Chapter 126: Pain on Her Body, Ache in My Heart. I Don’t Know Her.

Chapter 126: Pain on Her Body, Ache in My Heart. I Don’t Know Her.

He Yingkong knew he was being sliced to death.

By now, how could he not see that Fu Yu was purposely missing his vitals?

She was cutting him into a thousand pieces.

In the searing pain, his soul went back to its true form—a delicate, handsome face, a refined and scholarly air of a wealthy official—the kind caught in the act and getting sliced to death.

Fu Yu’s face was reflected in his trembling eyes.

The face of a little girl, her face drenched in blood, eyes so bright they were terrifying, her lips almost split to her ears, manic, crazy, completely inhuman.

“Crazy bitch… crazy bitch!” He twisted and groaned in pain, yelling, “I’m your real father, your own blood! If you kill me yourself, aren’t you scared of karma?”

Fu Yu stopped for a second.

She raised the knife, tilted her head, her smile slightly fading, showing a bit of troubled thought.

He Yingkong’s heart raced: There was hope!

What he was going through now was damage to his soul; as long as his soul didn’t die, once he escaped the Dream Killing Realm, he could control his Demi-god body and kill Fu Yu by force!

He was sure Fu Yu was only at the Divine Transformation Stage now.

Her reincarnated self lost the bloodline power of the He Ying family and couldn’t steal others’ cultivation.

A Demi-god against a Transcendent—he had it in the bag.

Biting back the unbearable pain, he raised his pale, weak face: “What happened before was my fault, I wronged you and your mother. But today, you’ve wounded me this badly. I’m already… cough, a total cripple. Aren’t you satisfied yet?”

He’d always been flexible, with a strong will to live. “We’re tied by blood. If you kill me yourself, you’ll get karma. These years haven’t been easy on me either. Countless people out there want me dead. You don’t have to do it yourself—I’ll die by someone else’s hands eventually.”

“Fu Yu,” he called out, pained and full of sorrow, “Do you know how sorry I am? All these years, do you know how much I’ve missed your mom?”

Fu Yu slowly straightened her tilted head, her smile completely gone.

She didn’t look like a crazy person anymore.

He Yingkong’s heart almost jumped out of his chest. Hope of survival burned inside him. Holding back his excitement and bearing the pain, he looked at her sadly.

“Thud.”

The tip of the cleaver in Fu Yu’s hand gently touched the bed board.

She blinked, and the violent vibe around her suddenly vanished.

She opened her mouth and calmly asked him a completely random question: “Didn’t you just hear me say a hundred gold?”

He Yingkong was stunned by her question, forcing a fake smile: “I don’t get it. What hundred gold?”

Fu Yu lowered her head a little and asked again: “Look at the wounds on your body. Don’t they look familiar?”

He Yingkong’s temples pulsed with bulging veins. He didn’t dare provoke this crazy woman, fearing she might lose control again, so he took a deep, controlled breath and looked at his own wrecked body.

It was a horrible sight.

If this were a real body instead of a soul, the person would’ve passed out from the pain long ago.

“So you really have forgotten,” Fu Yu said kindly. “It’s fine. I remember.”

Her tone grew calmer, but a chill slowly crept into He Yingkong’s heart, though he couldn’t pinpoint the source of this terrible foreboding.

Fu Yu said: “You must remember it too, etched into your bones, just like me.”

Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed his head.

He Yingkong’s pupils shook violently.

A memory that was his own came crashing down on him!

Trembling, he looked through a blood-red haze at the shadows cast on the window paper.

A cacophony of demons dancing wildly—blades, staves, clubs.

A figure, thin as a monkey, was being beaten, letting out strange cries.

This was… that night! That person, the mortal prime minister’s daughter, what was her name… he had long forgotten it.

Anyway, it was the prime minister’s daughter, a vicious, evil woman, driven by jealousy, who had people beat Chen Guihua to death.

“No, no, no, Fu Yu, listen to me! I wiped out that woman’s entire family! I avenged Chen Guihua! Are you blaming me for not saving her? I couldn’t save her, I couldn’t save her!”

“I was nothing but a weak, powerless scholar. If I… if I had rushed in and died there, who would have avenged her? Pain on her body, ache in my heart! Do you know that on that night, the pain in my heart was no less than hers!”

“A gentleman’s revenge is never too late. I was just biding my time… Ah!”

In an instant, the world spun, and he was no longer a spectator in the courtyard but the one being abused and beaten in the room.

“Wait… wait… I’m not…”

Another heavy blow struck his lower back. He staggered forward, collapsing onto a greasy gambling table, his cheek scraping painfully against the rough, splintered surface.

“Still talking back! Break an arm!”

He Yingkong’s eye sockets trembled violently as he felt his right arm yanked straight, followed by a club swinging down.

“Aaaaahhhh—”

The excruciating pain he had experienced not long ago surged back.

Before he could recover, another blow from a knife handle struck the back of his head, his ears ringing like lead-filled water.

In his daze, he indeed heard “a hundred gold.”

These people, they were saying… hand over the Little Burden, and the prime minister’s noble daughter would reward them with a hundred gold.

He Yingkong screamed in agony, looking around at the towering shadows surrounding him.

They closed in, punching and kicking, torturing him mercilessly.

“No, no, no—”

Someone grabbed He Yingkong’s hair, and a foul, stinking mouth leaned close, hot, rancid breath hitting his face: “Tell us! Where is the little brat hiding?”

Of course, He Yingkong wanted to tell.

