Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Kane had once ascended to the imperial throne in his previous life, and naturally, he had undergone the coronation ceremony. It was the Holy Lord of that time who placed the crown upon his head.

But the two experiences couldn’t have felt more different. Back then, he had only felt loneliness—with no purpose beyond killing.

He was a man forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Over the years, he had slaughtered countless people—those who had harmed him, those who opposed him, those who merely displeased him.

Sometimes, he wondered: if he hadn’t chosen to side with the oppressed commoners, his "blood-soaked" methods might not have kept him on the throne for long.

But what did it matter? His followers were also wronged souls burning with resentment. No matter how many nobles he executed, they saw it as justified.

Once he had nearly wiped out all the "wicked evildoers" within his own country, he led his troops to neighboring lands, freeing their downtrodden masses from aristocratic tyranny.

Day after day, year after year, he lost track of his empire’s reach or when he should stop.

He was bored. Despite possessing everything countless others craved, he felt no joy.

Food was the same few dishes in rotation. Clothes merely needed to cover his body. Fun? Who’d dare have fun with him?

They revered him, feared him—but they would never love him.

Well, maybe one person had. But his mother had long since passed, hadn’t she?

When he looked at the men and women sent to him, Kane found them disgustingly fake. They didn’t even like him—why bother with those hollow grins?

Why did they come? For his power and status? How pathetic. Why did they throw themselves at him like moths to a flame, one after another?

Fortunately, this hollow life didn’t last too long—though the manner of his death left him somewhat dissatisfied.

At thirty-seven, he died on his way back from the battlefield. The cause? His festering wounds and rotting insides.

When he awoke again, he found himself back in his childhood, staring at Ning Chan, who was also trapped in a high fever.

"This way, the sun won’t bother you." Ning Chan examined the vine wreath he had woven, its leaves spreading like a brim, blocking most of the sunlight. Satisfied, he mussed Kane’s hair. The kid’s skin was too tender—better not let it get sunburned.

Originally, he had planned to catch just two fish, but seeing Little Kane’s joy, he decided to let him play a little longer.

By the time Ning Chan returned to his spot, Kane was still turned slightly to the side. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and one drooped down, tickling his eyelid.

Ning Chan, lost in weaving his own wreath, didn’t notice the tear tracing Kane’s cheek.

If before, Kane had regarded Ning Chan as someone to study and recruit, now, he truly saw him as a friend.

None of it was about power or rank. Just the things Ning Chan had done for him made it impossible to refuse any of his requests from the heart.

If there was still one person in this world he could trust, one person for whom he would act unconditionally—it could only be Ning Chan.

"Let me put this on you, okay?" Kane set down his fishing rod, crouched beside Ning Chan, and after watching him finish the wreath, gently pressed his hand to ask.

Ning Chan blinked, then smiled and handed over the vine wreath. "Sure, thank you."

Helping each other out—another day, another reason to cherish their bond!

Kane took the wreath, picked the perfect spot, and placed it on Ning Chan’s head. To prevent the leaves from poking his eyes, he carefully adjusted their arrangement.

The adjustment took so "long" that Ning Chan almost wondered if he wasn’t wearing a simple wreath, but a crown requiring ceremonial precision.

Ah, Little Kane was just too thorough. Couldn’t he just slap it on and be done?

"All set?" Ning Chan waited for Kane to let go, his neck stiff and barely daring to move, afraid he might ruin the kid’s handiwork.

Kane pursed his lips and gave it a careful once-over before finally nodding in approval.

Hearing that, Ning Chan finally relaxed. He turned his head slightly, then touched the vine wreath on his head proudly and asked Kane, "So, how’s it look?"

Kane studied Ning Chan’s delicate features, porcelain skin, and raven hair, recalling the story he had told earlier.

That Snow White, whose beauty had drawn the queen’s envy—if she had looked like this, he could finally imagine just how beautiful she must have been.

"Yeah, really pretty. Like an angel descended to earth."

The sincerity in Kane’s words made Ning Chan’s "grown-ass face" flush. He had only meant to ask if the vine wreath was practical—who asked about his looks?!

And calling him an angel? If anyone looked like an angel, it was Little Kane.

"You look beautiful wearing it too! Absolutely stunning!"

Ning Chan gave Kane a thumbs-up, starting a totally unserious round of mutual admiration.

Just as their compliments were flying left and right, some gutsy fish, lured by the "scent of meat," bit the hook and took off with the line.

By the time Ning Chan and Kane noticed, the rod had already been dragged into the water, with just the tip sticking out.

In the blink of an eye, even that was about to slip beneath the surface.

RIP fishing rod

Remembering that Ning Chan had made this for him, Kane immediately dashed over and lunged, grabbing the last bit to stop it from escaping.

Having thrown himself to the ground abruptly, he couldn’t get a good grip, so he could only cling to the rod with all his might.

Ning Chan saw this and rushed to help. By the time they retrieved both the rod and the plump fish, his cheerful mood had soured considerably.

"It’s just a fishing rod. Why would you throw yourself like that? What if you hit a rock? What if you lost your balance and fell into the water?" Ning Chan scolded sternly while checking Kane for any injuries.

Kids never think ahead—he needed to teach him better.

Kane watched as Ning Chan fussed over him, just happy. He didn’t take the scolding too seriously—after all, he wasn’t really a child. He knew exactly what he was doing.

But if he acted indifferent, it would probably annoy Ning Chan. This guy liked obedient, well-behaved kids.

Kane lowered his head, his slightly scraped hands white-knuckling his shirt hem, as if suppressing something.

Ning Chan dusted him off and noticed the scrapes on his hands. Just as he was about to lecture him again, a tear plopped on the back of his own hand.

Ning Chan: Did I come on too strong? Why is he crying?!

"You..." Ning Chan knelt down, conflicted, trying to see Kane’s expression.

Kane met his gaze, then turned away, swiping at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. "I just... I didn’t want to lose something you made for me. That’s why I... I know, I was wrong. I’ll be more careful next time."

Kane’s unfinished explanation, his aggrieved and sorrowful expression—it hit like arrows piercing Ning Chan’s heart.

The kid’s attitude was so remorseful. He should’ve been relieved. Then why did it leave him feeling so rotten?