NHWSG chapter 79

The first rain after the awakening of insects poured down heavily for most of the day, with lightning and thunder outside, and Sheng Zhao, exhausted, fell asleep on top of Xing Yingzhu, completely unaware of his surroundings.

Xing Yingzhu wrapped him tightly in a blanket, hugging him contentedly, like holding a large towel roll.

He was in extremely high spirits, feeling greatly satisfied, occasionally glancing down at Sheng Zhao, licking his lips contentedly.

In his dream, Sheng Zhao had no idea that Xing Yingzhuo had already turned him over inside out with his eyes several times. He slept with a sore waist and legs, not knowing how long he had slept until he groggily felt his chin being pinched, lifting his face up.

This position isn’t very comfortable,” Sheng Zhao found it hard to breathe, he furrowed  his brows in confusion, just about to avoid whatever was coming towards him when he felt something approaching and covering his lips.

A soft tongue gently parted his lips, and Sheng Zhao made a sound of surprise as he realized the other person had fed him something.

It was a cold liquid, not like water, more like the juice of something, incredibly bitter.

Sheng Zhao frowned tightly, instantly waking up from the bitterness of this substance.

He was about to struggle when Xing Yingzhu approached him again—this time, offering him a sip of warm milk tea.

The warm, milky aroma dispersed the unbearable bitterness, and Sheng Zhao made a sound of contentment, quieting down again. Lazily licking his lips, he confidently demanded, “Give me another sip.”

Xing Yingzhu found amusement in his antics, pinching his face and saying, “You’re quite the character.”

“You rascal,” Sheng Zhao said weakly, “You’ve already drained me dry, what’s wrong with me having a sip of your milk tea?”

Xing Yingzhu was in a good mood and didn’t mind this little bit of “pushing the boundaries.” So he chuckled twice, then brought the cup of milk tea over again, tapping Sheng Zhao’s lips with the straw.

Sheng Zhao took two sips with the straw and found that it was indeed Xing Yingzhuo’s style—unchanged red bean coconut milk green tea, full sugar, and hot.

With something warm in his stomach, Sheng Zhao felt much better. He moved slightly, closed his eyes, relieved himself of the confusion of waking up, and then opened his eyes.

Outside, the sky was completely dark, but the rain hadn’t stopped, only transitioning from thunderstorms to a moderate rain.

The living room wasn’t lit, and Sheng Zhao didn’t know what time it was when he woke up. He glanced at the TV and from the midnight drama playing inside, he realized it was probably the middle of the night by now.

Although Xing Yingzhuo was a cold-blooded reptile, he was unexpectedly comfortable to cuddle with. After being tossed around like a pancake for half a day, Sheng Zhao’s last layer of wariness towards Xing Yingzhuo had disappeared. Now, he snuggled comfortably in his embrace, feeling completely justified and natural.

Xing Yingzhu glanced at him, seeming to see through his thoughts, and chuckled lightly, pinching his chin.

“I was still asleep, who ordered takeout for you?” Sheng Zhao asked.

“I had the delivery person leave it at the door,” Xing Yingzhu said.

Sheng Zhao nodded, not pressing further.

He didn’t know what the bitter medicine Xing Yingzhu fed him was made of. When he woke up, he had a sore waist, legs, and arms, but in the time it took for a couple of sentences, he felt much better.

He felt like something warm had been poured into his veins, warming his entire body.

He rested in Xing Yingzhu’s arms for a while before summoning all his willpower to push the blanket aside a little.

“I didn’t have a chance to ask earlier.” Sheng Zhao said, “Who is that Seventh Princess? What kind of person is she?”

“You dare to ask about her?” Xing Yingzhu teased with a half-smile, “I might get jealous.”

“In that case, you might as well kill me,” Sheng Zhao said, tilting his head lazily, rolling his eyes, and sticking out his tongue, vividly imitating the phrase “not dying with one’s eyes closed.”

Xing Yingzhu curled his lips, flicking Sheng Zhao’s forehead with his finger.

