Chapter 113 – Day and Night, Life and Death

The hall was vast, its dome painted with a massive eye that gazed down upon the scene below.

Lin Wei stepped into this place, knowing that from this moment onward, every single moment in all the time to come, whenever Katanaphia looked up and saw it, she would witness the indifferent gaze of fate revealing everything, the ferocious faces emerging from the Sea of Souls.

Perhaps it wasn’t from now, but earlier—when Elvis died, leaving her alone—she had already been under the watch of that eye.

Why did Elvis die?

Was he killed, or was it something else?

Or was it simply that the short lifespan of a human had come to its end?

The undead looked at Katanaphia, his eyes like sharp blades dipped in a venomous green liquid.

“Your contract can make me obey, but it can never force me to remember.” The soul flickered unsteadily, its light dim, as if it would vanish completely in the next moment. “I don’t know who you are, and I have no desire to know. Disturbing the rest of the dead with the obsessions of the living—you disgust me.”

Lin Wei felt the soul fluctuations above. He knew that at this moment, countless fragments of different memories were colliding, echoing, and clamoring in the undead’s mind. His soul could not bear such pressure, but the emotions and perceptions carried by the memories were gradually solidifying, making him no longer a blank slate.

“You once said that the undead are the purest life in this world,” the goddess said, looking at him.

She was the Creator God of this world, the writer of the Book of Contracts, the one who bridged life and death—yet her gaze now was only that of a child, standing firm in her own rightness despite the scolding and disdain of an elder. No matter how coldly the night had painted her, it would all vanish under Elvis’s gaze.

When there is someone who redeems you, in the most helpless moments at the very beginning, then no matter how time changes, as long as you stand before him again, you will return to the state of having nothing.

The undead stared directly at her: “That is not me.”

“No…” The goddess covered her face with her hands, her body trembling with despair and sorrow. “You’re not him… you’re not him!”

The power of the contract pressed down on the undead. He struggled against his master’s will, his body curling up in pain, yet he still managed to pull out a mocking sneer.

The goddess looked at him, at a fact she could not accept, and took a few steps back in collapse, turning and fleeing from the top of the building, descending the cold stairs and corridors.

In the hall, beneath the giant eye, stood a man.

His eyes were half-closed as he leaned against the wall, his black hair casually falling over his shoulders, exuding an unintentional melancholy, like a noble who had stepped out of an ancient mural.

That posture made the goddess momentarily mistake him for the Necromancer of old.

A voice came, rendered with a faint echo by the hall’s walls.

“When you left the continent, did you think of this outcome?”

The goddess shook her head lightly.

“When I first came here, I didn’t think I would encounter…” His voice was so low it was almost a whisper, and then he looked up at Katanaphia. “I thought so—otherwise, you wouldn’t have left it there.”

The ring on his hand emitted a vibration of spiritual energy, and a snow-white skull appeared in his arms.

The goddess looked at the skull, silent and unable to speak.

Lin Wei stepped forward, one step at a time, and handed the skull to her.

She took it in a daze, cradling it in her arms, her body trembling slightly. After a long while, two lines of tears fell from her face, ethereal and cold yet stunningly beautiful.

When she left the continent, she knew she would gain that person’s complete soul, and so all worldly things lost their meaning, unnecessary to carry.

In the end, everything collapsed, memories were forgotten, the soul betrayed—and only this skull remained as evidence that Elvis had once existed.

When she calmed down, she looked at Lin Wei: “What do you want to say to me?”

“Let’s make a deal,” Lin Wei said. “We want a passage to the continent and the Dark Element. For you, it’s not difficult. When you took the Dark Element, it was only to each take what you needed with the Goddess of Light, to stir up the Elemental Storm and gather soul fragments faster.”

“What do you have?” the goddess asked coldly.

In Lin Wei’s hand appeared a pale green, translucent fruit, its skin so thin that the plump juice and crystalline core could be seen. It emitted a soft emerald glow in the darkness, with a strange allure.

“The Devil’s Fruit, the Poison of Time,” a seductive voice whispered in Katanaphia’s ear. “Abel’s Heart—irreversible oblivion. It will make him forget everything, forget his obsessions and resistance, and become a truly pure soul. Whether you return to the continent or stay here… you can take him to see the whole world, make him the person you want him to be, just as he once took you.”

