The Sacrifice, But Her Tears

He Zhuoming spoke with grave seriousness, but Tang Shuyu just didn't understand. He was only puzzled—how could anyone in this world not want to be emperor? Being emperor was so satisfying.

Even if his current situation was miserable, if time could rewind and he had to choose again, he would still become emperor.

Tang Shuyu: "I don't get it."

He Zhuoming, feeling a touch smug from her slight age advantage, said, "You're just a kid, of course you wouldn't understand."

Tang Shuyu had no rebuttal because she was telling the truth, but he felt inexplicably annoyed, his pretty face scrunching up.

Despite his annoyance, Tang Shuyu did nothing about it; he simply hugged tighter the wooden sword He Zhuoming had given him—and He Zhuoming's neck.

It was already hard enough for He Zhuoming to carry him on her back, and Tang Shuyu didn't want to make it harder, so he mostly tried to lie still and endure her clumsy carrying. For a temper like Tang Shuyu's, this level of forbearance was practically a miracle.

But he didn't notice anything was wrong with himself.

Even though he had only known He Zhuoming for a short while, Tang Shuyu had already easily accepted that he would have to endure many things for her sake.

After pressing his face against the back of He Zhuoming's neck and sulking for a while, Tang Shuyu redirected his annoyance onto He Zhuoming's boyfriend.

He didn't actually know what "boyfriend" meant in modern terms, and simply understood it as a male friend.

However he looked at it, it had to be her boyfriend's fault—if he didn't exist, He Zhuoming would be willing to stay and become the Grand Emperor Dowager or even the emperor—Tang Shuyu thought angrily, tagging the guy as a roadblock mutt.

After all, in all his years, he had yet to find a single downside to being emperor.

The fact that some guy could become the reason He Zhuoming didn't want to be emperor could only mean that boyfriend was bad luck for her.

Tang Shuyu: "Why do you like your boyfriend so much?"

He Zhuoming was focused on finding the way and also found the question strange. She thought about it seriously and answered, "Because he's good-looking, and his personality is especially nice. He occasionally says unpleasant things, but he's kind and sincere at heart."

He could even forgive the blade-wielder who had chased and actually killed him several times, and his massacre in the village was only to help the villagers find release—even though by now He Zhuoming knew Lin Qingyun was probably just some random passerby Lin Qingyun, not the protagonist Lin Qingyun, it didn't stop her from still seeing him as kind and harmless.

As for the way his kindness occasionally seemed a little twisted, He Zhuoming chalked that up to a difference in worldview.

Tang Shuyu listened with his brows furrowed, waiting for He Zhuoming to continue, but she had already finished and went back to walking seriously.

Tang Shuyu: "That's it?"

He Zhuoming didn't understand what he meant and said blankly, "Huh?"

Tang Shuyu: "I'm saying, you especially like him just because of these?"

He Zhuoming caught on and nodded: "Yeah—what do you mean 'just these'? These qualities are rare!"

Tang Shuyu reached out and felt He Zhuoming's forehead.

He Zhuoming: "What are you doing?"

Tang Shuyu said coldly, "Checking if your brain is overheating, or if a past fever cooked it and broke it—you only like useless things."

He Zhuoming still didn't get it and said, "I don't have a fever, my head is fine…"

As she answered, she suddenly realized what he meant and angrily hoisted Tang Shuyu up a bit. "Lin Qingyun is not useless! Say bad things about him again and I'll drop you!"

Tang Shuyu curled his lips, resentment frying him inside like oil in a pan. But with his cheek against He Zhuoming's sweaty nape and his chest against her shoulder blades, feeling the violent rise and fall of her heartbeat, he shut his mouth and hugged her tightly without a word.

Of course, he still hated He Zhuoming's boyfriend named "Lin Qingyun"—and hated him more with every passing second. But saying so would make He Zhuoming angry, and Tang Shuyu didn't want her to waste energy getting angry while she was already exhausted, so he had to quietly endure.

Yet the more he endured, the angrier he got, and the suffocation in his chest didn't lessen at all with time. After being angry for a long while, Tang Shuyu felt deeply wronged.

He had never forced himself like this before.

He cursed He Zhuoming's boyfriend viciously in his heart, adding him to the death list along with the family he hated.

They walked in darkness for what felt like a long time, until He Zhuoming was simply out of strength and set Tang Shuyu down to rest.

She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a fire starter. She opened the bamboo cap and carefully blew into it—a faint spark in the bamboo tube flared back to life, igniting a small flame.

Holding the fire starter, He Zhuoming looked around: the corridor was just as it had been, narrow and long, with stone brick walls. At least the ground wasn't damp and there was no moss, so she didn't have to worry about slipping.

Her gaze swept around, the flame tracing circles before finally landing on Tang Shuyu.

Originally the flame was small and didn't illuminate all that well, giving off a horror movie vibe—and Tang Shuyu's face was flushed red.

He Zhuoming's shoulders jumped, and she feigned a start: "Eek!"

Tang Shuyu said a bit sharply, "What's with that reaction?"

He Zhuoming muttered, "Your face is covered in blood; I saw it out of nowhere and got startled."

Tang Shuyu sneered unhappily. "Your face isn't much better."

He Zhuoming said, "Well, I can't see my own face."

With that, she blew out the fire starter and put it back in her pocket for safekeeping.

The surroundings went dark again, and He Zhuoming could only see vague outlines.

