The phantom scent of peach blossoms had already withered into ash. The temple was once again reclaimed by the frozen, stagnant air of the wasteland.
Cang Yaochen—now restored to the aspect of The True Buddha—sat motionless on the cracked stone floor. The pale moonlight, sharp as a blade, sliced through the ruins to cast deep, jagged shadows across his face. His once-flawless features were now clouded by the sharp, piercing weight of transgression. He held Jiang Li in his arms, wrapping her gently in his white robes as if trying to shield her from the very world he had failed.
The wound on his neck had healed, his skin smooth and unblemished once more, but the fissures deep within his soul remained.
"What have I done?" he murmured. His voice was hollow and low, vibrating like cold stone.
He closed his eyes, yet he could not escape the feverish, shattered echoes of The Eros-God. He remembered the cloying sweetness of the nectar; he remembered the frantic thrum of the girl's pulse beneath his thumb; he remembered the terrifying, ecstatic hunger that had briefly usurped his divinity. That had not been him—and yet, it was.
Jiang Li had not yet awakened, but her small frame twitched in her sleep. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, a lingering remnant of the agony she had endured.
Cang Yaochen exhaled a long breath that seemed to carry a thousand unspoken prayers. Those hands—once meant to turn the pages of sacred scriptures or bind ancient demons into eternal silence—now moved with a clumsy desperation. He wove a veil of soft, shimmering golden light—pure Buddha Qi—around her, struggling to stitch together the mangled meridians of her mortal form.
Because his divine blood had been forcibly injected into her body, Jiang Li was like a delicate porcelain vase struck by a hammer. Cang Yaochen was forced to exhaust his own Primordial Spirit bit by bit to soothe the rampaging, otherworldly energy within her.
He even pressed his palm against the frozen earth, forcing a seedling to sprout from a crack in the temple floor. He poured his own life force into the barren soil until a shimmering fruit ripened upon the branch. He plucked it and wiped it clean with his sleeve, his movements as cautious as one guarding a dying flame in a hurricane.
When Jiang Li finally drifted back to consciousness, she was met with an unbelievable, dazzling sight of sanctity.
A soft, divine radiance; a monk with skin like translucent jade; and a trembling hand offering a fragrant fruit.
She looked at the "Saint" before her. His eyes were drowning in remorse. He feels guilty?
A cold glint flickered in Jiang Li's eyes, a shadow passing briefly over her iris. A dark, predatory thought took root in her mind: If this Saint considers his mercy a sin, then I shall turn his guilt into my throne.
"Don't... don't kill me... please..."
Jiang Li did not lunge forward. Instead, like a terrified animal cornered by a predator, she scrambled backward into the deepest shadows of the temple. she clutched Cang Yaochen's robes, her small body trembling violently, her teeth chattering. Tears welled in her eyes like shattered pearls, hot and chaotic.
"Child, do not be afraid. I... I have frightened you."
Cang Yaochen stepped forward to comfort her, but froze when he saw the raw terror in her gaze. His face turned deathly pale, and a wave of intense self-loathing nearly suffocated him. He pressed his palms together and bowed his head—not in prayer to some deity, but to a filthy, shivering beggar girl.
"Are you... an immortal?" Jiang Li asked in a raspy whisper, her tone a blend of feigned innocence and unfathomable sorrow. "The one before... he was terrifying. He bit me... he said I was his toy..."
Cang Yaochen drew in a sharp breath. Those words were like rusted nails, driving the shattered memories of the Eros-God deep into his heart.
"He will not return," Cang Yaochen vowed in a low voice. It was a promise to her, and a desperate lie to himself.
He offered the fruit once more. Jiang Li reached out with trembling hands and took it, keeping her head low as she began to eat with the desperate hunger of a wolf. Beneath her lowered lashes, a cold, aggressive light crossed her face, unseen and unknown to anyone.
However, as she took a bite of the fruit, a sudden searing heat ignited on the pinky finger of her right hand.
Cang Yaochen saw it too.
Wrapped around her fingertip was a faint, dark-red vein, encircling her skin like a delicate, flowing blood-chain.
It was the mark of a "Sacred Parasite"—the first sign that a fragment of a Primordial Artifact had recognized its host.
Cang Yaochen's heart sank into an abyss. This girl had become his Karma—a living shackle.
"Tell me, what is your name?"
"My name is Jiang Li," a muffled voice squeezed out through a full mouth. "Beautiful Monk, what is your name?"
Cang Yaochen only smiled, offering no answer.