Black Magic Rose Chapter 33
byChapter 33: Morning Light and Embers
There is a kind of awakening that does not originate from darkness, but emerges from absolute “nothingness.”
Wen Jingheng’s consciousness, on this soil of void, reassembled the first fragment of “existence.” There was no light, no sound, no touch, only a sense of… warm enclosure, as if submerged in some kind of liquid eternity. This was not any sensation he was familiar with—not the coldness of the Eternal Night Palace, nor the tearing pain of Annihilation. It was a strange, almost maternal tranquility.
He tried to think, only to find that even the concept of “thought” needed redefinition. Memories were scattered stars, vague and distant: the rain on the cliff edge, Shu Yijin’s outstretched hand, the shared dance in the Eternal Night Palace, the roar when the laws were Annihilated… and finally, those crimson eyes that had anchored him tightly, never letting go even in the ultimate void.
Shu Yijin.
The name acted like a key, turning gently, allowing more sensations to flood in like a tide. He felt weight, support, and… warmth. Not the heat of a spring, nor the scorching of energy, but the more real, delicate warmth of skin pressed against skin.
Slowly, and with extreme difficulty, he opened his eyes.
There was no blinding light, only a soft, hazy glow, like the quietest moment before dawn. The first thing he saw, close enough to touch, was Shu Yijin’s sleeping face.
They were nestled together in an extremely intimate, even intertwined, posture. He was resting on Shu Yijin’s arm, Shu Yijin’s cheek pressed against his forehead. The ink-black hair was spread out, interwoven with his own, making it impossible to tell them apart. Shu Yijin’s breathing was steady and long. Those crimson eyes, which usually swirled with an eerie light, were tightly closed. Long lashes cast faint shadows beneath them, giving him a rare, unguarded vulnerability and purity.
Wen Jingheng dared not move, afraid of startling this dreamlike scene. He looked around and realized they were not inside any structure, but lying on an unusually soft, faintly glowing… tundra? Or perhaps some kind of never-before-seen fungal mat? There was no sky overhead, but a slowly flowing curtain of energy, silent yet as brilliant as an aurora, which was the source of the light. In the distance, the landscape was blurred and distorted, like unsolidified colored glass, or phantoms reflected by shattered mirror shards.
Was this a residual crack after the old world’s Annihilation? Or the edge of a new, unformed world?
His gaze returned to Shu Yijin’s face. At this moment, Shu Yijin had retracted all his sharpness and madness, quiet as a fragile piece of art. Wen Jingheng could clearly feel the steady heartbeat transmitted through their pressed chests, slowly synchronizing with his own reviving heart rate. A strange sense of calm enveloped him. The disorientation of surviving the catastrophe and the guilt of destroying a world were, for this moment, strangely diluted by this close embrace.
Instinctively, he moved a finger ever so slightly, wanting to confirm this wasn’t an illusion. His fingertip brushed Shu Yijin’s smooth, cool skin on his arm.
It was this tiny movement that made Shu Yijin’s eyelashes flutter. Then, the crimson eyes slowly opened. They were hazy at first, but instantly sharpened, the keen, deep gaze locking directly onto Wen Jingheng’s.
Eyes met, and the air seemed to solidify. There were no words, only silent scrutiny and confirmation. Wen Jingheng saw exhaustion in those red eyes, a deeper level of depletion, but also a kind of… relieved calm, and a subtle hint of something akin to “gratitude.”
“You’re awake?” Shu Yijin’s voice was hoarse from sleep, adding a touch of lazy magnetism to his usual tone. He didn’t move, maintaining the embracing posture, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Wen Jingheng’s throat was dry. He tried to speak, but only managed a few broken syllables: “Where… is this?”
“I don’t know,” Shu Yijin answered plainly, his crimson eyes scanning the surrounding distorted landscape. “The aftermath of the Annihilation has not completely subsided; space-time is fractured. This could be a fragment, or it could be… a new beginning.” He paused, his gaze refocusing on Wen Jingheng’s face with a hint of inquiry. “How do you feel? Any discomfort?”
