Chapter 500

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Chapter 500: My Husband

“It’s over,” murmured Murong Nu, her voice trembling. “I don’t think we’ll make it through this.”

Outside, Qingyang City quaked as several demon kings clashed, their power rippling through the land. The palace had already crumbled under the onslaught.

“If we go in now,” she added, “we might only recover a few bones to make a figurine to mourn over.”

The fourth-ranked fighter on the Black List, usually fearless, now hesitated like a timid Shiba Inu staring into a pit of fire.

Bai Wei countered, “We’ve come this far—are you giving up now?”

“Any sane person would!” Murong Nu rolled her eyes. “Do you expect me to charge into that hell and die? That’s the real Yin Fire of Bi Fang in there! I’m not even sure I could withstand a second of it.”

Bai Wei shook his head, his tone calm. “Thinking like that just shows your potential is limited.”

Murong Nu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you’ve ever done experiments, you’d know this: experimental animals stay in the box, while the observer remains outside.” Bai Wei’s gaze was steady. “What we saw wasn’t the real Nalan Qingshu—it was a false memory projection. If we turn back now, then she truly dies, just steps away from the human world.”

“No way,” Murong Nu scoffed, her tone rising. “Do you really think we, with our limited strength, can challenge a monster capable of summoning hundreds of thousands of lost souls? If it so much as roars, we’ll be torn apart before we can even scream.”

Her fear was evident. Though ranked among the top ten on the Black List, Murong Nu had achieved her position more through discipline and cautious planning than reckless valor. She avoided unnecessary risks, her focus split evenly between cultivation and earning resources.

This methodical approach had led to steady progress, but it left her lacking the boldness to take gambles, even when opportunities arose.

Now, in the face of a battle of such magnitude, her hesitation was understandable. Though this wasn’t a clash between supremes capable of shattering the great avenue, it was still far beyond her ability.

“Are you going in or not?” Bai Wei asked again.

“No.” Murong Nu hesitated. “And you shouldn’t, either. Nalan Qingshu chose this fate. Even if we save her, what’s the point? She’s made her choice.”

Bai Wei’s expression remained unreadable. “I understand.”

“Then why still go? Is it worth risking your life? Without you, what happens to Chao Lu? She’ll be defenseless. Do you really think Nalan Qingshu is worth all this?”

Murong Nu rarely pleaded with others, but this time, she tried. If Bai Wei turned back, she’d feel less guilty about retreating as well.

But Bai Wei only smiled faintly. “You can go back if you wish. I’ll continue forward.”

Murong Nu stared at him, baffled. “Why? What’s driving you?”

“Responsibility,” Bai Wei said simply. “She’s just a child—stubborn, reckless, but still a child. The real problem is a world that forces children into such despair. That’s what deserves to be destroyed.”

His tone darkened, resonating with an unshakable determination. His gaze pierced through the illusionary barriers to where the flames burned brightest.

There, he heard the cry of a soul clinging to life:

I don’t want to die…

Please, someone save me…

It was enough. Bai Wei stepped forward.

Each step shattered the illusion, the ground quaking beneath his feet. By the third, he’d crossed a hundred strides. Murong Nu watched in stunned silence.

“That’s my move,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “The flash step…”

Except Bai Wei had refined it, elevating her technique to a level she couldn’t fathom.

With a final step, Bai Wei launched himself skyward. The golden light surrounding him collided with a projection of the great demon king, shattering it in an instant.

The force of his impact tore through the illusionary barriers, breaking through the fourth wall itself. In the depths of the lotus pond, Nalan Qingshu’s faint consciousness stirred.

In the suffocating darkness, she reached for the light—desperate, clinging to a fragile thread of hope. Then, warmth enveloped her.

A heartbeat.

Her own heartbeat.

Coughing violently, she expelled the black water from her lungs, purging despair and resentment with it. Her weak gaze met the figure before her—the bronze mask, the unyielding presence she could no longer mistake.

In that fleeting moment, as the weight of everything lifted, she whispered softly, almost instinctively:

“My husband…”