053 The Pain of Memory (1)

Devouring the Undead was in such agony that he could no longer utter a word; at last, he understood what had transpired. The shackles removed before had only been the visible ones—hidden deep within him was another layer, an overwhelming power. What shocked him most was that, after all these years, the shard of divinity had remained intact; all this time, he had unwittingly sheltered it. He bitterly regretted his greed, realizing too late that his momentary craving had brought about this calamity.

As he watched the shard return to its rightful place, Devouring the Undead could do nothing to stop it. He moaned incoherently, and after consuming countless fragments of souls, he too became nothing more than food for other undead.

The King of the Underworld and Lige watched, stunned, as a scene unfolded that neither had ever witnessed, involving a power of divinity unlike any they had encountered before.

As the shard returned, it entered the palm of Nüluo, as if finally finding its true home. All the fragments of memory in her mind were restored.

A wail of anguish escaped Nüluo, echoing endlessly within the barrier—her cry was laced with the most excruciating memories, the most harrowing recollections. The truth was revealed in the most incredible, unimaginable way, tearing away the veil that had shrouded it for so long, exposing a tableau drenched in blood.

Nüluo collapsed, powerless, to the ground, and saw all that had happened in the past.

The Guardian stared at her, hearing her lament, witnessing her pain. He raised his hand—now that she knew the truth, she would vanish together with it.

Outside the barrier, the King of the Underworld and Lige watched as Devouring the Undead was reduced to fragments. Shocked, they heard another piercing scream, resonating deep within their hearts as the netherflame barrier shook violently.

“It’s her voice. Something has changed within the barrier. Whether or not I am summoned, I must go in and see for myself!” The King of the Underworld looked Lige in the eyes, speaking each word with deliberate calm—there was no question, no hesitation, as though issuing the most ordinary of commands. In that moment, he was once again the sovereign Lord of the Underworld, supreme ruler of the Netherworld. This realm had slipped from his grasp for too long—had his previous choices been mistaken?

Lige gazed back at him, her expression complex. The King’s loftiness over the years had imbued him with unparalleled authority. Whether she admitted it or not, he was the King of the Underworld, and this fact was immutable. Moreover, out of guilt, he had always treated her with kindness; this was the first time he had ever commanded her in such a tone.

She managed a bitter smile. At this point, she too wanted to know the truth within the barrier.

“I’ll go with you!” Lige nodded.

The King’s expression softened. “Thank you for understanding. There are things I must see for myself.” For the first time in a long while, they stood united.

Their figures vanished. In the vast space outside the barrier, only the shattered remains of Devouring the Undead were left behind.

Elsewhere in the Netherworld, the God of Sleep was astonished to discover that Niaoniao, whom he had confined, was showing signs of awakening. How could she possibly wake so soon, when she was doubly bound by the spells of soul-guiding and soul-binding?

Niaoniao kept murmuring a name, indistinct and blurred. Sensing the change, the God of Sleep hurriedly took her to the Hall of Dreams. He had been trying to learn more about her, but to no avail—her soul was unlike any he had ever encountered, and its strength constantly repelled his power.

Her awakening would mean another card in Nüluo’s hand. Still, there was no sign of the Dream God—had he not yet escaped the dream realm?

Inside the Hall of Dreams, everything remained as it had been when the God of Sleep last left—no sign of the Dream God.

The poor Dream God was still trapped in Nüluo’s dream, hopelessly struggling in its grip. There was a force stronger than his own, and he could not break free. The dream was growing ever darker, as if on the brink of vanishing.

After a moment’s thought, the God of Sleep realized he could not merely wait as the dream faded—he needed to act. Events were spiraling beyond his control, becoming ever more unpredictable. Niaoniao’s struggles grew more intense; she could awaken at any moment.

Within the netherflame barrier, the restored shards of divinity began to coalesce into a figure—a figure endowed with both memory and soul. He appeared in Nüluo’s mind, vivid and distinct—not an illusion, but a soul that had endured tens of thousands of years in silence, surviving on sheer will. Nüluo, too, communicated with him on a soul-deep level.