Wen Jingheng carefully assessed his body. His power was still there; the Chaotic Energy seemed more condensed and tightly bound to his soul, but showed no signs of going out of control. He only felt an inexplicable weakness throughout his body, like recovering from a long fever.
“I’m fine… just weak,” he admitted truthfully.
Hearing this, Shu Yijin gently withdrew the arm Wen Jingheng had been resting on and sat up. He was only wearing a dark robe of strange material, the ties loose, revealing his delicate collarbone and a large expanse of pale chest. He extended a finger, a faint glow gathering at the tip, and lightly touched Wen Jingheng’s brow.
Wen Jingheng instinctively wanted to dodge, but his body was weak and slow. Shu Yijin’s fingertip landed, and a gentle yet pure stream of energy flowed into him, quickly circulating and nourishing his dry meridians.
“Your Source Blood is overly depleted; it will take time to recover,” Shu Yijin said, withdrawing his hand, his tone flat. “After all, you were the crucial ‘Sacrifice’ for the ritual. It’s a miracle you survived.” He spoke lightly, as if discussing the weather, but Wen Jingheng detected a faint trace of… perhaps fear?
Wen Jingheng struggled to sit up as well, leaning against an irregularly shaped “rock” that felt warm to the touch. He was silent for a moment before finally asking the question that had been circling in his mind: “Why… did you change your mind in the end?” He clearly remembered that at the core of the Annihilation, Shu Yijin’s power had subtly shifted at the last moment. It wasn’t complete destruction, but a kind of protective containment, which preserved the residual spark of consciousness in both of them.
Shu Yijin was looking down, adjusting his loose robe ties, and his movement paused. He didn’t answer immediately, his crimson eyes gazing at the flowing aurora in the distance. His profile looked hazy in the faint light.
“Perhaps…” he began softly, his voice drifting, “I felt that letting everything return to nothingness would be too boring.” He turned his head to look at Wen Jingheng, a familiar, slightly wicked curve on his lips. “Isn’t it better to leave a ‘souvenir’ and see what new, interesting things can grow on this ruin?”
This answer was very “Shu Yijin,” full of self-indulgent madness and a non-human aesthetic. But Wen Jingheng felt it wasn’t the whole truth. He looked into Shu Yijin’s eyes, trying to read more from the crimson depths. Shu Yijin seemed slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, shifted his gaze, and stood up.
“Since you’re awake, stop lounging. Let’s see what usable things our new ‘home’ has.” He walked toward the distorted landscape, his robe hem fluttering in the faint light.
Wen Jingheng watched his retreating figure, a mix of emotions churning inside him. Home? The word, used in this context, was absurd yet carried a trace of poignant warmth. He also struggled to his feet and followed.
This area was strange and desolate. There was no conventional soil, water, grass, or trees. The ground was a soft, elastic fungal mat. Occasionally, condensed Energy Crystals lay scattered like ore, and tiny light motes floated in the air. Shu Yijin seemed exceptionally sensitive to energy and quickly found a relatively stable “depression” where energy converged. There was a small pool of clear liquid that emitted a faint aura of vitality.
“It seems basic survival resources won’t be an issue.” Shu Yijin knelt down, cupped a handful of the liquid, sniffed it, and even tasted it with the tip of his tongue. “Mmm, very pure, imbued with life force.”
Wen Jingheng copied him, scooping up the water with both hands. The water was a comfortable temperature and sweet to the taste; he could indeed feel a faint surge of vitality entering his body. He drank a few mouthfuls and splashed some on his face. The cool sensation instantly refreshed him.
Survival instincts drove them to explore. Shu Yijin used his control over energy to easily gather the scattered Energy Crystals, constructing a simple, semi-circular “dwelling” that could shield them from the external energy turbulence. Although rudimentary inside, it provided a relatively private and secure space.
