"All suffering shall pass. Only death is free."
When Zheng Qing was suffocating in the sea of blood, on the verge of passing out, those words flashed through his mind, and he jolted awake.
The instant he woke, the light humming of those female demons from the depths of the blood sea still echoed in his mind. He could even faintly smell the seemingly endless resentment and stench churning amid the bloody waves.
He kept his eyes shut, suppressing his wildly pounding heart and restraining the urge to gasp for air.
This was a hospital. Any unusual reaction from a patient would be detected by the monitoring spells and reported to the healers. Zheng Qing did not want to have sprites pinch his nose and force another bellyful of nightmare-banishing potion down his throat.
That fishy, foul smell mixed with an intense bitterness—drinking it once had been enough. He did not want to touch it again for the rest of his life. Compared to that, he would rather wake from nightmares every day.
At least it gave him the secret comfort of feeling as though he were atoning for his sins.
"The harder you try to forget, the deeper the memory becomes." This was a saying from Sky City. Zheng Qing did not remember when he had seen it, but it had left a deep impression on him.
It perfectly summed up his current situation.
Some things that had happened in the Black Prison were an accident, and also an unforeseen mishap. Through certain private channels, Zheng Qing had already learned the school's stance: Most likely, it would not hold him responsible.
But that did not mean he could face the mistakes he had made with a clear conscience.
The more he tried to forget his mistakes, the more vividly