The light in the lounge was left off all night.
Tang San sat on the cold bluestone floor, leaning against the door panel, counting his breaths.
One exhale, one inhale, one exhale, one inhale.
When he counted to the seventy-second time, he forgot the previous number and started counting from the beginning again.
One exhale, one inhale.
Clear Sky Hammer is leaning against the knee, and the hammer handle is leaning against the shoulder socket. This handle is Clear Sky Hammer condensed with Soul Power.
His fingers unconsciously rubbed the texture of the hammer body. Soul Power The condensed hammer would feel numb after being touched for a long time, as if countless fine needles were pricking the fingertips.
He didn't take it back. Numbness was better than pain. Numbness meant that his hand was still there.
The Eight Spider Lances on the back was gently stirring under the skin, and the scarlet thread slowly climbed up the spine and wrapped around the back of the neck, feeling as cold as a dormant snake.
It didn't bite, it just held it and spit out the words, waiting for him to let go.
He didn't hide, didn't urge Soul Power to disperse, he just lowered his eyes.
Staring at the pink and white hair rope tied tightly around her wrist.
The rope marks have long been embedded in the flesh, and the pain has changed from tingling to numbness, and then to no feeling at all.
After it hurts for a long time, it no longer hurts.
It no longer hurts, but feels even worse, as if a piece is missing in my heart, and I can't even remember what is missing.
The pair of shoes stained with mud and blood were placed by his feet. The mud on the soles was dry and hard, making it too heavy to lift.
The footsteps outside the door stopped three times, and then walked away quietly three times.
There was no knocking on the door, no shouting, and even breathing was very light.
It's Xiao Wu.
She stood guard outside the door without pestering, asking, or making trouble. She just stayed with him quietly through a door panel.
Tang San knew it, but they didn't respond.
He now doesn't even have the strength to pretend to be calm.
I don't know how long I sat there, but the moonlight from the window slanted into the room, casting a cold white light mark on the ground, like a horizontal knife.
The door hinge made a soft sound.
There was no wind, no Soul Power fluctuations, and a dark figure stood quietly at the door, with the hood pulled down extremely low, covering his entire face.
Tang Hao did not come closer, but slowly raised his hand, and a wisp of black light as thin as hair fluttered on the scarlet ray of Tang San's wrist.
The mark trembled suddenly, as if it had been burned by a fierce fire, and it instantly became a little less restless.
A palm-sized jet black iron leaf slipped from his fingertips and landed on the ground in front of Tang San.
The iron leaf is engraved with minimalist Haotian patterns. There is no light or pressure, but it can firmly suppress the erosion of the soul level.
Tang Hao turned to leave.
"If your mother sees you like this..."
Tang San didn't look up,
"It will hurt. You said it."
Tang Hao's back was frozen at the door.
There was silence for a long time, so long that the moonlight moved from his shoulder to the door frame.
"No." He said, his voice coming out from deep in his throat, as rough as sandpaper rubbed against rust.
"She will feel sorry for you, then sit next to you, wait until you finish strangling, put the rope away, and tell you that you can stop strangling tomorrow."
The door hinge rang again.
When Tang San raised his head, the door was already empty.
Only the iron leaf was left, lying quietly on the ground, glowing with a very faint black light.
Tang San stared at the iron leaf for a long time. He didn't pick it up, touch it, or even move it an inch.
He slowly raised his right hand, palm upward, and a faint trace of light blue Soul Power slowly emerged from the fingertips.
It's Blue Silver Grass.
Thin, curled up, with a touch of dry yellow on the edges of the leaves, they were exactly the same as the weed in Sunset Forest that he had abandoned.
When it first came out of the palm, it trembled, as if it was afraid of the cold.
Tang San Looking at it, I suddenly remembered the time when I was six years old.
The first time I summoned it was at the back of Holy Soul Village.
The tender green grass blades came out of his palm, carrying the moisture of morning dew. They were not as soft as Martial Soul, but like weeds growing randomly on the roadside.
He remembered again Nuoding Academy, the roof of the dormitory for work-study students was leaking.
