Black Magic Rose Chapter 22

Chapter 22: The Hero’s Illusion

Three days after returning from the Loulan Ruins, Wen Jingheng remained locked in his room. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, the city’s neon lights flickered as usual, the streets were bustling with traffic, and pedestrians hurried along. This prosperous metropolis seemed utterly unaffected, people living their peaceful lives, completely unaware that they had narrowly avoided a catastrophe just days before.

Wen Jingheng stood by the window, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the obsidian cufflink. Moonlight filtered through the glass, stirring a dark red flow of light within the cufflink, which rotated slowly as if alive. This was the only memento Shu Yijin had left behind, proof of the ambiguous past they shared.

“He escaped…”

Three days ago, he had used that same calm, emotionless tone to report to the Supernatural Administration Bureau high command. The conference room had fallen silent, and several elders exchanged complicated glances. Finally, Lin Zhenfeng broke the silence.

“Jingheng, we understand this is difficult. But you are the only one who can contend with him; that fact has never changed…”

“I’m tired.”

He remembered how he had interrupted the speaker, stood up, and left the meeting room, leaving behind stunned high-ranking officials and their unspoken doubts and conjectures.

“The Hero Triumphs!”

The media headlines were increasingly exaggerated. The outside world molded him into the Savior who repelled the Evil God, yet no one knew the truth of that confrontation. The Wen Family seized the opportunity to hype his return into a grand event; the family corporation’s stock price soared, and various powers scrambled to show goodwill.

How ridiculous, Wen Jingheng thought. This world needed a hero to stabilize hearts and minds, a symbol to maintain order. As for whether this hero was real or fake, or whether his heart was struggling in pain, no one cared.

“Young Master, the Elder Council requests your presence.”

The butler’s voice sounded outside the door, interrupting his thoughts.

Here we go again… A flicker of imperceptible annoyance crossed Wen Jingheng’s eyes. Since he had “repelled” Shu Yijin, the Wen Family’s attitude toward him had subtly shifted. They were outwardly more respectful, but their covert surveillance had intensified. This was the fourth “invitation” in three days.

The Elder Council’s secret chamber was hidden beneath the courtyard in the deepest part of the mansion, accessible only after passing through three hidden doors. The smoke of sandalwood incense curled up into the air. Elder Wen Qingcang was brewing tea at the table, his movements fluid and graceful, every detail exuding calculated elegance.

“Jingheng, sit.”

Wen Qingcang pushed over a freshly brewed cup of tea. The liquid was clear, and the aroma was rich. Wen Jingheng did not touch the tea, sitting directly on the cushion opposite him.

“Elder, I assume you didn’t ask me here just for a tea tasting?”

Wen Qingcang’s smile remained unchanged: “Clever… Then I’ll be direct—the family hopes you will take over the Supernatural Administration Bureau.”

Just as expected… Wen Jingheng sneered inwardly. The Wen Family had always wanted control over this largest supernatural organization, and now was the perfect time. A hero who had just “repelled the Evil God” was indeed the most suitable candidate for the director position.

“I refuse.”

The teacup clinked against the saucer with a crisp sound. Wen Qingcang finally dropped his smile, his eyes turning sharp: “Reason?”

“I’m tired.” Wen Jingheng used the same excuse to dismiss him.

“Is it because of him?” Wen Qingcang suddenly asked.

Wen Jingheng’s pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

“That Evil God…” the Grand Elder said slowly. “We monitored that you had… physical contact at the Loulan Ruins.”

The air instantly solidified. Wen Jingheng gripped the cufflink, his fingertips turning white from the force. They knew, after all… Those eyes hidden in the shadows had never stopped watching.

“No need to be nervous…” Wen Qingcang put his benevolent mask back on. “Young people are inevitably misled by appearances. But you must remember, those who are not of our kind must have different intentions…”

He stood up and walked to the window, looking at the electronic screen that simulated the view outside: “The Wen Family has stood for a thousand years because of this clarity. Acting on emotion is the greatest foolishness…”

Every word pierced Wen Jingheng like a needle. Yet, at that moment, he suddenly recalled the look in Shu Yijin’s eyes before he turned away—cold and resolute, but carrying a trace of imperceptible… pain?

“I know what I’m doing.” Wen Jingheng stood up to take his leave. “There is no need to mention the Bureau again.”

Watching his retreating back, the warmth in Wen Qingcang’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by icy coldness. He pressed a hidden button on the secret chamber wall, and a figure shrouded entirely in a black robe immediately stepped out of the shadows.

“Continue surveillance,” the Grand Elder said coldly. “If necessary, special measures can be taken.”

“Understood.” The black-robed figure bowed and then disappeared into the shadows.

On the other side, Wen Jingheng returned to his room and locked the door behind him. He collapsed onto the bed, the cufflink pressing into his palm, causing a sharp ache.

Just then, the Black Rose mark on his chest suddenly felt scorching hot. He sat up abruptly. This feeling… was Shu Yijin nearby?

He rushed to the window. The night was deep, and outside the window, there was only the silent courtyard and the distant city lights. But the feeling of being watched was so real, as if that person was in some unseen corner, quietly gazing at him.

“Come out!” he demanded in a low voice toward the void.

There was no response… only the night wind brushing the curtains, bringing the distant noise of the city. Was it an illusion? Wen Jingheng was unsure. But he could clearly feel that something was brewing in the darkness. An invisible net was slowly tightening, and both he and Shu Yijin were the prey within that net.

The next morning, a shocking piece of news spread throughout the Supernatural World: the Evil God had appeared on the Northwest border, destroying a border outpost. Public opinion immediately erupted, and calls for Wen Jingheng to take the field again grew louder and louder.

“This is clearly a trap…” Lin Zhenfeng found him privately, his brow furrowed. “The traces at the scene are too obvious; it’s practically designed to lure you there…”

Wen Jingheng knew it well. But he knew even better that if he didn’t go, the Wen Family would be the next to be pushed into the spotlight. The people who had elevated him to godhood could pull him down at any moment. Since he had donned this illusion of a hero, he had no choice but to continue the performance.

“Prepare the private jet,” he said.

Before takeoff, he took one last look at the city. The metropolis under the sunlight was glamorous but fraught with hidden currents. Everyone was acting, and everyone was a chess piece. And he was both the player and the piece.

Meanwhile, deep in the distant desert, Shu Yijin stood before a ruined temple. The gale whipped his ink-black hair, and the broken walls and ruins were reflected in his crimson eyes. He reached out and gently stroked the mottled relief sculpture at the temple entrance, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

“He’s coming…” he whispered to the empty temple, his voice scattering in the wind. “The show is about to begin…”

From the depths of the temple, a faint sigh seemed to drift out, as if some long-dormant Ancient Existence was awakening.

Who was directing this drama of the hero and the demon? And was the end of the play salvation or destruction? No one knew. But one thing was certain: when Wen Jingheng’s private jet landed in the Northwest Desert, a confrontation that would change everyone’s destiny awaited him.