The Magician Deserves to Die!

While she lives, my magic dies. "Brother, I have a nightmare." Kong Sheng stood barefoot beside his bed, her blond hair hanging on both sides of her pajamas. Kong Zhen put down the book in his hand and moved half his body to the side. "Come up." The wind blew outside the window and the candle flickered. She huddled under the covers, like a kitten that found its nest. "You died again." "Again?" "I keep seeing you die." She buried her face in his shoulder, her voice muffled, "I can only watch every time." He stroked her hair, once and for all. Very light. "Then are you afraid that I will die?" Kong Sheng raised his head. The face that was almost the same as his suddenly lost its sleepiness and became cold. "I can't see it because of you." The candle flickered again. "Liar." "Is it because of me?" Kong Zhen's hand didn't stop. Still so light and so slow. "When did I lie to you?" The wind blew the window open a crack. Kong Zhen tucked her hair behind her ears, his voice as warm as brewing black tea. "Go back to sleep, Xiao Sheng." "Are you going to lie to me again?" She stared into his eyes. He neither denied nor admitted. His eyes were full of silent, great, virtual, love. "You are my most precious. You know that." The dead branch outside the window finally broke and hit the ground. The sound was muffled like a silent cry. This is the symbiotic dilemma between a "purely bad" person and the prophet he raised by himself.