Transaction and Entrustment

He braced himself against the ground, his arm muscles visibly twitching as he desperately tried to stand up.

But his injured legs wouldn't obey him; his knees buckled, and he fell heavily to his knees again, raising a cloud of dust.

Qi Heng stood there, quietly watching him.

There was no mockery, no pity, not even a flicker of emotion in those golden eyes.

All that remained was a calm, almost cold, gaze, like some kind of deity looking down upon the mortal world.

"This is not charity." Qi Heng reached out and grabbed Vegeta's blood-stained right hand—the hand was cold and trembling uncontrollably.

He put the Senzu Bean into his palm.

Vegeta's fingers curled involuntarily, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"This is a deal."

"A deal?" Vegeta frowned, and the bloodstain on his forehead split open again.

"You owe me a life." Qi Heng released his grip, slowly stood up, and his black robe fell off with the movement.

"Give it back to me when you have the chance."

Vegeta didn't say anything.

Time suddenly stretched out for a long time.

In the distance, the energy core of Super 17 emitted a deep hum, the wind howled through the ruins, and the heavy, slow heartbeat within itself became exceptionally clear.

He lowered his head and opened his palm.

The Senzu Bean lay quietly in my palm, surrounded by calluses and bloodstains, its emerald green color particularly striking.

Sunlight pierced through the smoke and dust, falling on the beans and creating a soft halo.

He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing.

All those words of pride, anger, and resentment stuck in his throat; he couldn't utter a single one.

Vegeta closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a movement that aggravated the wound in his chest, bringing a sharp pain.

Then he put the Senzu Bean into his mouth.

The next second, a warm green light burst forth from his body.

The light wasn't dazzling, but it was full of life force.

The gruesome wounds on the skin visibly began to heal, and new granulation tissue grew and intertwined at an incredible speed.

The broken bone snapped back into place with a "click".

The internal organs are also slowly repaired while enveloped in gentle energy.

The stagnant blood seeped out through the pores and then evaporated and disappeared in the green light.

In less than three seconds, all the wounds disappeared, leaving only new, healthy skin gleaming in the sunlight.

Vegeta suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils flashing with renewed sharpness.

He stood up, his movements fluid and powerful, and casually brushed off the scabs and dust from his body.

A completely new aura erupted from his body—the pinnacle power belonging to the Saiyan Prince.

He looked at Qi Heng, his gaze as complex as an overturned palette—containing gratitude, humiliation, resentment, and an indescribable heaviness.

"Thanks." His voice was very low, almost as low as if it could be blown away by the wind, but he did say it.

Qi Heng nodded almost imperceptibly, then turned to face Super 17, a line drawn at the hem of his black robe.

"Wait a minute," Vegeta called out to him, his voice unusually hesitant.

Qi Heng stopped, without turning around, but slightly turned his head, revealing his sharply defined profile.

"Is there anything else?"

Vegeta took a deep breath, this time a steady and long one.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking, and the veins bulging under his skin.

His expression was distorted, not with anger, but with a deep-seated, bone-chilling struggle, as if he were destroying something he cherished most with his own hands.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, slid down his face, and lingered on his chin without dripping.

"Qi Heng..." His voice was frighteningly hoarse, and the end of his sentence trembled, "I... I have a request."

Qi Heng turned around this time, his golden eyes calmly looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

Vegeta's lips were trembling.

He lowered his head, avoiding the unsettling gaze, and stared intently at the fist in his hand.

The fingernails dug deeply into the palm, leaving four bloody marks.

"Please... protect the Earth." His voice trailed off, almost a whisper. "And... Bulma."

Qi Heng frowned slightly; this was the first time he had shown a noticeable expression since he appeared.

"Vegeta, what are you saying?"

"I'm serious." Vegeta suddenly looked up, his eyes churning with pain, resentment, humiliation, and a desperate resolve.

The Saiyan Prince's pride shattered little by little in his eyes.

"I can't beat that guy. Kakarot is trapped in Hell, and I don't know when he'll be back. Gohan and the others... aren't strong enough." He gritted his teeth, the veins on his temples throbbing, as if he were squeezing every word out of his very soul. "So... please."

He spoke the last three words with great difficulty.

Each syllable feels as if it were peeled from flesh and blood, carrying a raw, bloody weight.

Vegeta never used the words "please" or "please".

But what came out of his mouth now was more shocking than any energy cannon or any wound.

The wind seemed to have stopped.

Amidst the ruins, only the proud warrior with his head bowed and his weighty plea remain.

In the distance, Piccolo stood at the edge of the ravaged battlefield, his feet sinking into rubble and scorched earth.

The Namekians have such acute hearing that every word carried on the wind can be heard.

Its green pupils suddenly contracted, its mouth opened slightly, even the antennae on its forehead froze, and its entire face was filled with disbelief, like plaster.

"Vegeta ... he can actually say 'please'... and 'please'..." Piccolo's voice was so low it was almost blown away by the wind. He couldn't help but raise his hand to his forehead, as if to make sure he was still conscious. "Is this world... really going to be destroyed...?"

Trunks knelt a short distance away, panting as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

He didn't hear what his father said, but Vegeta's unprecedented bowing of his head, his clenched fists that had turned white, and the shadow of humiliation and determination on his face—all of these struck his heart like a hammer.

A surge of hot, uncomfortable emotion welled up in his chest, choking him and rendering him speechless.

Gohan and Pan stood by the distant ruins.

Gohan sensed the change in atmosphere, turned his head and exchanged a glance with Pan, both of them looking bewildered.

Pan blinked her big eyes, her hand instinctively gripping Gohan's torn clothes.

In the center of the battlefield, Qi Heng stood quietly, golden flames swirling around him like flowing water, gently brushing against his black hair.

He remained silent for a long time, so long that even Super 17 chuckled impatiently, so long that Vegeta's teeth-gritting could be faintly heard.

Finally, Qi Heng raised his eyelids.

In those pupils, as clear as molten gold, there was neither surprise nor emotion, but a profound understanding—a respect for a proud warrior who shattered his pride and placed his beliefs above all else.

"Vegeta," Qi Heng spoke, his voice steady, like the water of a deep pool, yet clearly penetrating the entire battlefield, "You are a true man."

After saying that, he turned around without hesitation, golden flames flowing with his movement, leaving a trail of light behind him.

He faced Super 17, leaving his broad back to the Saiyan Prince.

"Leave this enemy to me."

Vegeta's tense body relaxed instantly, and he almost knelt down.

Trunks charged forward like an arrow, using his shoulder to brace against his father's collapsing body.

"Dad! How are you?"

"Stop nagging... I'm fine." Vegeta's voice was hoarse. He shook off Trunks's hand and straightened himself with sheer willpower, even though the muscles under his Battle Suit were still trembling slightly.