Human Greed Is Infinite

Yun Jingheng's eyebrows furrowed into a deep crease.

The Greed words were like a nail, striking a bone in him that had never been touched before. The bone jolted, and then a buzzing sound filled his entire chest cavity.

He remembered the way his father handed him that box.

It was a cloudy afternoon. In Shrek Academy's backyard, where the wind rustled, Yun Ming stood beside an old bamboo tree, wearing a faded blue long robe with a trace of ink on the cuff, probably from writing something.

When he handed over the palm-sized wooden box, his expression was no different from usual—gentle, with a slight smile, as if he were handing him a bowl of freshly cooked soup.

Yun Jingheng asked about it that night, but Yun Ming just waved his hand and said, "You'll know when the time comes."

His father has always been like this since he was a child: he doesn't hide anything from him, but he never breaks everything down and tells him everything, as if he believes that he can always find his own way.

But now that Greed had brought those words up and laid them bare before him, he realized that there was something hidden beneath those words—a deeper meaning he had never understood before.

"My father..."

He spoke, his voice drier than he had expected.

"Your father knows very well what's on this island," Greed said, his voice rising from the rough undertones with a faint, soft tone, like sandpaper turned over.

"He also knows very well what you possess: the heir to Godhood, a vessel for Destruction and life... He understands these concepts better than anyone else."

He took half a step around Yun Jingheng, the hem of his dark gray robe brushing against the black gravel ground, making a very faint rustling sound.

"He's been the dean of Shrek for so many years, what kind of genius hasn't he seen? But you're his son, he knows your limits better than anyone else."

Yun Jingheng's jawline tightened.

"Seventh Ring Road, you've reached the threshold of Seventh Ring Road now, haven't you?"

"This age is fast; it's among the best on the entire continent. But have you ever thought about what a seventh ring is enough for when you stand in front of those old monsters?"

Greed ceased, and he returned to face Yun Jingheng. His deep black eyes were like two wells, with undercurrents slowly churning at the bottom.

"Your aunt is in the upper echelons of Shrek, and your parents were once among Shrek's top combatants. But think about it carefully, have they ever truly put you in a life-or-death situation?"

"Are all the so-called dangerous situations you've experienced from childhood to adulthood actually protected by an invisible net underneath?"

Yun Jingheng's pupils contracted slightly.

Greed tilted his head slightly, a few strands of his short, gray hair were ruffled by the warm breeze blowing through the valley, revealing a more complete section of the deep purple marking on the side of his neck.

The lines seemed alive, pulsating slowly beneath his pale skin, almost in sync with his heartbeat.

"They love you, I don't deny that. But loving someone and trusting someone are two different things. Does your father trust you?"

"Does he trust you enough to let you face the whole truth of this island alone? Or does he trust the box more?"

"Stop talking."

Yun Jingheng's voice deepened, his teeth clenched so hard his cheeks bulged out.

"Okay, I won't say any more about this."

Greed spread his hands, his movements calm and collected, like an elder stepping back after seeing a younger person lose their temper at the dinner table.

"Let's talk about something else. You're almost fifteen, aren't you?"

Yun Jingheng did not answer, but his silence itself was the answer.

"Fifteen years old. A genius of Shrek Inner Court, the heir to the Godhood, the son of Yun Ming... These titles are impressive, but did you earn them yourself?"

"Godhood is inherited, one's birth is given by one's parents, and one's talents are innate. Think carefully, is there anything that you dug out of the soil with your own hands?"

The Greed voice slowed down, each word like a pebble thrown into calm water, creating ripples that spread outwards in concentric circles.

"Want to rely on yourself? You can't lose anything you have now, because those things are tied to you, they're part of who you are. But you can have more."

He raised his hand, and the purple patterns beneath his dark gray cuff gleamed dimly in the faint light.

"By taking the fragments of Destruction, you can truly touch one of the most fundamental laws of this world."

"The origin of life, you have merged with it. Your physical body and Divine Power will surpass the limits you can imagine. The box your father gave you can neutralize the conflict between the two, allowing you to complete this fusion unscathed."

He paused for a moment.

"When you emerge from this world, you will no longer be just Yun Ming's son."

"You are the first person on this continent in nearly a thousand years to have touched both Destruction and life. You are the Creator God. Where you stand, you are the highest mountain."

The wind has stopped.

The white steam seeping from the cracks in the rocks in the center of the valley also stopped, as if a hand had pressed it down.

The air became stagnant, and a warm, sweet, and fishy smell filled his nasal cavity, layering on top of each other until Yun Jingheng felt his lungs swelling.