“The Abel Vine was planted by my own hand.”

The fruit floated up, out of Lin Wei’s control, and flew toward Katanaphia. The power of the Creator God was something Lin Wei could not resist.

“But you abandoned everything there—so now it’s mine.” Lin Wei looked up at the giant eye on the dome. “You are the Supreme God. If you want it, you can naturally take it from me without paying any price.”

He paused for a moment, his voice devoid of any emotion. “But, Your Holiness, look up—it’s watching you.”

The goddess, her hand hovering near the fruit, suddenly stopped as these words fell.

Lin Wei grasped the fruit again: “Let us seal it with a contract.”

The goddess looked at the fruit, and from the look in her eyes, Lin Wei knew she had agreed.

The mark of the contract appeared, slowly settling on both their souls.

The goddess took the fruit.

Moonlight covered the ground, her fingertips reflecting a faint glow, adding to the empty desolation.

“He took me out of there, showed me the outside world,” she said, lost in thought. “Why did he have to die and leave me, making me return to the darkness? Why didn’t he let me bring him back?”

“He thought he had taught you what freedom was,” Lin Wei said. “But he didn’t realize that he had become your shackles. If he truly woke up, he would be disappointed.”

Lin Wei gave her a polite bow, then turned to leave.

“You want to restore his memories,” the goddess suddenly spoke from behind.

“Of course.”

“Even after seeing my ending?”

“Yes.”

“You just criticized me for being disappointing,” the goddess said. “Yet you’re doing the same thing as me.”

The hall fell into silence for a long time.

Finally, Lin Wei answered her: “He gave me a home in my wandering. How could I let him remain in the endless darkness?”

“You’re also disturbing his rest.”

“How do you know he’s at rest?” Lin Wei turned around, looking directly into the goddess’s eyes. “When Elvis died, even with all his power, he couldn’t stop his soul from dissipating. You should know that no force can keep a free and unattached soul.”

“He had no unfinished business in this world, no one left to see. Though his life was short, it was complete and perfect by its end.”

“But Duan Yu didn’t—not in either of his deaths.”

“The first time, he truly had nothing to hold onto—because there was nothing for him to hold onto. He was born for the Magic World, died for the Magic World. He didn’t believe in anything, didn’t love anything. He didn’t even have emotions or feelings—he was just a weapon.”

He paused here, calming his emotions before continuing. “But he wasn’t—he was human. No matter his bloodline or his mission, he was a living person. When he left this world, though he had no regrets, there was still a sense of loss. His life was neither complete nor perfect. Even though he died for a cause, there was still a void that couldn’t be filled.”

“And the second time—the second time is even more obvious.” His deep purple eyes filled with tenderness and longing. “Of course he had unfinished business—how could he leave without attachments?”

“His mission was over, but his vow wasn’t fulfilled. He hadn’t properly been with me—how could he be willing to just dissipate into the Sea of Souls?”

Lin Wei closed his eyes, hiding the faint redness in them, then opened them again and said softly, “In both lifetimes, if even once he had left without attachments, he wouldn’t be standing here in this world. And if even once he felt his life was complete, I wouldn’t be so determined to bring him back.”

“If in that timeline, his soul had simply dissipated, I wouldn’t have crossed time and space to come here. If in this world, he felt he was living well, had found meaning, I would have been satisfied just seeing him from afar, and would have lived somewhere else, never bothering him again—but he didn’t. Without me, he’s forever a wandering ghost, forever without a home.”

After saying this, he didn’t wait for the goddess’s response. He turned and walked up the stairs, through the corridors, his figure disappearing into the boundary between moonlight and shadow, thin and stubborn.

The goddess stared at his retreating figure, listening to the sound of his footsteps, lost in thought.

“I envy you, and I envy him,” she murmured to herself. Her slender, pale fingers stretched out into the void before her, and when she closed them again, she held the pillar of a black harp, bringing it back to this world from the continent.

On the back of the harp was engraved its name.

Sigh of the Abyss.

A soft sigh echoed through the empty hall, lingering.

She looked down at the pale green fruit in her hand and suddenly smiled.

Bringing the fruit to her lips, her teeth bit through the soft, thin skin, taut with juice.

The liquid flowed into her throat, sweet and fragrant—the taste of forgetfulness, so mesmerizing.

