Refuse to trample on the pride of heaven

What does it feel like to be eaten?

First, the skin was torn apart by an invisible force, like an old but still tough brocade, making a dull and teeth-grinding cracking sound.

The sharp teeth formed from demonic energy were not physical objects, but they were sharper than any divine weapon in the world. They embedded themselves in and then mercilessly cleaved downwards, violently separating the demonic energy that maintained their form from the simulated flesh and blood.

Next, something deeper, the very foundation of his "existence," was pried up, sucked away, and forcibly stripped away.

The feeling wasn't just intense pain; it was more like a fundamental, rule-based dissolution, as if everything he embodied as "Xie Qingwu" was being greedily swallowed and absorbed by a bottomless abyss.

But he didn't actually feel pain, or rather, he had long since lost the right to feel physical pain—why was the transformation of the Phantom Demon so difficult to uncover? Because at the moment of "becoming," his bones, flesh, and meridians were also twisting and reshaping. The process of breaking himself down and then forcibly piecing himself together into the form of another was far more chaotic and agonizing than being devoured at this moment.

Illusion is not a superficial illusion, but a transformation, a fundamental reshaping, a slow and agonizing torture of the "self" that must be experienced before each performance.

As flesh is torn apart and the body gradually disappears, the boundaries of the senses become blurred, and consciousness seems to float in a warm and viscous darkness.

However, Xie Qingwu felt a strange sense of fullness rising from the bottom of his heart, especially in his chest cavity, which felt as if it were filled to the brim with something hot and heavy, so full that it was about to burst.

Even with half his heart missing, he could still beat loudly and clearly through his broken body, each beat making his remaining mind buzz.

His will was complete, more complete than ever before, even more resolute and full than when he possessed a perfect demonic body.

This abundance did not come from the outside world, but rather from something overflowing from the deepest part of his soul. It was a treasure unique to "Xie Qingwu" that he accumulated little by little through imitation, pursuit, and countless days and nights of observation and writing.

As the pain gradually becomes numb with the continued biting, the boundaries of consciousness begin to blur and fade like ink soaked in water.

He suddenly remembered the conversation he had with Lu Wensheng in that sun-drenched room.

At that time, Xie Qingwu was extremely confused by the complexity of human nature. He confided in Lu Wensheng why the human race could simultaneously accommodate cowardice and courage, and even make love and hate so intertwined and difficult to distinguish—why their thoughts and final choices often went in opposite directions? In his view, this was a huge contradiction and a waste of energy.

Humans are truly creatures of contradictions.

Lu Wensheng was leaning against the carved wooden window, the warm afternoon sun casting a light golden glow on his body.

This young leader, who seemed to handle everything with ease, was at that moment frowning slightly at a homework assignment submitted by a disciple, which was messy in handwriting and had a peculiar idea. However, his voice remained calm and composed, as if he were discussing the weather.

"You've been pondering the differences between humans and demons, trying to glimpse the rich and contradictory emotions beneath the surface. So, what initially gave rise to this idea, this desire to understand, and even... to become a 'human'?"

He raised his eyes, his deep brown eyes appearing clear and gentle in the light.

"You should know that most of a person's life is often driven and troubled by these complicated emotions, revolving around them - not only the sweetness of happiness, but also the bitterness and pain of not being able to get what you want, being separated from loved ones, and being with those you hate."

As a demon, isn't it a relief not to experience the torment of these emotions?

He felt that simply being a demon was not good enough; it felt empty, like a wisp of fluff drifting in the wind, without roots or support.

Faced with this question, he opened his mouth, but something seemed to be blocking his throat. After a long while, he could only stammer, "I... I can be exactly like you." He tried to use his talent as a phantom demon to prove his worth and that he was qualified to touch that world.

"So what?" Lu Wensheng asked gently, her tone devoid of sarcasm, only a guiding inquiry. "Imitation and pretense ultimately mean learning to be 'someone else.' Why not try to find your true 'self'?"

The young man gently placed the paper in his hand aside, his voice as gentle as a spring stream thawing, flowing into his parched heart: "No matter who you are, the meaning of being born into this world may not be to become a specific 'someone,' but to find and become 'yourself.'"

Strip away all external expectations and labels; the unique core within is what matters most.

He heard his own voice, with a barely perceptible tremor and a desperate courage.

"Then... I want to be you. To be someone like you...."

He regarded him as light, as a road sign, as the embodiment of all that is beautiful and powerful, believing that as long as he got infinitely closer, he could be touched by that warmth.

The young man was amused by his clumsy yet straightforward desire; his laughter was clear and melodious, like jade striking jade.

But he quickly stopped laughing, his eyes becoming serious: "Does it have to be a 'human'? Qingwu, can't you be a 'demon' who acts like me, who upholds certain principles, a true 'demon' that belongs to you?"

At that moment, it was as if something in his chaotic sea of ​​consciousness made a soft "click" and loosened a crack.

So, what was originally just an excuse to better understand Lu Wensheng—writing his biography—was somehow, somewhat fatefully, something he actually persisted with.

From the moment Lu Wensheng first distinguished himself in the Wenxian Sect, he walked the path he had walked step by step, listening to the stories told by countless witnesses. It was as if he, along with those dramatic and unpredictable words, witnessed the vastness of the world and the subtleties of the human heart.

He was astonished by the miracles that had occurred to Lu Wensheng. People and things that were originally like scattered stars, completely unrelated to each other, were able to form a wonderful connection because of his existence, and come together to form a brilliant star map.

Through the thin, ink-stained pages, and through the exclamations of those around him—some filled with wonder, some with gratitude, some with admiration—he seemed to see with his own eyes that figure who always stood tall in the wind and rain—doing what others dared not do, traversing paths others considered daunting, forging his own way, and forging ahead without hesitation.

He seemed to see how he used the sword in his hand to dispel the fog of constraints that shrouded the world, sweep away the dust that clouded people's hearts, and finally allow people to glimpse his heart, which was as bright as gold and pure as gold.

The right people and ideas are like a magnet; the more you understand them, the more you yearn for them and can't help but want to follow them.

That chest, empty for countless years, seemed to be gradually and steadfastly filled with the roadside flowers, the mountain breeze, the hustle and bustle of the city, the genuine smiles of strangers... and everything about that person that flowed from my pen, warm and solid.

What he pursued was never to become a second Lu Wensheng—what he sought was the vast landscape reflected in that man's eyes, the inextinguishable light burning for all living beings deep within those eyes, and the unwavering respect and compassion for life itself, no matter what dire straits one faced.

Just before his consciousness was about to be completely extinguished, like a candle flickering in the wind, and the last glimmer of light was about to merge into the boundless darkness that was swallowing him, Xie Qingwu felt a clear, cool wetness at the corner of his eye.

A single tear, embodying all his epiphanies, all his pursuits, all his fullness and completeness, broke free from the shackles of his demonic body, silently sliding down his increasingly transparent cheek, and falling into the unknown dust below.

Has he finally found that most precious quality that belongs only to "Xie Qingwu"?

That might not be an innate power, nor an unpredictable supernatural ability, but rather the refusal to give up in the long and confusing journey, the persistence in yearning for light even in darkness, the courage to do what is impossible, and the acceptance of finally understanding what "oneself" is and being willing to give everything for it...

Master Qingxuan seemed to have found the answer he had been searching for in the final moments of his life.