“Let me die here…”
Wen Qiaoyun’s expression faltered slightly, but she quickly dismissed it as inconsequential before softly asking, “Dying here doesn’t matter… but will you really… never come again?”
“Yes.” Chu Tianqiu nodded, his voice trembling. “Today will be the last time we meet in this lifetime.”
“Really… never again?”
Wen Qiaoyun’s eyes seemed to shift subtly. She reached out a grimy hand to lightly touch Chu Tianqiu’s cheek, her lips murmuring the same phrase over and over.
“It’s truly goodbye.” Chu Tianqiu nodded, his voice growing fainter. “This door should have been closed long ago… but my selfishness kept it open.”
“Hmm…”
Wen Qiaoyun nodded with a complex expression, her mind too dulled to muster any other reaction. She could only nod blankly.
Though her thoughts were a void, she still sensed something vital dissipating from her heart—like flesh turning to dust, scattering into the air, impossible to grasp or hold onto.
The scent of blood drifted ceaselessly into the room, carrying a mocking undertone as it swirled around them before settling heavily in the space between.
“Perhaps I misspoke.” Chu Tianqiu let out a bitter laugh. “I shouldn’t have said ‘goodbye,’ because whether here or out there… we can never meet again.”
With that, he stood up and gently pushed Wen Qiaoyun’s hand away—as if pushing away thirty years of his life.
Wen Qiaoyun finally understood the feeling: a piece of flesh that had been part of her for decades was being torn away, the pain too excruciating to think.
“Don’t… don’t go…” Her lips moved, freezing the air around them.
Chu Tianqiu turned back, seeing the panic in her eyes. He wanted to say something but only opened his mouth soundlessly.
“I… I’ll treat you to roast piglet… please don’t go…”
With the last shred of her rationality, Wen Qiaoyun spoke the words in her heart, yet inside, she was shattered—broken into jagged shards that pierced countless holes in Chu Tianqiu’s soul.
“Qiaoyun, you’re free now.” Chu Tianqiu smiled bitterly. “You’ll never suffer again. This isn’t ‘goodbye’—it’s ‘farewell.'”
“No… my piglet… ours…” Her hands trembled as she gestured weakly, unable to articulate further. “He… he was ours…”
She seemed to want to make some expression, but all that surfaced was an endless numbness.
What was sorrow?
What was grief?
She was just a child who had lost her emotions, leaving only helplessness in her eyes.
“Qiaoyun, you’ve always been the brightest sun in my heart.” Chu Tianqiu’s eyes shimmered with tender despair. “I shouldn’t have let you linger just to dimly glow. That’s why I must say farewell here. You deserve to rest as bones, not stand here decaying—it’s unfair to you.”
Wen Qiaoyun lowered her head silently, as if finally grasping the meaning of “farewell.”
“Then you…” Her voice quivered slightly, her clumsy tongue failing her now.
“I’ll keep going.” Chu Tianqiu nodded. “Even if the road ahead is lined with thorns, I’ll trample them underfoot—carrying your light and regrets with me.”
“You will.” Wen Qiaoyun nodded. “You can.”
“Once I sever ties with you… there’ll be nothing left for me in this ‘Land of End.'” Chu Tianqiu laughed bleakly. “I’ll just have lost someone to talk to when I’m sad… lost my sun… that’s all…”
“Sun…” Wen Qiaoyun forced a faint smile, then cautiously raised a fist above her head. “You mean… like this ‘sun’?”
Seeing her gesture, Chu Tianqiu’s tears overflowed.
Memories flashed before his eyes.
“Qiaoyun, if you can’t speak, use your hands…”
“Qiaoyun, follow my lead…”
“Yes! Now I understand what you’re saying!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay, Qiaoyun. Even if you can’t gesture…”
“Just looking into your eyes, I can understand everything.”
“Me…? I’m just… just a deliveryman.”
“So… do you still remember me?”
Chu Tianqiu clenched his jaw until the metallic tang of blood seeped between his teeth.
Wen Qiaoyun remembered—every word he had ever said.
“Go… go ahead…” She pushed weakly at Chu Tianqiu. “The ‘sun’… won’t disappear. It’s here…”
“Where?”
She placed a withered hand over her heart: “Always right here…”
Chu Tianqiu bit back his tears, but the grief was unbearable. He couldn’t save her.
Wen Qiaoyun shouldn’t be awake—she shouldn’t endure this anymore. Nor should she be lost—because she was the brightest sun.
Yet knowing this was their final meeting, his chest felt crushed by something unyielding, each breath labored.
Letting go of everything was far harder than he’d imagined.
Chu Tianqiu knew his convictions had long crumbled, yet like a foolish child, he still stumbled forward in this wretched place.
Here, “goodness” never bore fruit. Those who fought for others met only one fate.
Wen Qiaoyun had. So would he.
“Don’t cry…” She reached out, gently wiping his cheeks. “Don’t cry… don’t…”
Her words made Chu Tianqiu shudder with silent sobs.
“Qiaoyun… it’s too hard… all of this is too hard…”
“It’ll be okay… we’ll be okay…” Wen Qiaoyun smiled—the purest, most radiant smile of her life, her withered wrinkles smoothing away. She stepped forward and embraced him. “It’s alright… it’ll be okay… everything will be okay…”
Chu Tianqiu buried his face in her shoulder and wept.
From the moment he first stepped into the “Land of End,” he had been giving and losing.
What he gave grew daily. What he lost was beyond measure.
Now, even Wen Qiaoyun would be gone.
When he walked through that door, facing the sun as he descended into the abyss, he would lose even the last remnants of himself.
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