A cup of tea on the ice

At the edge of the ice field, there is a flattened boulder with a low table on it, on which sits a pot of tea and a cup.

Yun Jingheng sat on one side of a low table, drinking tea.

The tea is hot.

This tea was the jar he had put into his Storage Soul Tool before he set off. It was osmanthus-flavored, but the aroma was very faint after brewing and dissipated as soon as the cold wind blew it away.

On the other side of the low table, Qiangu Dongfeng knelt on the ice.

His right arm was gone, the stump wrapped with a layer of pale gold fragments of Battle Armor, barely stopping the bleeding.

The Four-Word Battle Armor was mostly shattered, with the remaining parts hanging crookedly on his body, revealing the blackened, corroded skin underneath.

The Coiling Dragon Staff broke in two and stuck in the ice beside him; the last trace of the Break Evil Dragon Soul at the broken end had dissipated.

The Good Corpse stood to his left rear, the Moonlight Sword drawn, its tip pressed against the back of his neck.

The Self stood to the right rear, its white robe motionless in the cold wind, its eyes calmly watching his every move.

The Qiangu Dongfeng raises its head.

He was much older than Yun Jingheng remembered.

A year ago, he was a demigod who stood atop the Spirit Pagoda overlooking the continent; now, he is merely a prisoner with a severed arm, shattered armor, broken weapons, and a torn soul.

His hair was disheveled, his face was covered in ice shards and dried blood, and his eyes were sunken.

But his back remained straight.

You shouldn't be here.

Qiangu Dongfeng spoke, his voice hoarse, like a piece of iron that had been repeatedly polished, "My last trump card lies at the bottom of the Abyss. You should go after it, not sit here drinking tea."

Someone will chase after them.

Yun Jingheng picked up his teacup, took a sip, and the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms filled his throat. "I'm sitting here because of you."

"I?"

There's something important about you.

The Qiangu Dongfeng frowned.

"You turned the Spirit Pagoda from the continent's premier organization into a gambling table."

Yun Jingheng put down his cup, his fingers gently tracing the rim. "You gambled on the Godhood, you gambled on the Qiangu Family replacing Shrek, but you never gambled on yourself."

"What's the meaning?"

"It means you never believed you could win."

Yun Jingheng looked at him, his gaze as calm as a lake, "You're just afraid to admit it."

Qiangu Dongfeng's lips moved slightly, but he didn't speak.

The silence lasted a long time.

A cold wind blew from the edge of the ice field, swirling up snowflakes that pattered against the teapot on the low table.

"Leng Yaozhu," Yun Jingheng suddenly spoke.

Qiangu Dongfeng's body stiffened for a moment.

"You hated my father your whole life because of her."

Yun Jingheng's voice was flat, without sarcasm or pity, simply stating, "You think that as long as Shrek falls, as long as Yun Ming dies, she will look at you?"

Qiangu Dongfeng's fingers clenched tightly around the Battle Armor fragments on his knee, his knuckles turning white.

"But she won't," Yun Jingheng said.

"What gives you the right—"

"Because you don't understand why she chose my dad."

Yun Jingheng interrupted him, his tone still flat, "You think she chose the Tiandou, the number one person on the continent, and the Sea God Pavilion Master, so you think that as long as all of these are destroyed, she will have no choice?"

Qiangu Dongfeng stared at him, his split lips trembling slightly.

"These are never the ones she chose."

Yun Jingheng said, "She chose someone who would stand in front of everyone when Shrek was bombed, someone who occupied her entire youth."

He paused for a moment.

Ask yourself honestly, are you that kind of person?

Qiangu Dongfeng's lips moved a few times.

"Twenty thousand years ago, the Spirit Hall..." His voice suddenly lowered, like a drowning man grasping at a last straw, "Everything I did was for the Spirit Pagoda— "

"At least Bibi Dong of the Spirit Hall once loved someone."

Yun Jingheng said, "And you? You only have hatred."

These words, carried by the wind, are colder than ice.

Qiangu Dongfeng's body began to tremble.

It wasn't a trembling of anger, but something else entirely.

