The war between the human realm and the divine realm had lasted for thirty-eight thousand years.
The Netherworld Palace, where Hell was born. The Netherworld King called himself an Ancient Human God. The world called him the Netherworld King.
The proud, unruly king sat high in his dark palace, his purple-black lips curling into the faintest smile. He held a cup filled with crimson liquid. A glimmer of amusement flashed in his phoenix eyes as he seemed pleased with the sacrificial offering prostrated at his feet.
He lifted the person's head with his other hand and murmured to himself, "I have one more follower." His fingers slowly tightened. Blood poured through the gaps between them, until the sacrificial victim gradually stopped struggling and fell silent. Expressionless, he seized the faint green glow slowly rising from the dead person's chest and said mildly, "Take it away." Someone carried the corpse to a dark, foul-smelling underground chamber, where they hollowed out the skull and refined it into a monstrous beast.
He looked at the pale green glow in his hand, the symbol of life. It gradually turned emerald, then took the shape of a leaf. It darkened to deep green, then turned lifeless and yellow. He channeled spiritual power into it, hardening the leaf until it was as sharp as iron, its edges as keen as a hidden weapon. The king studied the spiritual leaf, considering which place it should take on the fan in his hand. He unfurled the fan. Its many sharp leaves formed the deadly weapon he now held.
He gazed at the divine weapon in his hand, one that made all under heaven tremble, and laughed in a daze. He had no idea how many monstrous beasts he had refined by now, but surely he had the power to challenge the Heavenly Emperor at last.
For tens of thousands of years, he had waited. At last, this moment had come.
He raised his weapon, then suddenly saw Ye Cheng shielding Dong from the raging flames. In the fire, Ye Cheng looked at his face, despair etched clearly in the glow. At that moment, something inside him shattered.
"Cheng'er!" His eyes were bloodshot, but he could no longer squeeze out a single tear. He had gone mad with killing long ago and had lost his heart. How could a heartless person still cry? Ye Cheng looked at his outstretched hand and suddenly smiled, helpless and heartbroken, before vanishing into ash. "Cheng'er!" He watched helplessly as she disappeared before his eyes.
Blood trickled from his eye sockets and fell.
Ye Cheng was the tear of dawn, the last trace of tenderness left in Po Xiao.
Theme: Darkness and light have always coexisted.
