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Bonus chapter! Thank you to Somebody for the donation! ^^
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Xiao Mingyu was on the verge of exploding. He had thought this guy was so weak he could crush him with a single finger—yet somehow, he turned out to be this much of a pain in the ass.
This wasn’t the same person he’d seen in those livestream clips!
Sure, the young man was physically frail, practically defenseless—but like an unkillable ant, he lurked in the shadows, waiting to deliver a fatal strike.
This was Xiao Mingyu’s first time witnessing just how terrifying cunning could be. Ruan Qing had anticipated his betrayal, predicted his escape route.
They hadn’t even known each other for a full day, yet the guy had already figured him out almost entirely.
He was genuinely impressed. And utterly defeated.
Xiao Mingyu stared at Ruan Qing—his face deathly pale, yet still eerily calm as he held the knife to his own throat—and let out a long breath before finally waving his hand in resignation.
F*ck it. So what if he got hunted down? He’d just avoid 'Him' from now on.
If he couldn’t win, couldn’t he at least run?
The moment Xiao Mingyu waved his hand, the surroundings shifted, reverting to the nightmare world as it had been when Ruan Qing first entered.
Mountains crumbled. The earth split apart. Molten lava erupted from the ground, painting the land in searing crimson—so bright it burned the eyes.
Hell on earth couldn’t compare.
But this time, something was different.
Amid the cataclysm, countless creatures—human and animal alike—scrambled in despair, their faces twisted in terror. Those too slow were swallowed by the lava before they could even scream, leaving behind nothing but the acrid stench of scorched flesh.
The lucky ones who dodged fared little better, desperately fleeing in search of safety.
Yet in a world collapsing at its seams, there was no safety.
No escape.
No survivors.
In the face of nature’s wrath, humanity was nothing.
Ruan Qing stared blankly at the devastation, his mind suddenly splitting with pain—and then, the voices returned.
This time, he heard them clearly.
Pleading. Weeping. The cries of thousands, tens of thousands, their words drenched in despair, like the final howls of trapped beasts. Just listening was enough to drown in their hopelessness.
"If there really is a god… Divine One, please save us. We beg you—save us."
"Please, I beg you..."
"Aren't all worlds supposed to have guardian deities? Why won’t anyone save us?"
"I don’t want to die... Someone, please help us..."
......
Ruan Qing’s head throbbed violently, the pain so intense it felt like his skull might split apart. But it wasn’t just his head—his heart ached just as fiercely.
His hand clutched desperately at his chest, fingers digging so hard into the fabric of his shirt that the material crumpled under his grip. His nails nearly pierced his own flesh, yet none of it alleviated the agony. Beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead, trailing down his deathly pale face, his delicate brows twisted in suffering.
It was the overwhelming weight of billions of souls’ despair crashing into him without warning, crushing him until he could barely breathe.
Then—suddenly—a voice, clear and serene, cut through the chaos in his mind, drowning out the other voices and soothing the torment.
It was his own voice.
—Who are you? Why are you here?
—Teacher? What can you teach me?
—Teacher, what’s the world outside like?
—Lush forests? Birds singing among fragrant flowers? Frozen wastelands? I can’t wait to be born.
—Is a guardian deity’s duty to protect their world? I’ll definitely become the best guardian deity.
—Teacher, how much longer until I’m born?
—Teacher, focus on grinding the ink. You’re spilling it.
—Teacher, where are you looking?
—Teacher, you’re hurting me.
—Teacher, black doesn’t suit you. Stop wearing it all the time—it feels a little unlucky.
—Teacher, I’ll be born tomorrow! I’ll come find you!
—Teacher, see you tomorrow!
Ruan Qing collapsed weakly to the ground, the knife slipping from his grasp and clattering beside him. Staring at the hellish scene before him, his expression was fragile, lost.
The world was on the verge of collapse—screams and wails intertwined into a hellish symphony.
Even though this was merely a manifested illusion, the despair felt suffocatingly real.
A despair so deep it choked all hope. A despair so vast it numbed the soul.
Then, without warning, a figure in white appeared. A slender, ethereal youth, his satin-like hair cascading to his waist, swaying gently in the scorching wind, tracing delicate arcs against the blazing sky.
He walked calmly down the ruined avenue, utterly unfazed by the molten lava flowing beneath his bare feet.
The searing rivers did not burn him. His porcelain skin, tinged with soft pink, trod effortlessly through the crimson currents. His white robes fluttered like a phantom in the flames, a breathtaking vision amidst the carnage.
Behind him, buildings crumbled in thunderous collapse. The ground was littered with corpses, rivers of blood staining the earth. In the distance, molten rock erupted, painting the world in violent, blinding scarlet.
A red so fierce it seared the eyes. A red so cruel it choked the heart.
Yet against this horror, his pristine white robes stood in stark contrast—as if the dying world itself was crowning a god descended to earth.
But this was no coronation.
It was the world’s final, broken lament.
A realm on the brink of annihilation could never truly crown its deity.
The youth’s eyes held only serenity as he walked forward, unhurried. Then, faint specks of white light began to drift from his body—warm, gentle, like the last embers of salvation in a world bereft of hope.
Just like the boy himself.
Amidst the flames, he moved, and the entire ruined world faded into insignificance. Only that solitary figure in white remained, luminous against the devastation.
The light spilling from him spread further, and the crumbling earth seemed to sigh in relief, its violent tremors stilling.
But that was not all.
Where his feet touched, flowers erupted into bloom—vibrant, fleeting blossoms rising from the lava, only to melt away the moment he passed. Only those sprouting on untouched soil survived.
They were hope.
They were dawn.
They were tomorrow, bought at the cost of the boy’s very existence.
With each step, his form grew fainter, dissolving like mist under the sun.
This was no god departing.
This was a god falling.
Those who witnessed this scene did not understand—yet their hearts clenched as if gripped by an invisible hand. An indescribable weight pressed down on their chests, tears streaming unbidden down their faces.
No.
No.
No.
The young girl who had been filming this scene on her phone desperately sprinted toward the boy, completely disregarding the lava at her feet that had only just settled, still radiating scorching heat.
Her shoes and pants melted from the extreme temperature, exposing her skin, which was soon seared into a bloody, mangled mess.
But she didn’t stop running.
She didn’t know what she wanted to do. She didn’t even know who that boy was. But right now, all she wanted was to reach him.
Yet the blistering ground burned her feet, and eventually, she could no longer hold on. She collapsed, her vision blurring.
Don’t…