The white vapor in the center of the valley stopped, no longer drifting along the ground, but hanging in mid-air, as if someone had pressed pause on time.

His heartbeat became exceptionally clear in the silence.

Thump, thump, thump, it was like someone was pounding a dusty drum inside his chest, each beat muffled, each vibration sending shivers down his spine.

Greed thoughts kept swirling in his mind.

The place where you stand is the highest mountain.

This sentence is like a hook, hooked onto a string he himself is unaware of, and when pulled, it makes a sound.

He had heard countless praises since childhood: exceptional talent, extraordinary potential, limitless future... So many people had said those things that he could nod without batting an eye, but his heart remained completely unmoved.

But Greed said something different. Not a single word Greed said was a compliment; every word was like the back of a knife slapping him, hurting him yet tickling him.

He's absolutely right.

None of the things he owned were things he had dug out himself.

The Godhood was destined to be passed down to him; he knew this from the moment he received it.

That power had been dormant within him since he could remember, like a seed buried in the soil; he simply had to grow along the roots.

His talent was given to him by the Plane Master the plane. He was born with a more acute sense than others, and his control over Soul Power seemed to be innate. When he broke through for the first time that year, he didn't even have to exert any effort.

It was as if his meridians had been pre-opened, and the flow of his Soul Power was so smooth that it felt unreal to him.

He lay face down on the bed, burying his face in the pillow; the weight of the pillow made it hard for him to breathe.

Over the years, he has heard the titles "Prince" or "Young Master" far too often.

The first people to utter these two words wore fawning smiles; later, their faces showed sour envy; and still later, they became too lazy to hide the sarcasm and disdain in their tone.

He had heard Inner Court disciples mutter behind his back more than once, saying, "What's so great about Yun Jingheng? I could do it too."

He walked past without turning back or saying a word.

But those words were like a thorn stuck in his back, impossible to remove.

He wanted to argue.

He wanted to say, "Do you know how I got through the night when my meridians surged back? Do you know how I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling counting until dawn when I was suffering from the incomplete Blood Moon Negative?"

But he opened his mouth but said nothing, because once those words came out, they would be heard by others as "Even a prince has his own troubles."

Pretentious, affected, and acting innocent after getting the benefit.

He could only swallow it silently.

Over the years, he had swallowed so much that it felt like a wad of waterlogged cotton was stuffed in his chest—heavy, suffocating, and making his breathing always a little noisy.

But he never told anyone.

Dad didn't say anything, Mom didn't say anything, Auntie didn't say anything.

He was used to keeping a perfect, flawless face in front of everyone, and then taking out those things one by one to look at them when no one was looking, and then putting them away one by one.

But now Greed has kicked open the door to the locked room in his heart.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall was as loud as thunder, making his eardrums ring.

The things he had carefully collected were scattered all over the ground. Greed, he squatted down and picked them up one by one to examine them, then looked up and smiled at him.

You want to rely on yourself.

You are Yun Ming's son, you are the heir to the Godhood —these titles are prestigious, but did you earn them yourself?

When you emerge from this situation, you will no longer be just Yun Ming's son.

You are the first person in nearly a thousand years on this continent to have simultaneously touched upon Destruction and life. You are the Creator God.

"The Creator God..."

Yun Jingheng's lips moved, but the three words slipped out almost silently from between his teeth.

But Greed heard it.

Greed stood less than two steps away from him, his deep black eyes like two wells, with dark light slowly churning at the bottom.

His lips twitched again, this time more than ever before, parting slightly to reveal lighter-colored teeth beneath.

"Yes," he said, the gritty quality in his voice largely gone, replaced by a thick, warm texture, like a stone polished by a stream for many years.

"Creator God. Destruction and life coexist within you alone; you hold the reins of the world's most fundamental order."

"At that time you will stand there, not relying on your father's name, not relying on anyone's legacy—the one standing there will be you."

He raised his hand, his forearm, covered in purple patterns beneath the dark gray sleeve, positioned between the two men, palm open.

"Come."

I'll take you there.

The word was very short, as short as a coin falling on a stone slab, crisp, clean, and with a slightly metallic feel.

Yun Jingheng's gaze fell on that palm.

The lines on his palms were denser than those on his forearms, and deep purple dots of light flickered where the root-like lines intersected, like fireflies deep underground.

He stared at those points of light for a long time, so long that the rhythm of their flickering was almost synchronized with his own heartbeat—thump, flash, thump, flash—and the entire valley undulated slightly to that rhythm.

His right hand moved.

The movement of raising his arm from his side was so slow that he could clearly hear the sound of his sleeve rubbing against the fabric at his waist.

