ATAVID CH51

When Jiang Qunyu woke up again, he was on the banks of the River of Forgefulness.

The water was deathly still and pale blue, without a single ripple.

Wei Xun stood on the bank, dressed in a long, simple white robe that surpassed the snow in purity. His eyes were lowered, his long lashes concealing those eyes that were as transparent as glazed glass.

He summoned “Soul-Eater.”

The sword trembled slightly, emitting a faint hum. The next moment, countless red phantoms drifted out from the blade, transforming into one figure after another, stepping into the River of Forgefulness.

They stood in silence for a long time, then bowed deeply in the direction of Wei Xun and Jiang Qunyu before dissolving into light smoke, vanishing at the end of the river.

Only two figures lingered, slow to depart.

It was Wei Lan and Lin Qing.

Lin Qing stood in the water, mist swirling around her robes. She still looked exactly as she had all those years ago—her brows and eyes soft and elegant, as beautiful as pear blossoms first blooming under the moonlight.

She held the blue paper lantern Wei Xun had given her, its faint light shimmering on the water’s surface, reflecting the familiar gentleness in her features.

Wei Lan stood beside her. He was no longer the wretched, blood-soaked figure from that day. His white hair had returned to its original ink-black, his brows and eyes had recovered their cold clarity, and the aura around him had become peaceful.

The two looked quietly at Wei Xun.

The wind blew across the sea of Manjusaka flowers (the other shore flowers), stirring up waves of ghostly blue.

After a long time, the two finally turned slowly, and walking together, they stepped deeper into the River of Forgefulness, never looking back.

On such an ordinary winter day, Wei Xun personally sent his father and mother on their final journey.

Jiang Qunyu looked ahead, not at him. His voice was very soft, light enough to be drowned out by the rustling of the flowers blooming and fading one after another. “In the end, you didn’t speak to them. Does it hurt?”

“Jiang Qunyu,” Wei Xun stood side-by-side with him and remained silent for a while before saying, “I didn’t know what to say.”

Jiang Qunyu was stunned. After a long while, he replied with a wooden expression, “Alright, I don’t know either.”

He had never even seen his own mother.

Wei Xun laughed upon hearing this: “I thought you would comfort me.”

Jiang Qunyu: “…”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but no matter how hard he searched his brain, he couldn’t find a single decent word of comfort.

After holding it in for a long time, he finally squeezed out the most mundane sentiment: “Just leave the unbearable sadness to time. Time can always take everything away.”

Wei Xun didn’t know if he had listened or not, but he responded gently, “Mn.”

Just as the two were about to turn and leave, the previously still surface of the River of Forgetfulness suddenly began to shimmer with tiny lights.

One point, two points, millions of points… Fluorescent lights, crimson as blood, rose slowly from the bottom of the water. Like stars that had slept for a thousand years suddenly awakening, they floated gently on the ghostly blue water, dyeing the entire deathly silent river into a tender shade of scarlet.

The points of light gathered, winding, spinning, and condensing, slowly taking shape before Jiang Qunyu’s eyes—

It was a scythe, entirely crimson.

The blade radiated a faint red glow—not searing, but carrying a gentle, warm power. It seemed born from the depths of reincarnation, or perhaps the final gift from thousands of lingering souls.

Jiang Qunyu blinked and tugged on Wei Xun’s sleeve, intending to make him turn around and look.

But the next instant, the red scythe seemed to have a spirit of its own; it suddenly turned into a stream of light and darted straight toward Jiang Qunyu.

It was so fast it left only a red blur. In the split second Wei Xun turned in surprise, the scythe brushed past and plunged straight into Jiang Qunyu’s sea of consciousness, settling steadily, and then grew still.

Jiang Qunyu shuddered slightly, feeling a warm yet majestic power flowing through his meridians, fusing tightly with his soul.

He stood frozen, dazed, before looking vaguely at Wei Xun: “You didn’t see it, but that thing seems to have burrowed into my spiritual sense.”

