Chapter 267. The Weight of Despair

Linyue collapsed to the ground. Her eyes were open. Or she thought they were open, yet all she saw was black. She didn’t know what happened to the others. She didn’t know what happened to the masked man. There was only pain and darkness. Heavy, endless darkness.

Shu Mingye’s eyes snapped open. A violent burst of lightning spiritual energy had split through the air, crackling like a thousand bolts crashing down from the heavens. It was loud. Blinding. The ground shook. His breath caught.

He knew this energy. Her lightning. His Pie.

His skin tingled as the energy swept through him. His whole body shuddered. A jolt tore through his meridians, raw and burning, until the fire inside him surged back to life. His spiritual energy roared awake, wild and hot, crashing through his veins. The dark red energy that had pinned him down vanished, burned away as if nothing had ever touched him. He gasped, stumbled, then pushed himself to his feet.

She wasn’t beside him.

His heart dropped. His voice was rough, almost breaking. “...Pie?”

He turned, searching everywhere, panic clawing at his chest. The ground was ruined, split wide in every direction. Ash and shattered stone littered the battlefield. It looked as if the heavens had punished the earth with pure wrath. The red mist that had once filled the battlefield was gone. In its place, lightning filled the air, thick and heavy, humming like a warning. Sparks danced across the broken earth, bright and sharp. But they didn’t burn him. They carried her warmth. They felt like her.

Then he saw him. The masked man. Still standing, but his hand trembled. Blood dripped slowly from his fingers. The edge of his sleeve was scorched, his robe torn. The mask that had hidden him was cracked in half, a sharp line splitting across. Pale skin showed beneath. A streak of blood ran down his cheek. The suffocating aura of red energy that had once wrapped him… gone.

Then Shu Mingye’s eyes dropped. His breath stopped.

She was there. Not far from the masked man.

His Pie. Lying motionless on the ground.

He couldn’t even form words. He just ran. The masked man no longer mattered. The battlefield no longer mattered. Pain, blood, chaos—none of it mattered. All he could see was her.

He dropped to his knees beside her and, with shaking hands, turned her body gently. His hands trembled. His jaw locked so tight it hurt. His chest ached like it was being crushed. Slowly, he pulled her into his arms.

Her robes, once pure white, were soaked through with blood. So much blood. Her beautiful face was streaked red. From her eyes, from her nose, from her lips, even her ears. It stained her skin, her lashes, her mouth. Her eyes were shut tight, as if she had simply fallen asleep. He cupped her cheek with one hand. Her skin was cold, but not her usual cold. Not the coolness that made him smile. This was wrong. This was deathly cold.

“Pie…”

His voice cracked. It came out hoarse, broken.

She didn’t move. Not even a twitch. He held her closer, his arms wrapped around her like they could protect her from whatever had already hurt her.

“Pie…” he said again, louder this time. Desperate.

Still no response.

His hand brushed her cheek again, softer this time. “Don’t scare me… please…”

Her body stayed still. Like all the warmth, all the life, had already slipped away.

That lightning. It must be that self-sealing array. She must have broken it. His heart shook violently inside him. It couldn’t be broken. It should never have been broken. And yet she had done it. What was he supposed to do now?

His voice came out tight, filled with pain he couldn’t hide. “Pie…” he whispered. “I told you… you can break me, but you can’t be broken.” His throat burned. “You never listen. Why do you always break your promise… again and again…”

He pulled her closer, tighter, like his arms alone could hold her soul in place. Her head rested against his chest, cradled like something fragile, something precious. His hand stroked her hair, slow and gentle, the way he always did. She smelled like blood. Lightning spiritual energy still clung to her skin. Too wild, too sharp, like the remains of a storm that had destroyed everything in its path. He didn’t know what to do. There was too much blood. Too much silence. So he kept calling her. Again and again.

“Pie…”

“Please…”

“Linyue…”

The world around him felt gray, useless, hopeless. Everything he had done, everything he had fought for, meant nothing if she wasn’t here.

