Chapter 117: Overture to the Final Chapter

"Click." The sound of a door opening rang out abruptly, shattering the deathly silence of the corridor.

"Hiccup... are you done yet?" Ou Shinan, who had been leaning against the door frame, bumped into Luo Hanyai and collapsed at the entrance of Room 13, letting out a drunken hiccup.

A distinct, pungent odor characteristic of a heavy drinker wafted over, causing Luo Hanyai to wave his hand in front of his nose, trying to dissipate the unpleasant, almost unbearable stench.

"Just how much did you drink! This smell is way too much," Luo Hanyai asked, knitting his brows.

"Not that much," Ou Shinan replied, his tongue seemingly tied, his speech slurred. "Maybe seven or eight bottles?"

Luo Hanyai pressed his temples with a slight headache, looking helplessly at the nearly comatose Ou Shinan. "The time has come. We need to go there. Are you coming or not?"

Ou Shinan rested his head against the wall, seemingly oblivious to Luo Hanyai's voice, and even began to snore.

"Let's go. It’s time. It seems he won't be going," Shi Can pulled at Luo Hanyai, signaling him to leave the drunkard be.

"If he's not even going, then I suppose he’s an outsider to all this." Luo Hanyai took a deep look at Ou Shinan, who was snoring like thunder on the floor, feeling a pang of emotion. "If only I could be as carefree as him."

"Cough, cough, cough..." A familiar, wheezing cough drifted from a nearby room.

"The time has come, but I no longer have the strength to walk there." Xiaofeng’s voice was even weaker than before, barely audible, ethereal like the whisper of a ghost—mournful, moving, and heartbreaking, enough to bring tears to anyone who heard his sigh.

Shi Can trembled involuntarily upon hearing Xiaofeng’s voice, seemingly afraid of him.

Luo Hanyai sighed, intending to check on Xiaofeng before heading out. Ou Shinan remained on the floor, snoring thunderously, seemingly dead to the world in his drunken dream.

"Brother, will you carry me there, please?" Xiaofeng panted, struggling to finish the sentence.

Shi Can nervously tugged at Luo Hanyai’s sleeve, as if trying to stop him from getting involved. Luo Hanyai shook his head at Shi Can. "What is meant to happen will happen. It is time to settle all of this."

"Xiaofeng, Brother will take you..." Luo Hanyai opened the door to Xiaofeng’s room. A bone-chilling cold rushed to meet him, making him shiver as if he had fallen into an ice cavern.

"Mother, Brother is here. Don't worry, Xiaofeng will come back." Xiaofeng lay on the bed, his eyes vacant, staring straight at the bed beside him like a child bidding farewell to his mother, yet there was nothing there.

Luo Hanyai’s expression remained unchanged. He bowed his head and walked to the bedside, standing silently to wait for Xiaofeng to finish his farewells.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

"Mother, Xiaofeng is leaving now." Xiaofeng tried to sit up, but he was far too weak, and his attempts failed.

"Xiaofeng, let me help you." Luo Hanyai approached and gently lifted him. He couldn't help but shudder; it felt as if he were holding a block of ancient ice, and he looked at Xiaofeng in astonishment.

"Brother, put me down." Xiaofeng shook his head.

"But..."

"Cough, cough, cough..."

"Xiaofeng, you're coughing up blood again."

"It's alright, Brother. Give me your right hand."

Xiaofeng looked at Luo Hanyai’s right hand, dipped his finger into the blood he had coughed up, and trembling, traced a single character onto Luo Hanyai’s palm: "Cold."

Luo Hanyai was startled, wondering why Xiaofeng had written that.

[Congratulations, you have obtained Xiaofeng’s Blood Seal.]
[Name: Xiaofeng’s Blood Seal]
[Type: Sigil]
[Quality: Perfect]
[Effect: Grants immunity to all ice-based skills below Tier 7.]
[Note: A mark condensed from Xiaofeng’s heart-blood, imbued with immense cold energy.]

Luo Hanyai froze, then smiled bitterly and patted his head. He realized he was in a game, but he couldn't tell if this was all too real or if he had simply become too deeply immersed. He couldn't help but ask himself again, "Is this truly just a game? Why does everything feel so real?"

...

"Brother, let’s go." After drawing the seal, Xiaofeng seemed even weaker. He stared vacantly at the bed beside him and waved his hand gently.

"Let's go." Luo Hanyai picked up Xiaofeng and walked out of the room.

"Mother..." As they left, Luo Hanyai heard Xiaofeng’s low, weak voice whisper in his ear, tinged with a hint of contentment.

Luo Hanyai closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suppressing the pain in his chest. He glanced back, as if trying to etch the room into the depths of his memory. In that moment, he saw an ethereal shadow face-to-face with him—it appeared to be a woman, tenderly caressing her son who was about to depart.

"Remember, he became like this because of you. You owe us both a life," a soft female voice drifted into Luo Hanyai’s ear, carving itself into his heart.

Luo Hanyai blinked hard. A jolt of electricity surged from his head to his toes, and his heart hammered wildly. He swallowed hard, desperate to know the truth behind it all.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

"This is probably my fate. Don't blame yourself, Brother; no one could change this." Xiaofeng looked at Luo Hanyai, then at his mother, and leaned his head against Luo Hanyai’s shoulder. A faint flush of crimson appeared on his paper-white face.

"Sigh... go on then." The soft female voice sighed and vanished into the shadows, as if she had never been there at all.

"Xiaofeng, what is this all about?"

"Brother, you will know soon enough. I am so tired; let me rest for a moment."

Xiaofeng lay weakly on Luo Hanyai’s shoulder, his chest rising and falling, though he lacked the strength to cough, forced to suppress all the agony deep within his chest.

The dim corridor grew heavy with an even colder, deathly aura. The manifest dread transformed into countless demons, clawing and reaching as they circled Luo Hanyai, who walked with his head bowed, cradling Xiaofeng, while whispering a funeral dirge:

"You say April is the cruelest month,
Building an ethereal dream on a wasteland,
Mixing memory and desire,
As spring rain urges the departed spirits.
...
You cannot speak,
And you cannot open your mouth,
The living have become a pile of broken idols,
Bearing the lash of the black rain.
I cannot speak,
My eyes cannot see,
I am neither living,
Nor have I died.
We know nothing,
Staring blankly at the black building deep in the fog,
It is a deathly silence.
Warmth is hidden within the cold,
That is your uncooled corpse,
We wait for the bell,
To send you to your grave."