The aura around Wei Xun turned icy in an instant, his thin lips pressed into a hard, cold line. His voice was as cold as ice: “I saw it.”

He stared fixedly at Jiang Qunyu for a long time, his eyes sweeping heavily over every inch of his expression.

Jiang Qunyu didn’t know what that thing was either; his heart was pounding with panic, and his hand, which was still clutching Wei Xun’s sleeve, had not yet let go.

At this moment, Wei Xun suddenly raised a hand, his palm firmly cupping the back of Jiang Qunyu’s head. With a slight force, he pulled Jiang Qunyu straight toward him.

Then, their foreheads gently touched.

Jiang Qunyu was stunned.

The face suddenly magnified before his eyes left him at a loss.

It was too close.

Close enough that he could count how many lashes Wei Xun had.

What was Wei Xun doing?

“Jiang Qunyu,” Wei Xun’s tone was calm, as if he hadn’t noticed Jiang Qunyu’s stiffness, “open your spiritual sense.”

Spiritual sense?

“Oh, okay.” Jiang Qunyu was dazed for a moment, but he obeyed subconsciously.

The moment he opened his consciousness, a feeling as cold as fresh snow exploded in his mind. Jiang Qunyu shuddered, a fine numbness spreading through his limbs, as if cold, light, and burning snowflakes were falling on his skin.

A long time later, Wei Xun slowly pulled back.

He turned his head, his eyelids drooping so he wouldn’t have to look at Jiang Qunyu. He bit his lip and said faintly: “It has acknowledged you as its master.”

It took Jiang Qunyu a long time to recover. He didn’t know what was wrong with him; he only felt incredibly refreshed, yet his head was spinning.

He peeked at Wei Xun, seeing that Wei Xun’s expression was as normal as ever—not like him at all—and for some reason, he felt a bit annoyed.

Could it really be his own problem?

Jiang Qunyu suppressed the odd feeling and asked about the red scythe: “Acknowledged me as master? What does it want by acknowledging me as master?”

Wei Xun thought for a moment and said, “You can treat it as your destined weapon (natal weapon).”

“Natal weapon?” Jiang Qunyu was confused, but then he grew excited. The previous oddity was swept away. His eyes were bright as he stared at Wei Xun: “Is it the same as Soul-Eater?”

“Mn.” Wei Xun nodded.

“Why would it acknowledge me as master?” Jiang Qunyu was happy, but also felt strange. “Didn’t you bring them to the River of Forgetfulness? If it wanted to acknowledge a master, it should have been you.”

Wei Xun raised his cold, clear eyes to look at Jiang Qunyu. For some reason, his voice was a bit hoarse: “It was you who sent them here.”

He was not a benevolent person, nor did he possess a heart of universal compassion.

If it weren’t for Jiang Qunyu, he would never have gone to the trouble of ferrying those lingering souls through reincarnation.

Jiang Qunyu understood only half of what was said, but having finally acquired a natal weapon, his joy pushed everything else out of his mind.

He walked ahead, full of cheer, summoning the red scythe and playing with it in his hands over and over.

Because of this, he didn’t see it.

Behind him, Wei Xun was not as calm as he had imagined.

Beneath his lowered lashes, those clear, glassy black eyes were now stained with a misty haze of desire.

Wei Xun’s face remained expressionless, but his clenched hand slowly relaxed. Bright red blood flowed along the lines of his slender fingers, dripping onto the ground and spreading in silence.

He seemed not to feel the pain, and just before Jiang Qunyu turned back again, he casually covered the wound on his hand.

The desert before stepping into the River of Forgetfulness was vast, without limits.

The grey-yellow color extended to the horizon, connecting with the grey, overcast sky. There was no wind, no sound—only deathly silence.

Nothing had happened when they came to the River of Forgetfulness.

But on the way back, because of the weather, they couldn’t use demonic energy and had to walk out.