Xiao Wu The first time she saw him using Blue Silver Grass, blades of grass wrapped around her ankles and pulled her off the bed.
She was not angry. She sat on the floor, rubbed her ankles, and said with a smile, "Third Brother's grass is so soft."
Blue Silver Grass was warm at that time, but not now.
Blue Silver Grass trembled gently in his palm, and the leaves stretched for a moment, as if they were about to wrap around his fingers, just like before.
But the next second, it suddenly curled up.
The leaf tips turn yellow, and there seems to be something retreating or hiding in the leaf veins.
Eight Spider Lances's scarlet breath spread from the back of his neck. Blue Silver Grass felt it and was afraid.
Tang San stretched out his left hand and wanted to touch it.
As soon as my fingertips touched the blade, the grass wrapped around it. It was soft and thin, just like when I was a child.
It doesn't know what this hand will do next.
He looked at the weak grass stems and the dry yellow color on the leaves.
His fingers began to tighten, and the sound of breaking grass blades was so soft that it was covered by his own breathing.
The juice oozes out, is cold, and sticks to the fingertips. It looks like blood, but it is not.
It is the last bit of vitality of Blue Silver Grass.
He continued to twist.
No effort, no struggle, just slowly, inch by inch, crushing it.
Blue Silver Grass shattered into little blue lights in his palm, scattered in the darkness.
But those fragments of light did not disappear immediately.
They floated half a circle around his fingertips, floating up one by one, like fireflies, like dew, like someone's tears.
They fell on the hair rope around his wrist, soaked in, and disappeared.
The pink and white rope surface absorbed the blue light, and a very light cyan appeared, and then darkened quickly, leaving no trace.
Tang San looked at the hair rope for a long time.
Then he wound the hair rope tightly again, inserted it into the flesh, and tied it into a tight knot.
Not shackles, but a tourniquet.
Press the hole that opened when Blue Silver Grass was pinched out, and sew the last bit of weakness into the wound.
Until when, he didn't know.
He supported Clear Sky Hammer and slowly stood up.
The pain that felt like pins and needles came from my knees. It was the wound opened by the broken stones in the arena yesterday. It had already solidified and turned black.
He bent down, picked up the muddy shoes at his feet, and patted the dry soil on them.
The mud has been patted off, but the traces remain. Just like some things have passed, but the imprint remains.
He opened the door.
The cold wind in the early morning blew in, blowing the strands of hair on his forehead flying.
Xiao Wu is no longer outside the door, leaving only a fresh hemostatic grass beside the threshold, with dew still on the leaves.
Tang San took a look and bent down to pick it up.
He held the styptic grass between his fingers and turned it around, then put it in his pocket.
It's not about accepting care, it's about accepting a blade of grass.
Grass can stop bleeding, that's all.
He didn't go to the training ground, didn't go to the canteen, and didn't say hello to anyone.
One person, a hammer, step by step towards Heaven Dou City's Spirit Fighting Arena.
The arena was empty, and the morning light leaked through the gaps in the dome, casting a few spots of light on the bluestone platform.
Tang San walked up and stood in the center. The position where he stood was exactly the same as the position where Chen Jieqi stood during the last team battle.
The morning light fell on half of his face, bright and warm.
The other half of the face was hidden in the shadow, blending in with the scarlet Eight Spider Lances on the back and the pitch-black Clear Sky Hammer on the palm.
He looked down at the rope marks on his wrists.
The black light of the iron leaves was seeping into the rope marks bit by bit, as if it was holding down the pulses that shouldn't be beating right now.
The restlessness of Eight Spider Lances gradually became docile, and the mark of Asura God was suppressed by the iron leaves.
But it didn't disappear, it was just held down temporarily, like a thunder that hadn't exploded yet.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he felt calm.
He didn't speak. He just stood there, letting the morning light warm half of his face and leaving the other half in shadow.
Then he turned around and walked off the ring.
He didn't notice that in the shadow behind him, the outline of Eight Spider Lances moved slightly under the skin.
The scarlet red became a little darker.