Wen Jingheng, suffering from exhaustion, could only sit or lie down most of the time, watching Shu Yijin work. Shu Yijin seemed to enjoy this process of “construction.” He even used energy to cultivate some glowing moss, decorating the inner walls of the dwelling, giving the dim space a little warmth.
When Shu Yijin fitted the last Energy Crystal into place and turned to look at Wen Jingheng, his face held the satisfied expression of someone who had completed a work of art. In the faint light, tiny beads of sweat glistened on his nose, and his crimson eyes were bright, showing a hint of… childlike pride?
“How is it?” he asked, with a subtle expectation in his tone.
Wen Jingheng looked at this simple space that could barely be called “home,” then at Shu Yijin standing at the border of light and shadow. The hardest corner of his heart seemed to quietly soften. He nodded and said softly, “It’s very good.”
Night (if the reduction of this light could be called night) fell quickly. The aurora curtain outside dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of the moss inside the dwelling. The two lay side by side on the “bed” Shu Yijin had made from fungal mats and energy fibers. The space was small; they had to lie very close to accommodate each other.
In the silence, only their shallow breathing could be heard. The various shocks, confusion, and discomfort of this bizarre new beginning slowly settled in the darkness.
Wen Jingheng lay on his side, facing Shu Yijin. In the faint light, he could see the blurred outline of the other man and feel the clean, slightly warm scent emanating from him. A strong urge to confirm the other’s existence drove him to slowly reach out his hand.
His fingertips lightly touched the strands of Shu Yijin’s hair scattered on the pillow. The texture was cool and smooth, like fine silk.
Shu Yijin’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away or speak. In the darkness, his breathing seemed to pause for a moment.
Wen Jingheng’s fingers traced the hair, slowly sliding to the edge of Shu Yijin’s cheek. The skin there was delicate and cool; he could feel the clear line of the jawbone. His movement was light, tentative, and driven by a desire he couldn’t even comprehend himself.
Just as the pad of his thumb was about to brush Shu Yijin’s lips, a cool hand gripped his wrist. The grip wasn’t heavy, but it carried an undeniable finality.
“So weak, yet still restless?” Shu Yijin’s voice sounded in the darkness, laced with a hint of mockery, but if listened to closely, the tail end seemed to tremble slightly.
Wen Jingheng didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he turned his hand and gripped Shu Yijin’s. His hand was weak from exhaustion, but the grip was tight.
“I just wanted to confirm… you aren’t an illusion,” Wen Jingheng’s voice was low and hoarse.
Shu Yijin was silent for a moment. Then, he released his restraint, allowing Wen Jingheng to hold his hand. He even slightly adjusted his posture to make their joined hands more comfortable.
“Not an illusion.” Shu Yijin’s voice was as light as a sigh. “We… are both still alive. In an… unexpected way.”
The real touch transmitted through their fingertips, the warmth of their clasped hands, and the clear sound of breathing filled Wen Jingheng’s heart with a vast, aching emotion. They had destroyed the world, bearing endless sin, yet on this ruin, they were huddling together for warmth like two ordinary survivors.
He moved forward slightly, resting his forehead gently on Shu Yijin’s shoulder hollow. It was a posture full of dependence. Shu Yijin’s body stiffened again, but this time, he didn’t push him away or speak. After a long time, he let out an almost inaudible sigh, and his other arm hesitantly, then gently, wrapped around Wen Jingheng’s back.
On this soil of void born from destruction, in this ridiculously simple shelter, two “monsters” with blood on their hands and broken souls completed their first confirmation of new life through the most primal body heat and touch.
Outside the “window” (if the energy barrier could be called that), lay fractured space-time and the lingering aftermath of Annihilation. Inside, there were intertwined breaths and a silent, growing bond, twisted yet real.
The long night stretched on, but at least, they were no longer alone.