Jiang Qunyu was fine; when he got tired, he would turn back into a ball of black mist and lounge on top of Wei Xun’s head.

Wei Xun, however, was not.

His eyes had not yet fully recovered. The desert sandstorms were fierce, making it easy to get dust in his eyes, so he had to cover them with a white silk veil as he walked through the wind. The veil fluttered lightly, making him look even more cold and otherworldly.

His robes danced in the wind, yet not a speck of desert dust fell upon him, as if an invisible barrier separated him from this desolation.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to possess you? Are you unable to use your spiritual sense now? Shall I help you walk a bit?” Jiang Qunyu asked in a low voice from his perch atop Wei Xun’s head.

Wei Xun refused without haste: “No need.”

Jiang Qunyu muttered, “You really are strange.”

When he didn’t want to possess him, Wei Xun would always find ways to entice him.

Now that he was offering to possess him, Wei Xun was not interested.

Since he couldn’t see and he was the one suffering, Jiang Qunyu couldn’t be bothered anymore.

The two walked for a long time in the desert.

There was no day or night in the River of Forgetfulness, so neither had any concept of how long they had been walking.

“Let’s rest for a while.” Jiang Qunyu couldn’t hold on anymore. He turned to look at Wei Xun, whose face was pale and unsightly. Jiang Qunyu leaned closer to check his expression. “You shouldn’t be sick, so what’s wrong with you?”

Wei Xun shook his head: “Nothing.”

“You look like you’re not much different from a dead man,” Jiang Qunyu quipped. “Besides, I’m tired. I want to rest.”

Wei Xun’s gaze fell upon him, and after a moment of silence, he replied, “Alright.”

Jiang Qunyu found a spot sheltered from the wind and sand, sat down against a rock, and pulled his legs in. The rock was large and blocked the wind well, making it a barely passable sanctuary.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” he asked.

Wei Xun frowned almost imperceptibly: “I won’t sit.”

Fine, his germaphobia was flaring up again.

Jiang Qunyu’s dark eyes rolled, and he suddenly thought of a bad idea. He deceived him: “Wei Xun, the veil covering your eyes is loose. Let me retie it for you.”

He didn’t have much credibility with Wei Xun, and Wei Xun didn’t believe him, his lips curling into a mocking tone: “What bad idea are you plotting again? Besides, even if it were loose, I could tie it myself.”

“But I want to help you,” Jiang Qunyu answered casually.

He didn’t think Wei Xun would agree.

He figured Wei Xun had guessed he was trying to prank him, which was why he wouldn’t agree.

But when Wei Xun heard this, he didn’t refuse.

He thought for a moment, walked up to Jiang Qunyu, and lowered his head to “look” at him.

Jiang Qunyu didn’t expect him to actually agree. He broke into a grin and told Wei Xun to squat down and turn around.

Wei Xun paused for a while, then turned his back, the corners of his lips hooking slightly.

Seeing that Wei Xun had really fallen for it, Jiang Qunyu reached out with his arms and legs, locking his legs around Wei Xun’s waist and wrapping his arms around his neck. He leaned back, and both of them tumbled into the sand.

Jiang Qunyu burst into loud laughter: “I told you not to trust anyone so easily.”

A flash of daze crossed Wei Xun’s face, but he wasn’t angry.

Afraid of crushing Jiang Qunyu, he propped himself up on his arms and sat up. Not knowing if he had just given up on everything or what, he looked listless and didn’t use any purification spells or change into new clothes.

He just sat cross-legged in silence, his lips pale.

Jiang Qunyu blinked, finally noticing that something was wrong. He reached out and touched Wei Xun’s forehead.

Wei Xun was half-demon and half-ghost; usually, his body temperature was lower than an ordinary person’s. His body was always cool, like a piece of jade that took a long time to warm up.

But today it was the opposite—it was very hot.

Jiang Qunyu frowned and said, “Wei Xun, you really seem to be sick.”