Chapter 130
Not ordinary tears, but tears born from regret, from pain, from the realization that she had waited too long, that she had sacrificed too much, that she would never obtain what she desired if she continued being selfish and refused to yield.
"I love him, Ling Xu. I have loved him since the very first moment I saw him, when we were still young, when we still did not know that this world was cruel, when we still believed that love could overcome everything. And I will never stop loving him, no matter what happens, no matter whom he chooses, no matter how much time it takes. Because to me, Huan Zheng is not merely the man I love. He is my home, Ling Xu. He is the place I can return to after wandering through a scorching and barren desert. He is the only one who makes me feel that I am not alone in this cruel world. And I will not allow anyone—not even you—to take him away from me."
Ling Xu fell silent.
She looked at The Singer—the red-haired woman she once hated, once envied, once considered a rival who needed to be removed—and for the first time throughout this long journey, she saw something she had never seen before.
She saw herself.
She saw a woman who loved with all her heart, who was willing to do anything for the person she loved, who was unafraid of sacrificing everything, even her own happiness, for the sake of the one she cherished.
And within her heart, amidst the pulse of the Cancer plague that had begun beating with a strangely calm rhythm, like a river flowing gently over slippery stones without hurry, she murmured to herself.
Her inner voice was no longer cold and firm, no longer broken and trembling, but soft, incredibly soft, like a mother stroking the hair of her feverish child, like a nurse wrapping a patient's wounds with clean and warm cloth.
"Very well, The Singer," Ling Xu finally whispered.
Her voice was no longer cold like ice, no longer shattered like glass, but resigned, deeply resigned, like someone swallowing bitter medicine because they knew there was no other cure for their illness.
"I will allow Huan Zheng to have two wives. You may marry him. But remember—I am the first wife. I came first. I am older. I am more—"
"You're only two months older than me, Ling Xu," The Singer interrupted.
Her voice was no longer broken and trembling, but slightly playful, slightly teasing, with a tone that made Ling Xu want to throw a rock at her head while strangely making her feel that everything would be alright, that they could become friends, that they could support one another, that they could share Huan Zheng without needing to hate each other.
"So don't act like an old woman in front of me."
And at the corner of Ling Xu's lips—beneath the white bandages wrapped around her head, beneath her tightly closed third eye—a smile slowly bloomed.
A smile she had not shown anyone since she was a child and her mother was still alive. A warm smile. A sincere smile. A smile that said she was relieved, that she was happy, that she no longer had to fight alone, that she now had someone with whom she could share her burdens, even if that person was the woman she once considered an enemy.
The wedding was held a month later, within the palace they had built upon the ruins of the old palace of the corrupt rulers, before thousands of citizens gathered to witness their new rulers united in sacred matrimony.
Huan Zheng stood in the center, wearing golden robes he had never worn before, with his hair neatly combed for the first time in his life, his expression still lazy yet strangely happy, like someone who had finally realized that life was not always about fighting and killing and surviving, that life was also about loving and being loved, that life was also about sharing happiness with the people you cherish.
At his right side stood Ling Xu in a white wedding dress—not white like the bandages wrapped around her head, not white like the snow falling atop mountain peaks in winter, but white like the light emerging from her third eye when she was angry. A brilliant white. A dazzling white. A white that made everyone who saw her feel as though they were witnessing something sacred, something pure, something that would never be stained by time, evil, or death.
At his left side stood The Singer in a red wedding dress—red like her hair, red like flames that never extinguished, red like the blood flowing across battlefields when they were young and still believed that victory was everything. A bold red. A defiant red. A red that declared she would never surrender, that she would never retreat, that she would always remain beside Huan Zheng no matter what happened.
"With the authority of the Dao we possess as cultivators of Complexity Dao," said The Silent One, who acted as the wedding officiant.
His voice was no longer flat and empty like when he was still a puppet, no longer heavy and deep like when he merged with the soul of the God of the Vast Cosmos, but filled with emotion, filled with happiness, filled with tears he could no longer hold back.
"I hereby declare you husband and wives. Huan Zheng, you may now kiss both of your wives."
And Huan Zheng—upon hearing those words, upon seeing Ling Xu beside him in her radiant white dress, upon seeing The Singer beside him in her blazing red gown, upon feeling his heartbeat quicken because he had never imagined that one day he would stand here, before thousands of citizens, before The Silent One crying tears of joy, before the entire infinite universe, as the husband of two women he loved equally, cherished equally, respected equally—could only smile.
A smile no longer lazy, no longer flat, no longer indifferent, but warm and sincere, a smile that said he was thankful, that he was grateful, that he would never waste the second chance life had given him.
And with a slow, meaningful motion, one deliberately made dramatic to provoke reactions from the thousands of eyes staring at him, he kissed Ling Xu first.
Not a simple kiss that merely brushed lips together, but a deep, warm kiss filled with promises that he would always protect her, that he would always remain by her side, that he would never leave no matter what happened, no matter how many storms stood before them, no matter how many enemies tried to separate them.
Then he kissed The Singer—a kiss no less warm, no less deep, no less filled with promises, because he knew, he knew with absolute certainty, that without The Singer, he might never have survived the darkest period of his life, that without The Singer, he might never have smiled again after losing his family, that without The Singer, he might never have become the person he was now—better, stronger, braver in loving and being loved.
To be continued….