Five fingers curled up, stretched out in mid-air, and moved inch by inch toward the Greed, outstretched palm.

There are still two inches between the fingertips and the palm.

He stopped.

Those two inches were like a cliff between the two of them. His hand, suspended in mid-air, trembled slightly, his knuckles turned bluish-white, and several veins on the back of his hand throbbed.

"Are you afraid? Don't be afraid, child, I'm here," Greed asked.

The voice was very soft, like soothing a child who had woken up in the middle of the night and was too scared to go back to sleep.

"I..."

Yun Jingheng spoke, his throat feeling like it was stuffed with sandpaper, making his voice hoarse, "I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

"I don't know what I'll become after I get those things."

His Greed brow twitched.

"You will become a stronger version of yourself."

"A stronger me?"

Yun Jingheng's lips twitched slightly, a small curve carrying a hint of self-mockery he had never shown in public before, "The stronger me... or just an empty shell propped up by those things?"

His voice echoed through the valley, striking the black rock walls on all sides and bouncing back, as if someone were repeating his words behind him.

After the echo faded, the valley fell silent again.

Greed remained silent.

His outstretched palm remained suspended in mid-air, neither retracting nor urging him to retract it.

Yun Jingheng lowered his eyes and looked at his hands.

Five fingers hovered two inches above the Greed palm, fingertips pointing downwards. They could feel a warmth emanating from the other's palm, a warmth unlike the sweet, fishy smell of the valley; it was dry, like the temperature of soil that had been baked by the sun for many years.

He remembered the box.

When his father gave him that box, his palms were warm.

It was afternoon, and the bamboo grove in the backyard was rustling in the wind. Yun Ming stood next to an old bamboo tree, his sleeves stained with ink.

When he took the palm-sized wooden box, his fingers touched his father's fingertips—warm, dry, and carrying a faint scent of ink.

He asked, "What is this?" His father waved his hand and said, "You'll know when the time comes to use it."

He remembered asking himself that question before going to bed that night.

When is it appropriate to use it?

Yun Ming smiled.

He remembered that smile very clearly—the curve of the corners of the mouth was not large, but the light in the eyes was very deep, like a deep pool of water rippled by the wind.

Yun Ming looked at him for about two or three breaths, then said—

When you're unsure.

He didn't understand at the time.

What does it mean to be unsure? Unable to make a decision? Unsure of the direction? Or unsure whether or not to do something?

He wanted to ask more questions, but his father had already turned around and walked into the house, leaving a small, clean mark.

Perhaps now is the time when we're unsure?

He was unsure whether he should put his hand down.

Unsure whether what they truly desire is to become stronger and prove themselves, or whether they are blinded by Greed and the phrase "Creator God."

He wasn't sure what his father's gaze would be like if he put his hand on his father's now, walked out, stood in front of his father, and called out "Dad."

He knew that look in his eyes all too well.

Yun Ming always looked at him at eye level.

No matter how young, weak, or immature he was at the time, his father always looked at him as someone on equal footing with him, his gaze neither condescending nor arrogant, his tone neither sullen nor arrogant.

He had only ever seen that kind of gaze on his father until he was fifteen. Even his aunt's eyes held a soft, elder-like tenderness when she looked at him. Only Yun Ming's eyes were always flat.

Flat.

Like a calm lake, he couldn't see what lay at the bottom, but the surface always calmly reflected all the clouds in the sky.

If he chooses the path of Greed, will he still be able to see his reflection in that lake after he leaves?

"Your father..."

Greed suddenly spoke.

His voice was thinner than before, revealing a cold, fine texture after the sand and gravel had been ground away, like moisture covering a metallic surface.

"Your father is a very capable person. He's so capable that he can set up all the pieces in advance and then watch you make your moves."

"Have you ever felt that everything he does is within his expectations? When you fall, it's as if he knew in advance which rock you would fall on; when you take a detour, it's as if he had already marked the turning point."

Yun Jingheng did not deny it.

"But have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a father like that?"

Greed withdrew its outstretched hand.

The dark gray cuffs fell down, once again covering the purple patterns.

"Wherever you go, you're always within the circle he's drawn."

"Every person you meet, every event you encounter, every choice you think you've made—he looks back and confirms, 'Okay, this path won't lead to any trouble.'"

His lips twitched again, but the smile carried a hint of coldness.

"You think you're on your own path, but he's already explored every fork in that road, blocking out the unsafe ones."

He didn't...

Yun Jingheng's voice deepened, "He's not that kind of person."

"So what kind of person is he?"

