In the blink of an eye, three days passed, like the solidified candle tears in the hall, quietly slipping away.
The grand hall was a scene of chaos, pieces of shattered crimson wedding garments scattered about, resembling dried, solidified blood scabs.
The air was still filled with a complicated and indistinct aroma—the lingering sweet warm fragrance, the faint scent of fresh blood, and a strong smell that lingered after an intense entanglement.
Xue Qing sat up from the wide, soft cloud couch, her long black hair scattered messily over her bare white shoulders and the red brocade blanket, with some strands clinging to her sweat-dampened neck.
Her face bore no expression, as calm as a jade sculpture freshly pulled from the cold pond, yet in the depths of her eyes lingered a hint of bewilderment after the storm.
She stepped barefoot onto the cold ground, her slender ankles and skin shimmering under the dim light, glaringly white. She did not glance at the person on the couch, but instead directly draped herself in a brand new moon white magical robe.
Only after dressing did she finally turn around, her gaze falling on Chu Zheng, who was still locked on the couch.
He leaned against the bed edge, eyelids drooping, the ferocious bite mark on his neck had already formed into a dark red scar, like a brand burnt on the skin.
His wedding robe had long been torn into strips in the previous struggle, hanging haphazardly on his body, exposing a strong chest with dozens of faint red marks.
Xue Qing approached without speaking, a flash of light from her fingertip, and the four spirit locks that had bound Chu Zheng for three days and nights clicked open, falling to the ground with soft clatters.
With the shackles gone, Chu Zheng's body tensed almost imperceptibly for a moment, then he slowly opened his eyes, his gaze deep and still, weighted with exhaustion and a complexity Xue Qing could not now understand.
He didn't look at her; he silently sat up, quietly retrieved a similarly plain cyan magical robe from the storage ring, and put it on slowly. Chapters first released on novel_fіre.net
The sound of fabric rubbing was exceptionally clear in the dead silent hall, seeming to grind at people's hearts.
The two stood facing each other, separated by a few steps, with the ground between them covered in scattered crimson fragments, resembling an insurmountable blood-colored chasm.
Xue Qing watched Chu Zheng dress, watched his face so calm it seemed almost distant, and the fury she had forced down began to churn again.
She straightened her spine, slightly raised her chin, wearing a calm expression and spoke clearly:
"From today onward, it is I who do not want you."
She seemed to be reaffirming her sovereignty.
Chu Zheng's gaze fell on her face, seeing through the armor Xue Qing had forced up. He subtly moved his lips, as if wanting to say something, but in the end, did not speak.
Across the river of space-time, arriving in this vast ancient era, he had not come merely to renew an old relationship with Xue Qing.
With his current strength, he was as insignificant as dust in this world where emperors reigned and ancestor gods overlooked, far from being able to protect himself, let alone ensure her safety.
Now he was like a stone cast into the raging torrent of destiny, unable even to control his own direction.
The trajectory of the river of space-time was still blurry in his eyes, as if separated by a thick layer of frosted glass.
Since descending to the lower realm, he's had some worries, worried that the fluttering wings of his different space-time butterfly might spark an unforeseen storm, utterly disrupting Xue Qing's originally clear and brilliant path of fate.
Xue Qing… must become Chengzu.
This was what the Sun-Eroding Cry had informed him about his past; if he interfered too much, just like previously causing Xue Qing to miss the lower realm selection at the Martial Pavilion, he might make her miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity truly meant for her.
He didn't dare gamble; such a cost, he couldn't afford it—if Xue Qing were to die at a time she shouldn't, before he understood the secrets of reincarnation, the future could wholly reverse.
Song Lingxue, Song Lingqing, and indeed the entire future generations might be overturned and completely cease to exist.
If that were truly the case, his journey to ancient times would have been utterly meaningless.
Chu Zheng's voice was deep, and after a barely audible sigh, he spoke no more, silently turning to head toward the hall door.
The hall door was pulled open, and the cold light instantly flooded in, instantly piercing the thick blood-red ambiguity within. Chu Zheng's figure disappeared in the morning light, the hall door slowly closing behind him, separating two worlds.
When the heavy door finally sealed off Chu Zheng's figure, Xue Qing stood upright, her tense spine suddenly seeming to lose all support, bending sharply.
She staggered back a step, crashing into the cold glazed mirror stand, where her side profile emerged in the mirror, instantly drained of all color.
She abruptly raised her hand, clinging tightly to her face, her cold fingers deeply embedded in her hair, knuckles whites from the force.
A suppressed, near-death like gasp escaped from between her tightly clamped fingers.
She lifted her head, forcing back the torrent of sour heat that almost burst from her eyes.
How did it come to this?
Originally, she thought liking was enough.
The things Xue Qing wanted, the people she desired, why should she care if they liked her or not? What did it matter if she forced it? As long as she grasped them, holding tight enough, eventually they would sweeten.
She had time; she had patience.
Just like Tu Fugui had said before, over time, feelings will develop.
Yet these three days of purgatorial intimacy shredded both her naive fantasies and the last shred of her dignity to pieces.