Lingren stood where he was, looking down at the scene by his feet—the head lying on the ground, bearing the face of the "young master" he could never forget.
Even though he and Yu Xing had gone a long time without seeing each other, that face had never faded from his mind. Instead, as time passed and his heart burned with longing, it had only grown clearer.
And now, the "young master" had split from his body.
There was not a trace of surprise on Lingren's face, only an almost pathological focus and delight.
His eyes, which were always filled with a false smile, now glittered with genuine, intense interest. A satisfied sigh colored his soft murmur.
"Do you know? When I first met you, I was worried you'd just die like that."
As the one who had brought the curse to Yu Xing, he knew the rules of resurrection very well. For a short while after death, Yu Xing wouldn't be able to hear.
So he crouched beside the head and murmured in a low voice, saying words only he himself could hear. "Whether you died in a war, in a conspiracy, lost to time and passed away peacefully... or died at my hands, whenever I thought about how you might end up, I became so agitated I felt sick."
"I'm a very selfish person, young master. You'll never know that in a place like that opera troupe, you can't survive without being selfish."
"So, rather than care about how you feel, I care more about what I want. I want you to live, so you have to live—a long, long time. Even hatred will be enough to bind us together for lifetimes."
He reached out, not touching the head's cheek, only lightly brushing aside its tousled hair with