"He..."

Greed tilted his head slightly, and the purple patterns beneath his short, gray hair flashed in the dim light, like a bolt of lightning striking the ground.

"He gave you this box and brought you to this island. He knew perfectly well that the seven of us old monsters were here, and he knew exactly what you would encounter when you came here."

"He's planned everything—the box can neutralize the conflict, you can take the fragments, and you can gain power."

"He even anticipated your hesitation, otherwise why would he specifically tell you to 'use it when you're unsure'?"

Yun Jingheng's pupils contracted slightly.

"Your father has arranged everything for you."

The voice of Greed was lowered even further, and beneath that cold, fine texture, a very faint layer of pity rose, like the look in the eyes of someone looking at a lost child standing at a crossroads.

"Including your hesitation, your struggle, and your hand that's currently hanging in mid-air, unsure whether to let go."

"He's living for you."

When those four words fell, it felt like four blocks of ice were pressed against the back of Yun Jingheng's neck, sending a chill down his spine.

The wind started blowing again from the center of the valley.

Warm and carrying a faint, sweet, fishy smell, the white steam from the rock crevices drifted away again, clinging to the ground like a silent river slowly flowing underground.

Yun Jingheng's hand was still suspended in mid-air.

His five fingers trembled slightly, the pads of his fingers pointing downwards, and the tips of his fingers turning bluish-white.

The Greed hand had been withdrawn, hanging limply beside the hem of the dark gray robe, with faint purple patterns visible beneath the cuffs.

There was no space in front of him.

The outstretched palm was gone; the warm, dry hand was no longer there to greet him.

Greed retreated a step, then another, the hem of his dark gray robe brushing against the black gravel ground with a soft rustling sound.

He stood three steps away, tilting his head slightly to look at him, like a teacher who had finished teaching and stepped back to the side of the podium, waiting for the student to answer the question himself.

Yun Jingheng stood alone in the center of the valley.

His hand was still hanging there, fingers spread, palm facing the empty air.

That pose was stupid.

He knew it very well.

It's like reaching out to grab a wisp of fog, only to find after a while that the fog has long since dissipated, leaving only a damp, cool sensation on your fingertips.

He withdrew his hand.

As his hand fell back to his side, he felt his fingertips go numb, and his five fingers were as stiff as if they had just been pulled out of ice water.

He clenched his fist and then released it, his knuckles cracking a few times.

"... you're right."

His voice was hoarse, and the sandpaper in his throat made each word sound slightly grating at the end.

"He's planned everything out. He can probably guess almost everything I'm thinking right now, as I stand here listening to you say all this."

"He's known me for almost fifteen years; he knows better than I do where I'm headed."

He raised his head.

My gaze traveled past those three steps and landed on the Greed face. Those deep black eyes, beneath the gray-white brow bones, still resembled two wells, but the light at the bottom of those wells was dimmer than before.

"But... if he really had arranged everything for me, he wouldn't have just said 'Use it when you're unsure'."

"Shouldn't he tell me how to use it, when to use it, and what will happen after I use it?"

"Why would he send me, carrying a box whose contents I don't even know, to an island inhabited by seven ancient monsters over a thousand years old?"

Something flashed in his Greed eyes.

"He believed I could get this far on my own," Yun Jingheng said, his voice softening, the gritty feeling in his throat dissipating, revealing a faint warmth beneath the surface that he himself didn't even notice.

"Believe me, after taking this step, I can take the next one on my own."

"I am an adopted son, but..."

Yun Jingheng raised his head and stared directly at the Greed Old Demon.

"They treated me like their own child, and I never doubted their love for me."

The wind blew from behind him.

The wind caused the hem of his robe to flutter, and his black, tousled hair brushed against his forehead.

The warm, sweet, and slightly fishy smell faded in the wind, replaced by a coolness carried from the rock walls—dry and clean, like mountain winds passing through vast, empty grottoes.

He stared at him Greed.

I looked at it for a long time.

The churning emotions in those eyes, like twin wells, would settle down and then rise again, only to settle down again, repeating this process several times, as if something deep underground was turning over.

Then he smiled.

That smile was unlike any of his previous smiles; the corners of his mouth were wide open, and his grayish-white lips curved upwards, revealing the outline of his upper teeth.

"Okay," he said, "You're much more interesting than your father was when he was young."

He turned around.

The dark gray robe hem drew an arc in the air, and the dark patterns on the edge of the hem flashed in the dim light, like a snake turning over and revealing its belly.

"But please remember this."

He didn't turn around.

"Humans are never satisfied with the status quo; human Greed is limitless."