“You bought a bunch of books to read, didn’t you?” Xing Yingzhu pierced through his attempt mercilessly, “The Classic of Mountains and Seas, Huainanzi, and—”

Though seeking knowledge eagerly was a good thing, for some reason, when Xing Yingzhu said it, it sounded different, with a kind of inexplicable mockery.

Sheng Zhao, feeling embarrassed and angry, quickly got up, pounced over, and covered his mouth.

“Wasn’t that what you said! Just read those books casually, don’t take them seriously,” Sheng Zhao said, “You even said there are widespread misconceptions in them.”

Xing Yingzhu didn’t struggle, but bent his eyes, seemingly amused.

Half of his face was blocked, but his eyes were extremely bright. Sheng Zhao only glanced at him, feeling his heart tremble, not daring to look more, feeling as if he had been enchanted by the curve of his eye.

—Indeed, he’s a monster, Sheng Zhao thought angrily, he’s even more bewitching than Hu Huanyang!

He let go of his hand, his gaze wandering aimlessly, and said, “I’ve finished reading those books, but—”

“She is the granddaughter of the Qingyang Clan,” Xing Yingzhu said.

“Ah…?” Sheng Zhao was stunned, the name of this clan touched on a blind spot in his knowledge. He racked his brains, rummaging through the comprehensive mythological system he had read, before vaguely recalling a shadow, “.. Emperor Zhi?”

Xing Yingzhu was just about to respond when he was interrupted. He sighed helplessly and said, “That’s going way back. In the books you’ve read, he might be called Shaohao or Xuanxiao.”

These two names were much more familiar to Sheng Zhao. He nodded, indicating for Xing Yingzhu to continue.

“The ‘princess’ who came today is the youngest granddaughter, ranked seventh in her generation,” Xing Yingzhu said, “The reason I didn’t let you ask her name is because her name is too heavy for you to bear—even if you wanted to hear it, she shouldn’t tell you herself.”

Sheng Zhao obediently nodded. They, who dabbled in metaphysics, had their own set of theories. Sheng Zhao didn’t think there was anything wrong with Xing Yingzhuo stopping him.

“So, she is the legendary, flesh-and-blood kind of ‘person’?” Sheng Zhao asked.

Xing Yingzhu nodded slightly, confirming it.

“But…” Sheng Zhao looked a bit troubled, whispering, “Didn’t you tell me before that they’re all dead?”

“The ancient gods, those who have fallen, have fallen, and those who have gone to the mortal realm are all gone,” Xing Yingzhu said, “In this world, she’s the only one left.”

Wow, Sheng Zhao looked at Xing Yingzhu in shock, thinking to himself that this guy was indeed a big shot, he would be like a top-tier boss in online novels.

Relying on his instinct honed from years of wandering the internet, Sheng Zhao felt that at this point, he should rein in his curiosity. However, his gossip-loving heart didn’t heed the advice, and he eagerly urged to hear the rest of the story.

“Oh, to be precise, she’s not the only one,” Xing Yingzhu said. “If I remember correctly, she also has a sixth brother, but he fell from the position of ‘god’ early on. He’s probably now in charge of a water area… seems to be near the Luo River.”

The difference in status sounded like night and day, and Sheng Zhao’s first reaction was quite conspiratorial.

Xing Yingzhu seemed to sense his thoughts and said slowly, “You don’t have to see her as a good person or a bad person. The reason I said she has a grudge against me is that out of the six hundred and eighty-seven members of the Shuanglong clan, she killed them all… except for me.”

Sheng Zhao sat up abruptly, shocked. “And you still don’t think she’s a bad person?”

“I hated her at the time too,” Xing Yingzhu continued. “Although I’m not close to my clan, their life or death has nothing to do with me, but I did hate her for taking my bones and killing me without giving me a clean death.”

As Xing Yingzhu and Sheng Zhao locked eyes, Sheng Zhao felt a strange calmness in his gaze, and the anger that had surged within him seemed to diminish inexplicably.

“But eight hundred years later, I understood her intentions,” Xing Yingzhu said. “Because except for me, all the ancient monsters—those races born from the transformation of heaven and earth, except for the White Ze Kirin, a race with only one individual that hasn’t appeared in centuries—all of them have gone extinct.”

