When Langmuir’s narration slowly came to a halt, the silhouette of the barrier cliff had already loomed at the end of the dim and gray horizon.
“…I’m sorry.”
Langmuir’s voice was weak. He leaned into Hun Yao’s arms, watching the snowflakes fluttering and falling in front of him, reaching out in a daze to catch them.
His palm was as cold and pale as the snow.
“At first, I didn’t dare to speak out, fearing that you would kill me in a fit of anger. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do more important things. Later… later it became increasingly difficult to speak…”
Another hand reached over from behind.
The demons’ claws were a circle wider than a human hand, supporting that frail wrist.
Hun Yao held Langmuir tightly, but the human’s body heat was still rapidly dissipating.
It was as if he had turned into frost and snow. About to melt, like light and bubbles, rising to a place where no one could grasp.
Langmuir said helplessly, “Still holding me? …I thought, after hearing it, you would want to kick me…”
His voice carried a soft laugh, but his words were slow, weak, almost breathless.
Under the clash of Mana and demonic breath, Langmuir’s body began to deteriorate from the inside out. He couldn’t stand the jolting of the horse’s gallop, and he started vomiting blood frequently halfway through, he was in so much pain that he couldn’t speak clearly.
Ignoring the human’s wishes, Hun Yao forcibly stopped the horse, saying they would rest for a moment before continuing.
So here, the Holy Monarch finished telling the final chapter of the story to the Demon King.
“Langmuir…”
Hun Yao’s eyes were red, a thousand words stuck in his throat, he couldn’t say anything, he could only hoarsely call out this human’s name.
It hurt too much, a sharp pain burned him from his internal organs, more painful than a broken horn, more painful than the backlash of demonic breath, this was the most intense injury the Holy Monarch had given to the Demon King.
The days and nights of the past seven years, like waves of water, flowed before his eyes, everything had a different meaning.
The Cliff Moon gazed at from the window in the deep night, the wildflowers blooming on the cliff. The harp tune played in the wild wind, the hymn sung together in the snowy winter.
Those smiles, those tears.
It was only now that he finally understood it all.
Not seven years, but fourteen years.
So long, yet it felt too short when he looked back.
Langmuir turned his head to look at him for a moment, sighing lightly.
“Don’t…cry for me.”
Had he cried? Hun Yao struggled to pull at the corner of his mouth.
“Look at you…Demon King Hun Yao, how did you fall in love with me?”
The Holy Monarch held the Demon King’s hand, raised another hand, and wiped away the tear stains under Hun Yao’s eyes.
Then, he struggled to prop up his body, raising his arm a little higher, tenderly stroking that broken horn.
“I am the one who hurt you twice, the root of all your suffering and pain… Now that my King knows, he should hate me more, how can he still love?”
“No, no…”
The Demon King anxiously stretched his sharp-nailed hand towards Langmuir’s cheek, hesitated in mid-air, and still traced the thin outline with his thumb.
Hun Yao held him tightly, his treasure covered in cracks, his voice trembling and hoarse. “I have already taken it all back.”
“Liar.”
“No lies. I’m not talking about revenge, Langmuir.”
Hun Yao was silent for a few seconds, his Adam’s apple slowly moved, and then he said in a low voice. “Revenge…can’t take anything back in the first place.”
“Just like no matter how much I hurt you, my broken horn won’t grow back, and the old wounds won’t heal because of it. You’re the same, even if you really slaughter me, the body of the demon won’t recover, and the erosion of the miasma won’t disappear.”
“So, what I said about taking it back, means…”
“You have already given me enough, better, other things.”
Langmuir was stunned. He tilted his head, weakly repeating in a low voice. “Enough… better, other…?”
A very light kiss fell on the Holy Monarch’s silver-gray hair.
The Demon King’s tears finally fell again, he randomly buried half of his face in Langmuir’s silver hair on top of his head, choking, “Langmuir, you don’t owe me anymore.”
Langmuir’s eyes widened. Gradually, his expression seemed to cry again, he asked in disbelief. “You…you mean…”
The Demon King told him again, “I said, you don’t owe me, you are not guilty. I don’t hate you, I love you.”
“What you have done for me, for the abyss and the two races of humans and demons, has long been enough to wash away your so-called mistakes, and there is still a lot left.”
“You’ve done too much, Langmuir. The abyss no longer has demons who hate you, they love you, appreciate you, feel guilty towards you, and so do I.”
“No.” Langmuir’s tears suddenly fell too, he clung to Hun Yao’s hand, shaking his head urgently, his breathing so rapid that he couldn’t speak clearly, “No, no…”
“Yes, no, you are not guilty anymore, Langmuir. We don’t hate you, we don’t blame you. We love you, appreciate you, feel guilty towards you.”
The Demon King said it again, he seemed to know how great a struggle the Holy Monarch was in now, so he repeated these words over and over again with a gentle and firm tone.
At first, Langmuir’s emotions became more and more agitated, he shook his head in denial, his mouth was full of incoherent words. But Hun Yao remained unmoved.
