home, Zhu Fu didn't dare to call "Mom" and had to call her "Father".
Blood formed small lakes beneath him, and he could feel his life slowly draining away. Death became a concrete form.
Zhu Fu blinked, and sticky liquid dripped down her eyelashes.
He was in a daze.
That’s right, the evil legend who was about to die was actually in a daze.
People will see a revolving lantern before they die. Zhu Fu didn’t believe it before, but now she does.
Otherwise, how could he see the scene of his fathers holding him, a tiny baby, and coaxing him patiently?
It had been as long as they had been dead as it had been long since Zhu Fu had seen someone look at her with such tenderness.
After the fathers left, all other people in the world could only be divided into usable tools and unusable scum for the evil god.
"What's a good name?" In the illusion, another father stood beside him, poking his soft little face with his hand, "Baby, let's take your last name."
"Call me... Fu Fu."
"Zhu Fu? Is that the Fu in the puff you like to eat? What a good name. You little brat have received so many blessings from us. Little Fu, grow up quickly and don't make your mother angry in the future."
'Don't call me that.'
"I know, I know."
…
Those images dissipated like mist, and the fathers disappeared.
Daydreams are only dreams after all, and the embrace becomes an illusion. Zhu Fu returned to the cold, gloomy reality and sighed inwardly.
Few people know that the heartless evil god Zhu Fu had a happy and harmonious family in his childhood. His fathers had a good relationship with him and would make him happy, play games with him and take him out to play like ordinary parents.
Fathers are strong and loving, raising fragile children who should not be known to others.
Unfortunately, nothing happened later.
The intercourse between a Paladin and a Son of God was inherently sinful; the moment the fathers fell in love, they had already sown the seeds of disaster for hundreds of years to come.
The evil fruit was in his roots, so of course he could not grow up to be an upright person.
His fathers died trying to protect him, and he lost his last bastion of warmth.
There is nothing in this vast world that can hold him back.
Zhu Fu made a wish before she died - perhaps it couldn't be considered a wish, it was just a mumbling in a half-asleep state.
If only I could live again.
If he could live his life over again, he would not make the same mistake again.
Why do you want to be a troublemaker or rule the world? Isn't it a better choice to grow up obediently with your fathers, be a good boy in their arms, and live a simple and ordinary life?
He really, really missed them...
The pain had long since numbed her, and she could no longer hear what the people around her were saying. Zhu Fu's consciousness grew increasingly weak, and she fell to the brink of a long sleep.
*
Before regaining consciousness, Zhu Fu smelled a very fragrant scent.
Sweet and soft, with a hint of tropical and ocean flavor.
It seems to be coconut milk sago.
It used to be his favorite dessert, and he had been eating it since he was a child.
His mother was born into a noble family and was raised with great care and love. Even after she got together with his father, she still didn't have to do any housework.
It was not until I had him that I would occasionally go into the kitchen and cook for him myself. Seeing his satisfied little face as he ate the food in big mouthfuls, I would smile faintly.
After he killed his mother, he searched all over the world, visited countless shops, and hired dozens or even hundreds of chefs and pastry chefs, but he never found the same taste again.
But at this moment, this smell gently penetrated his sense of smell, so familiar that it made his nose sore.
Zhu Fu couldn't bear to open her eyes, fearing that the brief illusion would end.
He did so many bad things that he should go to hell after his death.
Smelling the scent of nostalgia at this moment, I feel like I am in heaven - is this also considered a part of the torture of entering hell?
Zhu Fu was still in a daze and didn't open her eyes.
Then, there were the clattering sounds of pots and pans, footsteps, the rustling of curtains, the chiming of wind chimes, and even the singing of birds outside the window.
In short, they are all worldly sounds.
Isn't he in hell?
Zhu Fu couldn't bear it any longer and opened her eyes.
He was stunned.
The person who was making a phone call by the window was tall and slender, with a straight back, like a handsome young poplar. He was listening attentively with his eyebrows lowered, and he looked quiet and clear - who else could it be but his mother?
Zhu Fu rubbed her eyes again and again.
After making sure it wasn't an illusion, he opened his mouth. The sound didn't seem to come from his throat, but was as light as a dream: "Mom...Mom?"
He wanted to shout "Mom", but his throat was so hoarse that he could only make some weak, unformed sounds.
When Zhu Xiyuan heard his son calling him, he hung up the phone with a few words and turned around.
He saw Zhu Fu's expression and frowned.
The little one at home is three years old. He loves to laugh. He doesn’t make a fuss even if he bumps into something while learning to walk. He is silly and rarely cries. Even if you can’t find them when you wake up, they will just whimper a few times at most.
Not only did he wake up not long into his nap today, but his eyes were red and he looked at me with a shocked and aggrieved expression.
He bent down and picked up the little guy from the cream-colored crib and asked softly, "Baby, did you have a nightmare?"
Just like Zhu Fu hadn't tasted delicious coconut milk sago for hundreds of years, he hadn't heard anyone call him "baby" in such a gentle tone for hundreds of years.
Although the "Fu" in his name was chosen by his mother, she preferred to call him "Zi Zi".
Baby, baby.
Light and soft, his mother's voice was light and seemingly without many ups and downs, but it contained infinite love.
Everyone knows that the evil god Zhu Fu is immune to all poisons, fearless and ruthless.
No one knew that just these few simple words almost made him cry with nostalgia.
Being able to see her father again was something Zhu Fu had never dared to hope for before.
The evil god could do many things, but resurrecting the dead was not one of them. Even if he could awaken them, they would be some foul and filthy creatures, and he was unwilling to defile his fathers in this way.
Zhu Fu has always resisted resurrection, so he naturally wondered: Is this another ugly illusion that deceives the senses?
He looked up and carefully examined his father, whom he had not seen for hundreds of years.
Zhu Xiyuan was still cool and beautiful, but how could she look at...
As the biological father of the evil god, Zhu Xiyuan naturally would not age, but at this moment he looked younger than at any time in Zhu Fu's memory, only in his twenties.
But in Zhu Fu's impression, her father had him when he was thirty years old.
Where is he now? Is his father his father?
etc.
Zhu Fu then discovered another problem.
When he grew up, he was about the same height as Zhu Xiyuan. How could he be carried? And so easily, like picking up a kitten.
It's true that he's a pretty good fighter, but that's because of his speed, ruthlessness, and accuracy; he's not a strongman.
Is that outrageous?
Moreover, all the furniture in the room became much larger, and the door alone looked very tall.
His mother also looked a lot bigger, but it was in harmony with the scene behind him.
Zhu Fu felt something was wrong.
Is it possible that it is not the house that has become bigger, but he who has become smaller?
He lowered his head and held out his hand.
The pair of hands that were originally slender, well-defined, and praised by everyone were gone, replaced by chubby little hands, which probably had only a few more fingers than Doraemon.
Her skin wasn't the cold pale color of an adult's, but a sweet milky white, so tender that you could squeeze water out of it.
Something is wrong.
Something is really wrong.
Zhu Fu's entire body shuddered, a strong sense of foreboding gripping him. He turned his head, searching for anything that could reflect light, and finally saw his own reflection in a glass case not far away.
With round eyes, curly hair, and a soft and white complexion, he was wearing a cream-colored pajamas covered with little ducks. He looked like he had walked out of a painting, like a moving doll, a small and soft ball in his mother's arms.
Although it was a little unfamiliar, he had seen it before.
It was his three-year-old self.
...Oh my god!
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