His shoulders slowly slumped, and his straight back bent inch by inch, like a wall whose foundation had been removed.

He lowered his head, his disheveled hair obscuring his face, making his expression impossible to see.

The tip of the Good Corpse's sword was pressed against the back of his neck, but it did not move.

The Self stands on the other side, its eyes slightly tilted, observing a variable that has finally entered its final state.

Yun Jingheng picked up the teapot and poured himself another cup. The steam rose in the cold air and quickly dissipated.

"There's not much tea left," he said.

The Qiangu Dongfeng, has never risen.

His shoulders were shaking, and they shook for a long time before gradually stopping.

"Just kill me."

He said the sound came from under his hair, muffled.

"I won't kill you," Yun Jingheng said.

The Qiangu Dongfeng suddenly raised its head.

His face was covered in tears, tears mixed with blood and ice shards, leaving several muddy streaks on his face. But he didn't cry out.

"You won't kill me? You want to humiliate me?!"

Yun Jingheng said, "The Spirit Pagoda belongs to Gu Yuena, so it's half mine now. The Qiangu Family is gone, your Godhood is gone, your staff technique is broken. To be honest, you're kneeling here now, you don't even have the right to make me lay a hand on you."

Qiangu Dongfeng looked at him, the light in his eyes gradually dimming.

The darkness was so slow, so slow that you could see every inch of it clearly.

Starting from the depths of the pupil, it spreads outwards, like a lamp having its dimming knob turned, getting dimmer and dimmer, until finally only a thin layer of grayish-white light remains.

He looked down at his hands.

My right hand is gone.

My left hand is still there, with long, slender fingers and distinct knuckles—the hand that held the Coiling Dragon Staff for a lifetime.

He slowly raised his left hand, palm up, looking at the calluses that had formed from years of holding a stick.

Then he turned that hand over, fingers together, palm facing down, and aimed it at the top of his head.

"Unyielding Staff Technique, Ninth Form."

His voice was very soft, almost as if it could be blown away by the wind, "I've practiced my whole life, and I've never succeeded."

He closed his eyes.

"Because I am unworthy; the core of the Coiling Dragon Staff is fearlessness in the face of death."

The wind on the ice field suddenly picked up for a moment, whipping up snowflakes that hit the teapot with a soft, rustling sound.

Yun Jingheng said softly, "And you are extremely afraid of death. With your Martial Soul in your hands, you are destined to be unable to unleash your full strength."

"Hehe..."

Qiangu Dongfeng slammed his left hand onto the top of his head.

There was no fluctuation of Soul Power, no glow of Battle Armor, and no unnecessary movements.

He was a Level 99 Limit Douluo shattered his own skull with a single palm strike.

The sound was muffled and low, like a piece of ice falling from a cliff into deep water.

Qiangu Dongfeng leaned forward, collapsing beside the low table, his face buried in the ice.

Blood slowly seeped from beneath him, spreading a dark red stain on the ice.

Yun Jingheng stared at the fallen man for a long time.

Then he poured the remaining tea from the cup onto the floor.

Pour him a glass.

Seven Percent Sugar took out another cup from his Storage Soul Tool, poured tea into it, and placed it next to Qiangu Dongfeng's head.

The heat condensed into a small patch of white mist on the ice surface, which quickly dissipated.

The Good Corpse sheathed its sword.

The Self tilted its head, its eyes devoid of any emotion, but it uttered a single sentence.

His last thought before he died was Regret for not killing you when you were weak.

Yun Jingheng did not respond.

He stood up, put the teapot on the low table into his Storage Soul Tool, and faced the direction of the Abyss rift, where dark purple light pillars were still surging, and the Evil Corpse and Gu Yuena were still fighting.

"That's about it," he said.

The Good Corpse and the Self responded simultaneously.

Two figures rose from the ground and sped away into the distance.

Beside the low table, Qiangu Dongfeng's body lay quietly on the ice, his left hand still in the position of striking the top of his head.

The steam from the teacup beside his head had dissipated, and the tea had frozen into a thin layer of ice in the Far North wind.