She was entranced, transported to the vibrant and lush Elf Forest, looking out through a narrow window at the flourishing trees, the verdant grass, and the clear stream.

On either side of the valley were lush trees, with vines climbing up them, bearing bright red, beautiful fruits.

Young elves with translucent wings fluttered about, picking the fruits while singing lovely melodies. When they grew tired, they would pluck one and place it in their mouths, closing their eyes in bliss.

How warm the sunlight must have been, how delicious the fruits must have tasted—she didn’t know, only gazed in fascination.

Now, she thought, perhaps the taste was as sweet as the juice she drank now.

Her consciousness returned to the hall, and she saw the undead descending the stairs, looking at her.

She couldn’t make out his face or expression, and for a moment, she was back in the small, dark room, where someone was gently stroking her hair, a tenderness she had never experienced in her life.

How good this person must have been—yet she didn’t understand.

White light flooded her consciousness, and she smiled, softly saying to herself, “You will always be a wandering ghost, forever without a home.”

“What you cannot have will bind you for a lifetime.”

Lin Wei was unaware of what was happening in the hall. He ascended a spiral staircase, intending to return to his room.

But he saw someone standing in the corridor, gazing in his direction. Moonlight spilled onto the ground, and the silence was profound.

Hiding in the shadows, he nervously bit his lip, then walked expressionlessly toward the room door, brushing past the Lich as if nothing had happened.

“Lin Wei,” a voice called out to him.

He turned and saw Duan Yu looking at him. The moonlight illuminated his flawless face, captivating, commanding admiration, and entrancing.

Lin Wei completely forgot his tender and bittersweet emotions, only thinking bitterly:

This person—he’s so beautiful, yet so heartbreaking—he makes me sad, he torments me.

He also forgot all the calm, analytical, and deeply emotional words he had spoken in front of the goddess.

When I see you, I can only look at you—how could I bother with carefully chosen words?

So he simply looked back with his eyes and said, “Since you’ve heard everything, why are you calling me? I have nothing more to say. I just want to ask you—I want to take you back. Are you willing?”

The Lich looked at him, gazing in the silence.

His thoughts suddenly drifted back to a few days ago, in Adrishig’s room.

The Tower Master, who knew everything, smiled, the corners of his eyes slightly curved, his lips curling up. “Speak.”

“What was my relationship with Lin Wei there?” he heard his own voice ask.

“Tsk,” the Tower Master propped his chin on his left hand, looking at him with interest. “You have every reason to ask about all your experiences in that timeline, yet you only want to know about him?”

“Let me guess…” The Tower Master narrowed his eyes. “You lived a lifetime, yet he was the only special person, wasn’t he?”

“You barely spoke, fought to the death whenever you met, yet you were the most familiar—a strange relationship. You had no connection with anyone, except with Lin Wei.”

“But he’s hiding it, not wanting me to tell you. He’s afraid you’ll know.” The Tower Master laughed, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I adore that little guy—I can’t tell you.”

He showed no other reaction, turned coldly, and walked out.

But a voice came from behind. “I’ll only tell you one thing—treat him well. Someone is offering you the softest, most sincere heart, even if it’s broken and bleeding, trembling in pain, yet still coming to you. If you don’t hold onto it, it’ll be gone.”

He opened the door and saw that person leaning against the wall, looking nonchalant.

“Hey, let’s talk.”

Just as he now inadvertently heard all the sounds downstairs, seeing that person turn around, looking nonchalant.

“I want to take you back. Are you willing?”

—There is such a person, who travels through day and night, life and death.

He crosses the barriers of space, breaks the walls of the soul, and traverses the river of time to stand before you.

He wipes away the bloodstains, covers the wounds left by thorns along the way, and asks:

I’ve come to take you back. Are you willing?

The Lich was surprised by what he felt now.

A pain and sorrow welled up from the left side of his chest, spreading throughout his body, yet it was warm, burning.

He had never felt this before.

His long-frozen heart and soul, the first emotion he experienced, was not joy or anger, not sorrow or happiness.

It was joy soaked in heartache.

He didn’t know where following this person would lead, only that the destination beckoned him, calling him forward, like the song of the mermaids on the Siren Sea, ethereal and beautiful.

So he spoke.

The voice traveled through his soul, into the mortal world, breaking the silence of the corridor, ending the still and uneventful quiet of his life.

—I am willing.