Looking upon his face, Nüluo felt an urge to weep. Though she had never seen him before, she sensed an inexplicable familiarity, as if they were not meeting for the first time but had long known each other—there was no strangeness between them.

Like Nüluo, he wore brilliant red robes, blazing like the primordial spark of fire—an unquenchable flame, the most radiant color under heaven. Never had Nüluo imagined a man could wear red with such majesty; the shimmering crimson radiated life itself.

He looked at her with the tenderness of a father, his eyes shining with crystalline tears. “You are Lingji’s daughter!” There was no doubt, no hesitation—only certainty.

“Who... who are you?” Seeing his tears, a pang seized Nüluo’s heart, as if that single drop had flowed into her very soul, moving her to sorrow.

He knew her mother’s name; he must be from the lineage of the Earth God, who had disappeared into the barrier with her mother. It was his divinity that had been devoured—how, then, did he reappear now?

“Who am I? Child, look closely at me—has Lingji never told you who I am?” He gazed at Nüluo, reaching out to touch her face. Instinctively, she stepped back.

Her movement left his hand suspended in the air, and his sorrowful gaze wrapped around her like silken threads, weaving a net that stifled all breath and left only despair. He withdrew his hand, as desolate as one forsaken by heaven and earth, as if standing alone in a spaceless, endless void, waiting in vain for a companion’s gaze—fading away in solitude and pain.

In that instant, Nüluo wanted to reach for his hand and tell him it was not as he thought; she was merely unaccustomed. His hand, though devoid of warmth, radiated a gentle heat from the depths of his soul—a warmth only kindred spirits could feel.

Nüluo was surprised—her mother had never mentioned him, yet she felt certain they shared a profound and secret kinship.

“I’m sorry—are you all right? Who are you, truly?” she asked gently.

His sorrow vanished, replaced by new vigor. “Why am I still troubled by this? Forgive me, it’s only that seeing you for the first time, I lost my composure. Such is the tradition of the Earth God’s line—Lingji merely did what was required of her.” His words were both an explanation to Nüluo and a comfort to himself.

“What else has my mother kept from me?” Nüluo bowed again. “Please, tell me your true identity. If it concerns me, I have the right to know.” Her tone was respectful, yet resolute.

“You truly are your mother’s daughter, in every way,” he nodded softly, as if recalling old memories.

Nüluo, however, reflected, “How could I be like my mother? The mother I recall was ever sorrowful, fragile, while I am the very opposite.”

He gazed at her with profound gentleness. This brief encounter—he had waited so long for it. The endless years had drained his will to live, but at last, he had seen her.

“My child, I have always waited for you, for your arrival. The Sacred Flame of the Earth has indeed gone out once more.”

“My child, my child...” The words struck Nüluo so powerfully that she could scarcely think. She was his daughter—how could this be? He had known the Sacred Flame would extinguish—how could he have foreseen this so long ago? How could he have known with such certainty?

“You are my...” The words caught in her throat, for the truth was more than she could comprehend. Now, it seemed to Nüluo that she must be trapped in some dream, once again surrounded by the despair of nightmare.

“I am your father. I exist only to await your coming.”

“Father... you are my father... What is going on? Why did my mother never mention you? Tell me, what truly happened?” Nüluo’s voice trembled; she wanted only to know the truth.

“I shattered my divinity into fragments—one I left in this barrier, one I left within Devouring the Undead. These two shards preserved all my memories. To avoid arousing suspicion, the rest of the fragments were consumed by Devouring the Undead. I now remain only to fulfill my final wish.”

“That shard was in Devouring the Undead?”

Nüluo thought back to the invisible binding she had placed on him, linking it to her own bloodline. If the fragment of divinity connected to her still remained within him, she had to retrieve it, though she had not dared hope—so much time had passed.

Yet, when her palm touched that miraculous thing, she had felt a bond—a subtle, mysterious blood connection, one that only the closest kin could sense, as if guided by some invisible force of fate.