But the moment he opened his mouth, he froze in shock.

How the hell would he know where Chen Guihua had hidden Little Fuyu? In this capital, the places he knew were all hangouts of the rich and powerful—how would he know where commoners like fleas would hide?

"I don't know... I really don't know... I'm not Chen Guihua..."

The thug sneered: "Fine, fine, you bitch! Keep playing tough, huh!"

"No, I swear I don't know!"

The thug didn't give a damn about his explanation.

He was grabbed by the hair and slammed to the ground, chomping down on a mouthful of dirt. He could only curl up, covering his head, as blades, clubs, and sticks came down like a storm.

God, it hurt... it hurt so bad!

He tried to scream but couldn't; he wanted to dodge but couldn't escape. He squirmed like a worm in the gaps between the shadows, and through eyes twisted with pain, a memory he'd seen before popped up uninvited.

Chen Guihua.

She'd been through the same beating, but she fought back, every single time.

Even through the pain, she cussed up a storm, never shutting up.

"Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!"

His throat shook with pain, and a creepy, raspy sound slipped out.

He was just... he was just... seeing her so spirited, how could he have known it'd hurt this bad?

If it hurt this much, how could Chen Guihua not give up Fu Yu?

How the hell could she take it?

That kind of pain was more than anyone could handle. She clearly knew where the girl was—how could she keep her mouth shut?!

He Yingkong thrashed and screamed on the ground, his mind slowly slipping away.

The cold in his heart got worse.

His eyes went cold, and blood from his mouth and nose choked him in spurts.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Oh, he remembered! He finally remembered!

Fu Yu had said Chen Guihua went to the City God Temple to find her—that was their mother-daughter secret! Yes! The City God Temple, it must be the City God Temple!

He Yingkong struggled to get up and spill the secret.

But the torture was nearing its end, and his attempt to give in only got him a heavy blow across the bridge of his nose.

"Bam!"

His eyes went blank, and his body fell straight back, completely losing the instinct to protect himself.

"Thud."

The back of his head hit the ground hard, and his vision swam with a mess of colors.

He had finally, for good, memorized the location of every wound.

In his dying daze, he snapped back and met Fu Yu's cold, distant eyes.

His soul shook like a leaf.

He finally saw how damn ridiculous his words, "Her pain is in my heart," truly were.

For the first time in his life, he felt completely humiliated.

The dirty, dark, and nasty secrets in his heart were suddenly laid bare under the blazing sun, burning him up inside.

"The karmic ties between us were cut long ago," Fu Yu said, her tone so calm it made his skin crawl. "The day you ground my bones to dust."

She dropped her gaze. "But even if they weren't, so what?"

She lifted her gaze, her eyes filled with cold, chilling laughter.

"If I want to kill, why the hell should I care about fate? I am your destiny!"

In He Yingkong's slowly contracting pupils, a blade slowly arcing down was reflected.

He finally understood—this wasn't torture; it was a ritual.

He was the sacrifice on the altar.

An offering to Chen Guihua.

Overwhelming fear and despair flooded his eyes.

He cried, cried like a baby, begging for mercy, hopeless.

"I was wrong... I was truly wrong..."

Fu Yu straightened up.

Killing was hard work; she was exhausted, so much so that her breathing trembled slightly.

She tossed aside the cleaver, glanced at He Yingkong, now a bloody mess, and quietly waited for the dream-killing to end.

Suddenly, her ears twitched, and her instincts sounded an alarm.

Fu Yu pursed her lips and slowly turned around.

The wooden door stood open, and a figure stood before it.

Backlit, his face was unclear.

But this person had an extraordinary bone structure; Fu Yu could recognize him from just a silhouette.

At this moment, the room was thick with the stench of blood, yet he exuded a pure aura, like a banished immortal.

"Jun Bu Du..."

She instinctively looked down at herself.

Covered in blood and grime, her smile twisted and grotesque.

He had seen everything—he had witnessed her "killing her father," seen her ugliest, truest face.

She didn't look good when she killed; she wasn't like him, who executed with justice and never tortured. She was, in truth, a cruel hunter...

The light dimmed as he appeared beside her and yanked her into his arms.

He held her so tightly that she could hear her bones creaking under the strain. She gasped, struggling to breathe.

She struggled, saying, "I'm still a little..."

Well, not so little now—she had returned to her adult form.

He said, "You're exhausted. Don't talk."

He pressed his chin against the top of her head, his voice coming from very close, his breath crisp and snow-like.

Fu Yu: "Mhm."

Same as always—that old married couple's everyday way of talking.

She lowered her head, resting her forehead against his chest, and her hands instinctively wrapped around his waist.

No lust, just closeness.

After a moment of silence, Fu Yu couldn't help but correct him: "Not very tired, just a little."

He chuckled: "Mhm, just a little."

She asked, "How did you get in here too?"

Jun Bu Du: "The hairpin."

Fu Yu realized: "Oh—"

The black bone hairpin he had given her. So he'd messed with it. Sloppy of her not to check.

Fu Yu tsked: "That powerful? What's it made of?"

Jun Bu Du: "My bone."

Fu Yu suddenly heard a distinct heartbeat, unable to tell if it was hers or his.

After lazing around for a bit, a mischievous thought crossed her mind.

"Jun Bu Du." She lifted her gaze. "Now you know who He Ying Xuan is to me, right?"

Silence.

He said flatly, "Who? Don't know 'em, don't remember 'em, long forgotten."

Fu Yu: "Tsk."