Tang Shuyu could see better than He Zhuoming, and he said with a hint of gloom, "What do you mean? You blow out the flame so you can't see me—out of sight, out of mind?"

He had another thought stuck in his chest: Just a few words against that guy, and she's still mad at me!

He had never met anyone with a worse temper than He Zhuoming!

He Zhuoming didn't catch his passive-aggressive tone and honestly explained, "This is the only fire starter we have, and there's no telling how long this corridor is. We've got to use it sparingly."

That one fire starter had been sold to her at a discount by Xu Feixian.

As soon as Tang Shuyu heard it wasn't about that guy and heard He Zhuoming say "we," his mood improved considerably.

In the darkness, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly into a faint smile, and he said, "Oh, so that's it. Yeah, you're right—we've got to use it sparingly."

He Zhuoming: "Let's rest here for a bit, then keep going."

Tang Shuyu agreed readily, then added, "I'm doing much better now. After we rest a while, I can walk on my own."

As he spoke, he quietly moved a hand behind his back to snap off the branches that had grown from him.

If he didn't snap these branches off, they would keep growing. Even though they were part of his body, Tang Shuyu didn't want to admit that at all.

Because once he admitted it, he'd have to face a reality: he couldn't be considered human anymore.

Most of the time he spent trapped in that secret room, Tang Shuyu cursed everyone with burning hatred; the rest of the time, he wandered in confusion.

Even though his most common curse for others was "When I get out, I'll have you all executed," Tang Shuyu himself didn't know if he could even get out alive. Or rather, even if he walked out of that place, would he still be himself?

That was a question Tang Shuyu himself couldn't answer.

He had been convinced he was still Tang Shuyu, but sometimes memories that didn't belong to him would surface in his mind, and sometimes, half-unconscious, he would distinctly feel something pushing into his skin, trying to shove him out.

That feeling was terrifying, but he couldn't wake up; he could only keep wrestling with another soul.

The ancient soul was like a pool of melted syrup—every time they wrestled, it stuck a piece of itself to Tang Shuyu's soul. So Tang Shuyu gained a jumble of chaotic memories, and his body gradually began to change.

With nothing in the room to measure the passage of time, it took Tang Shuyu a long while to realize he had stopped feeling hungry. He had always thought that as long as he didn't let that other soul squeeze in, he had survived. But when he realized his body could less and less be called human, a belated fear crept over Tang Shuyu.

He rifled through his own memories, and recalling his past self felt strangely alien—he couldn't understand why he had once done such things or thought such thoughts.

Is the current me still "Tang Shuyu"?

Or have I already become something else—a monster that only has Tang Shuyu's memories and deceives itself into believing it's him?

He remembered the day he was sent into that room—Tang Shuyu certainly hadn't volunteered to be a sacrifice. He was doing fine as emperor; why would he torment himself for no reason?

Ever since he was young, the High Priestess had said his destiny was to receive offerings, but Tang Shuyu had always interpreted that as: he was a heaven-blessed genius meant to rise above all, rule as emperor for a hundred years, then abdicate and cultivate to become a True Deity or something... Who would want to be a sacrifice?!

So when the High Priestess and his royal uncle suddenly demanded he become an offering, Tang Shuyu naturally refused. Cursing them as traitors, he ordered both of them be dragged out and beheaded. He had wanted to execute their entire clans, but then he remembered his uncle's clan included himself, so he had to give up that idea.

After driving those people out, his biological mother, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, suddenly appeared. She brought him a bowl of cooling soup and told him not to be angry, that getting worked up at such a young age would ruin his health.

Tang Shuyu drank the soup and fell into a heavy afternoon sleep. When he woke up, his body was already covered in talisman inscriptions and draped in red silk.

He was awake, but his limbs wouldn't obey him—and his always expressionless mother, tears pooling in her eyes, cupped his face in her hands. But not a single one of those tears was shed for Tang Shuyu.

They were tears of joy, of ecstasy. She knelt before Tang Shuyu, pressing her forehead against his talisman-covered face, and prayed devoutly: "Shuyu, the Divine Lord has chosen you... The Divine Lord has chosen you!"

"I knew the Divine Lord would choose you, my good child. It wasn't for nothing that I carried you for ten long months... How wonderful... Shuyu, that you can become the vessel for the Divine Lord's continuation—how wonderful..."

Her ecstasy drowned Tang Shuyu, and when she smiled, the dimples at the corners of her mouth were so sweet and harmless.

Tang Shuyu had never seen his mother this happy. It seemed to be the first time she had ever smiled in front of him.

He was too young to realize he was being betrayed and hurt within a relationship he desperately craved; he couldn't even understand what that fleeting confusion and rage in that moment was for.

But once he grew a little older, Tang Shuyu loved to show a brilliant smile when making others despair.

He didn't look in the mirror often, but he knew the part of his face most like his mother's was his lower half—the symmetric, harmless dimples that appeared when he smiled. He hadn't deliberately memorized that memory; in fact, after too many memories had filled and wrecked his mind, he had almost completely forgotten that little scene.

He only felt it in his subconscious: when a person is in despair, seeing a brilliant smile with dimples would plunge them into even deeper despair.

But the Tang Shuyu of now was still small enough not to have forgotten that scene. He merely recalled his mother's smile and felt chill run through his body, a nausea rising—not disgust, but a retching urge triggered by an overdriven stomach in the grip of intense emotion.

In the darkness, he couldn't help but lean closer to He Zhuoming, until his shoulder pressed against her arm.