And then he heard it. The faintest breath. So shallow, so soft, but it was there. She was still breathing. Barely. And that was enough. His arms tightened around her. His eyes burned, but he didn’t let the tears fall. Slowly, with everything inside him trembling, Shu Mingye stood. He carried her in his arms, her blood soaking into his clothes, her cold body pressed against his heart. He walked. One step. Then another. Each step felt heavier than the last. The weight in his arms. The blood on his sleeves. The silence pressing in from every side.

As he neared the gate, it creaked open.

Waiting on the other side were Prince Lu, Master Yin Xue, and Master Tian Mo.

Prince Lu’s eyes widened in shock. “What happened??” he asked, his voice unsteady.

Master Yin Xue stepped forward at once. Her voice was calm but quick. “Let’s take her back first.”

Master Tian Mo nodded, already turning away. “I’ll take care of the others. Go.”

Shu Mingye said nothing. He didn’t even look at them. His whole world was the person in his arms. His Pie. Still bleeding. Still cold. Still so terrifyingly still. He climbed into the carriage Prince Lu had prepared. The instant he sat down, the driver snapped the reins. The carriage flew down the path, racing toward Xuanyi Pavilion.

Shu Mingye’s eyes never left her face. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, careful, trembling. He wiped the blood from the corner of her lips, from the faint streaks trailing down from her eyes. But it didn’t stop. It kept spilling from her nose, her ears, her mouth. Too much. As if something inside her had already broken beyond repair.

His breath caught in his throat. It hurt to breathe. He felt like he was dying too.

The ride blurred past. The world outside meant nothing. The pounding of hooves, the creak of wheels, the rush of wind—he heard none of it. Only the faintest sound of her shallow breath, weaker with each moment.

The carriage barely slowed before he leapt down, clutching her like she was the last thread holding him to this world. Master Yin Xue was already there, her movements brisk and steady, leading him inside. He didn’t see the path, didn’t notice the turns, didn’t care what doors opened or closed. His feet followed on their own, step after step, like a puppet. His mind was no longer clear. Everything felt far away, like he was dreaming.

He barely registered Master Yin Xue’s voice. “Lay her down.”

His body obeyed. He lowered her onto the bed. His hands lingered against her, unwilling to let go.

Master Yin Xue’s sleeves swept forward, her fingers already moving fast and precise. There was no panic in her face, but the urgency was there.

“Change your clothes first,” she said without looking up. “I’ll handle it.”

Shu Mingye didn’t move. He couldn’t. His eyes stayed locked on the pale face against the white sheets. Her lips still stained with blood. Her chest barely rising, as if even breathing was too heavy task for her. His lungs burned, his throat closed. He couldn’t breathe either.

“Don’t bother me,” Master Yin Xue snapped. “I need to treat her. We don’t have time. Leave. Now!”

The words hit him. His lips parted, but no sound came. Just one last look. Slowly, he forced himself back, step by step. One last look. Then another. And another. Only when his back hit the doorframe did his body turn. When he finally lifted his head, he saw the sign above the corridor.

The healing hall. Of course.

He stood there. Staring at the door like it might open any second and give him an answer. Or take everything away. Then the others arrived—Song Meiyu, He Yuying, Shen Zhenyu—escorted by Master Tian Mo. He could tell they were talking. Maybe to him. Maybe about her. He didn’t know. The words slid past him like wind. Empty. His head was already too full. Too loud. With her. Only her.

Shen Zhenyu stopped a short distance away, studying him quietly. He didn’t know the full story. Only that he had been jolted awake by a violent surge of lightning tearing through his meridians. The crushing weight of that red aura had disappeared in an instant. His injuries from it, the wounds eating at his core, were gone as if they had never existed. Later, he heard from Prince Lu and Master Tian Mo that Linyue was hurt. Terribly hurt. He had wanted to ask more. But when he approached Shu Mingye, the man didn’t even look at him. The Demon King stood like a statue. His brow drawn tight. His jaw locked hard enough to crack. His eyes held a stillness that was worse than rage. His robes were drenched in red from shoulder to boot. Stiff with blood.

He looked the same as the first time they met. Cold. Untouchable. Fearsome. The Demon King everyone whispered about. But this time, there was something even worse in his silence.

Grief.

And all Shen Zhenyu could do was stand beside him and wait.