Tang Wutong fell silent for a moment.
"Revenge." Tang Wutong's eyelashes trembled slightly. "Revenge against his father. That was the core that sustained him through ten thousand years."
"That is a goal, not what he wants."
Lu Jun turned around, his profile outlined in sharp relief by the twilight.
"What a person wants and what they must do are often two different things."
"Huo Yuhao had to take revenge, had to protect Douluo Star, had to fight the Crimson Realm. Those were responsibilities, obsessions, shackles."
"But what about himself? Once all identities and missions were stripped away, what did the person named Huo Yuhao want?"
Tang Wutong opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Ten thousand years ago, she might have been able to answer that question.
That young man who grilled fish by the lake, who risked his life for his companions, who blushed awkwardly in front of her—what he wanted was simple: family, friends, a peaceful life, and his wife, Ju Zi.
But what about now?
Six thousand years of lonely vigilance, four thousand years of self-exile, three hundred years of patient endurance and planning.
Such a long span of time was enough to grind any simple wish into dust, then recast it into something utterly unrecognizable.
"He wants..." Tang Wutong's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "An end."
Lu Jun nodded.
"That's right. An end to everything."
"Whether it is hatred, responsibility, loneliness, or this suffocatingly long life."
He paused, then continued.
"That is also what makes him most dangerous."
"A person with nothing to fear, no attachments, and only the desire to end everything—such a being will either become a saint who saves the world or a madman who destroys it."
"And Huo Yuhao is standing right on that blurred dividing line."
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