“…All of them?” Sheng Zhao asked in a daze.

“All of them,” Xing Yingzhu confirmed. “Not one survived. They died one by one, and the extinction of their races was inevitable.”

Sheng Zhao shuddered, feeling cold inside. Xing Yingzhu had mentioned before that in that distant “era,” people had no moral constraints and didn’t understand the concept of rules and order. They mostly acted on instinct, and bullying the weak was common. The legend of “if I kill you, it’s your own fault” was their daily life.

But even so, hearing Xing Yingzhu talk so casually about “extinction of races,” Sheng Zhao still felt a chill down his spine.

Humanity was already so small, and for a moment, he couldn’t imagine how those powerful races, capable of controlling the wind and rain and capable of shaking mountains and rivers with a tail, could have disappeared.

“Just like dinosaurs went extinct,” Xing Yingzhu said casually. “Any race, when it reaches a certain level of strength, will inevitably follow the path of destruction. Gods are, and monsters are too.”

Sheng Zhao seemed to understand vaguely.

“So, when she ‘killed’ you, it was like she switched you out,” Sheng Zhao said. “From dragon to snake. So, this extermination of monsters missed you?”

Sheng Zhao suddenly remembered the “sixth brother” mentioned by Xing Yingzhu earlier, who had changed from a “god” to a “land immortal,” seemingly falling to a lower status but perhaps, in another sense, experiencing a form of transformation.

“Why did she only save you then?” Sheng Zhao didn’t quite understand. “If this method could deceive the heavens and cross the sea, then couldn’t everyone be saved like this?”

“Not everyone deserves to be saved,” Xing Yingzhu said. “They…”

He hesitated for a moment, seeming unsure of how to phrase his words. After two seconds of silence, he chose the most concise expression: “They all deserved to die.”

“Just like back then, when the officials submitted a list requesting Zhang Daoling to eliminate monsters, if the rotten flesh is not cut away, it will only fester into a sore. The extinction of a race is not because they are strong and deserve to die, but because their strength leads to the birth of unwarranted desires,” Xing Yingzhu said. “I was young at the time and didn’t understand anything, so I escaped unscathed. But like those monsters and the fallen gods, their actions and desires at that time had exceeded the ‘limit,’ so they had to die.”

“What a… ruthless woman,” Sheng Zhao exclaimed.

Back then, when Zhang Daoling indirectly killed a few monsters, they suffered so much it was like living hell. This girl actually killed over six hundred dragons with ease, showing incredible mental toughness.

Moreover, judging from Xing Yingzhu’s appearance, Sheng Zhao could almost imagine that the other party’s “masterpiece” was definitely more than just this.

“Indeed,” Xing Yingzhu agreed with a nod, saying, “She was a terrifying sight when she was young, ruthless to the core doesn’t even begin to describe her.”

“…”

There was no need to criticize her like this, Sheng Zhao thought with trembling, given her CPU processing power, she probably heard everything you said about her.

“I remember, when she was still young and hadn’t taken over yet, she once passed by the Wei River and was stopped and harassed by a local land dragon. The dragon didn’t recognize her, tried to kidnap her to be his wife, and attempted to molest her,” Xing Yingzhu said. “In the end, she pressed him down on the shore, chopped off his claws, pulled out his tendons, scraped off his scales, threw them aside, and even roasted the dragon meat after dissecting it, all with such precision.”

“…”

What a fierce woman, Sheng Zhao thought.

“But she had it worse than I did,” Xing Yingzhu said with some schadenfreude. “Just thinking about it makes me feel much better.”

“…She’s lived for so long, still the only survivor of the ancient gods, disappearing and reappearing at will, casually showing off her skills in front of me, a mere ‘mortal,’ while you’re collecting rent in the mortal realm.” Sheng Zhao couldn’t help but quip, “Who’s really the unfortunate one?”

Xing Yingzhu glanced at him lightly, surprisingly not getting angry but instead flicking his forehead with a finger.

“Silly kid,” Xing Yingzhu said. “Do you think it was her choice?”