The tense tug-of-war didn’t last long. Langmuir gasped for a while, suddenly let out a very faint sob, his eyes scattered, and he fainted directly in the Demon King’s arms.
His body was too weak, and the guilt had taken root too deeply in his heart, becoming a deadly poison that had lingered for fourteen years.
To pull it out would mean tearing flesh and blood, along with the stains of time
Half asleep and half awake, Langmuir seemed to hear Hun Yao calling him. He felt the Demon King lift him onto the wildebeest and cautiously drove a little further.
He intermittently had a little dream, a long-lost dream of the Brett Temple from a long, long time ago, where flowers bloomed and the sun was bright. He sat barefoot on the white steps with his golden hair hanging down, playing the harp, and canaries and butterflies came flying one after another.
There were familiar footsteps approaching from behind, Hun Yao sat down beside him, his shoulders full of petals, and the horns on both sides of his head were beautifully slender.
The Demon King used a cloth to wipe the dirt off his feet, and took off his shackles and chains for him. He also kissed his forehead, held his face, and said softly.
“You are not guilty anymore, Langmuir.”
“I don’t hate you, I love you.”
……..
When he woke up again, the snow had stopped.
Langmuir found himself leaning against a tree, Hun Yao had somehow found some wild fruit, and was feeding the sweet and sour juice into his mouth.
His consciousness was still foggy, he didn’t have the strength to speak, so he bit Hun Yao’s finger that was resting between his teeth to tell the Demon King that he was awake.
“Langmuir?” The Demon King slowly rubbed his chest to soothe him, “Don’t move, lie down and rest…We’re almost at the barrier cliff.”
Langmuir half-opened his eyes and hummed lightly.
Seeing that he was awake, Hun Yao simply tore off a bit of the fruit in his hand and fed it to him. “Have you figured it out now?”
A warm light appeared in Langmuir’s eyes.
He said softly, “Thank you.”
This was obviously not the answer Hun Yao wanted to hear, the Demon King immediately took away the fruit, pretending to glare at him fiercely.
Langmuir helplessly said, “I’ve figured it out.”
“Then tell me, what have you figured out?”
“My King, let me go, saying that kind of thing yourself, it’s so embarrassing…”
“Do you still want to go to the barrier cliff?”
“Alright, alright.” Langmuir had to sigh. He paused, as if speaking to himself, he said slowly and seriously, “You have forgiven me.”
“You…”
Hun Yao was both angry and amused, and also heartbroken.
He originally wanted Langmuir to say at least “I am not guilty”, but thinking about it, he could guess that the Holy Monarch would definitely use words like “this is just your opinion, it doesn’t represent other demons and humans” to shut him up. So he had to settle for this for now.
After a short rest, they rushed the last stretch of the road. The wildebeest galloped on the clear snowfield, leaving a trail of traces scorched by flames.
Langmuir’s spirits became very good, as if he had unloaded the shackles that had weighed him down for half his life.
Along the way, he said a lot of things, talking about the human world, talking about the abyss. Hun Yao listened, responding to every sentence, occasionally interjecting with a complaining tone:
“So, that battle seven years ago, His Majesty the Holy Monarch deliberately lost, huh?”
“What are you talking about, my King, my life was almost gone.”
“Still arguing. You fought me in a state of depleted Mana, and you were thinking about acting in the middle of it.”
“Acting?”
“Weren’t you still praying pitifully?”
“Ah…” Langmuir couldn’t help but chuckle.
Hun Yao huffed again, “You’ve been spying on me for years, haven’t you?”
“I didn’t get to see much…”
“That was when I didn’t know. If I had known you were up there, I would have built the royal court on the barrier cliff and rushed there every day to scold you.”
After Langmuir laughed, he pleaded again, “In the future, my King, you should plant more flowers on the barrier cliff. If I become the sun…”
Hun Yao interrupted, “Stop, what is this doctrine? Isn’t your Goddess the sun?”
Langmuir candidly replied, “It’s not a doctrine, it’s my own saying.”
“I want to become the sun, and every time the flowers bloom, I will come to see you.”
This sentence was like a knife cutting through Hun Yao’s heart, almost breaking his composure that he had been holding up all the way. He almost shed tears again, shaking his head and saying, “No.”
Langmuir stopped talking, looking at him sadly.
They reached the barrier cliff, Hun Yao stopped the wildebeest, tied the reins to a tree. He picked up Langmuir horizontally, and silently stepped on the snow to climb the cliff.
They had only stopped for a little while when the snow started to fall again. The glowing barrier was getting closer and closer, and it was only a few steps away.
Langmuir, resting on the Demon King’s shoulder, listening to the crunching sound of stepping on the snow, suddenly said, “…Hun Yao.”
He rarely called the Demon King by his name.
“There’s one more question, you have to help me answer.”
Hun Yao said hoarsely, “You say.”
The faint sadness in Langmuir’s eyes disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, “You said you don’t hate me anymore, but.”
He touched the Demon King’s face, his expression somewhat lost and confused, “The hatred is canceled out…love, what to do about it?”
