Chapter 186: So Sad—Want to Cry but Can’t
In the next second, Nan Xun’s soul was pulled out of her body.
She quietly looked at the man lying on the ground, whose death was anything but peaceful. She pressed her lips together, lowered her gaze slightly, and said softly, “Little Eight… I suddenly feel a little tired.”
Little Eight stayed silent for a long while before replying in a low voice, “I know you want to see him one last time. Let’s wait for him.”
A soul couldn’t remain in one world for too long, so Little Eight was uncharacteristically generous and used its own spiritual power to protect Nan Xun’s primordial spirit.
Both of them thought it would take quite some time before Yan Luo realized something was wrong and rushed over. Unexpectedly, the thug called A Hei staggered up to Su Mobai’s corpse. When he saw the line of bloody words Nan Xun had left behind, his expression changed drastically. He panicked and stumbled back several steps, then collapsed onto the ground when his legs gave out.
A Hei stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly sent a message to Yan Luo on his phone. After that, he turned the phone off. The arm holding the gun slowly lifted, the dark muzzle aimed at his own head.
The next second—bang—the bullet tore straight through his skull.
The last living person at the scene fell as well.
The moment A Hei sent that message to Yan Luo, he already knew he wouldn’t survive. Lord Yan would never spare him. Yet he still did it—perhaps because the sight of that blood-soaked figure advancing forward had terrified him, or perhaps because of… the final words that had been left behind.
In A Hei’s final moment, there was no hatred and no fear in his heart. What surfaced in his mind wasn’t Lord Yan’s face, but the scene from before, when he and Su Mobai had rescued Yan Man from the Green Tiger Gang’s thugs together. That image lingered in his mind until his last breath faded.
Nan Xun was startled by A Hei’s actions.
Little Eight finally snapped out of its shock. “Holy shit—this guy’s insane. He actually committed suicide and even notified the big boss beforehand. Was he calling the big boss over to collect his body?”
Nan Xun stared at A Hei’s corpse for a long time before letting out a low sigh.
Not long after, the screeching screech of a car braking sharply echoed through the air.
Nan Xun saw the car door fly open with a bang as someone came running toward them. But suddenly, that person slowed down, as if afraid of something, and began walking forward step by step.
“Brother!” Nan Xun cried out and threw herself into his arms—but she passed straight through Yan Luo’s body. When she turned back, all she saw was Yan Luo’s stiff, rigid back.
Yan Luo walked closer. When he saw the blood-soaked corpse on the ground, his mouth opened slightly. A crushing sense of suffocation surged up, making it impossible for him to breathe.
His eyes reddened as he stared at the child lying motionless on the ground. Seeing that there wasn’t a single uninjured spot on his body, his legs suddenly went weak. With a thud, he knelt before the corpse.
Clinging to the last shred of self-deception, he reached out with trembling hands, inch by inch lifting the man’s head.
When he finally saw that familiar face smeared with blood, Yan Luo’s hands shook violently. A cry like that of a trapped beast tore from his throat—suppressed, heavy, hoarse, as if his voice had broken. “Xiao Bai… Xiao Bai… don’t scare me. I’m begging you, Xiao Bai…”
He pulled Su Mobai into his arms, holding him tightly—desperately—until the suppressed sobs gradually turned into a howl of grief.
When Yan Luo noticed the line of bloodstained words on the ground, the tears he had been forcing back finally broke loose, pouring out like a breached dam. His fingers gently traced over the dried blood again and again.
“Xiao Bai… Xiao Bai…” he murmured, until his voice failed entirely and only the faint, constant movement of his throat remained.
Nan Xun was heartbroken. She wanted to cry too, but she couldn’t—because a soul cannot cry.
She crouched beside Yan Luo and reached out, wanting to wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye. But her hand slipped right through his face. So she merely hovered her fingers there, letting that salty drop fall into her palm. It felt as if the searing heat had been transferred to her soul—yet in the next instant, it passed through her hand and fell to the ground.
Even though Little Eight felt it was inappropriate to speak at such a moment, it still couldn’t help muttering softly, “Just now, Yan Luo’s malice value rebounded to 100. I’d still been holding onto a sliver of hope—that maybe after seeing you die, all his malice would disappear. But…”
“Nan Xun, let’s go,” Little Eight sighed. “I’m afraid it’ll hurt too much if we keep watching.”
As a divine beast that had lived for a ridiculously long time, Little Eight had seen countless partings of life and death among mortals—between family, between lovers. Yet this time still shocked it deeply. It had thought the big boss still resented Nan Xun, but after Nan Xun died, that tough, hardened man cried like a broken mess—so much so that even Little Eight’s eyes had turned red.
“…Okay,” Nan Xun answered softly.
She carefully looked at Yan Luo’s profile, leaned close to his ear, her lips moving as she silently formed three words.
Little Eight was a creature of action. The moment Nan Xun’s “okay” fell, it shattered space itself.
In the blink of an eye, Nan Xun’s soul twisted—and vanished from where it stood.
Nan Xun had no mood to think about anything else. When she realized she was standing amid a brilliant sea of stars, she only asked blankly, “What world is this?”
“Didn’t you say you were tired? So I brought you into my Stellar Space. You can rest here for a month or two.”
This time, Little Eight’s voice didn’t sound inside Nan Xun’s mind.
She was in soul form now—without a physical brain.
Nan Xun lowered her head slightly and looked at the creature squatting in front of her: a round, fluffy white ball. It had two jet-black, bean-sized eyes, tiny ears, tiny limbs, and a short little tail sticking out behind it.
Seeing her staring at it, Little Eight seemed to think of something and instantly darted away. A white blur flashed past, and in the next second it was more than ten meters away.
“Little Eight, why are you running so far?” Nan Xun said gently. “Relax—I won’t squash you into a pancake.”
Little Eight scoffed, planting its little paws on its round waist. “As if you could. Even if you wanted to, could you catch me? Void Beasts are unbelievably fast—no one can compare.”
Nan Xun studied its round body for a long time, then suddenly asked, “You say that when you grow up you’ll be a beautiful, glowing white horse. Then why is your juvenile form just a round ball? I truly cannot figure this out.”
Little Eight twisted its chubby little waist and explained, “Void Beasts are a mysterious species. It’s normal that you don’t understand—because I don’t understand either.”
“Little Eight, are you really giving me a break?” Nan Xun asked, sounding doubtful.
Little Eight awkwardly turned its backside toward her and huffed, “I just saw that you weren’t in great spirits, so I decided to show some mercy. If you died the moment you entered a new world, wouldn’t all my effort shattering space be wasted?”
Nan Xun smiled and said nothing more.
She lay in the void, gazing at the dazzling stars overhead, her eyes slowly losing focus.
