The Ger's Contract Marriage [BL]
Chapter 370: Wilted Flower

Chapter 370: Wilted Flower

In the blink of an eye, the world around Xu Zeng shifted. One moment, he was in the familiar embrace of the greenhouse, surrounded by his brother’s master piece, the place he felt most at peace in; the next, he found himself abruptly transported to the barely functional space they shared.

A disorienting whirlwind of sensations enveloped him—the scent of blood mingled with the heady aroma of wine, an unexpected assault that seized his senses. Panic surged within Xu Zeng as he tried to make sense of the abrupt transition.

His eyes desperately sought his brother in the confusion, and there he was—Xu Feng, the sibling he had been working to reconnect with. The almost familiar figure was only a short distance away from him, but before Xu Zeng could utter a word, a chilling realization gripped his heart.

A visual he couldn’t unsee mingled with the strong scent.

As if torn away by an unseen force, his brother vanished from sight, leaving behind a nightmarish aftermath. A gruesome scene unfolded in the space where Xu Feng had stood only moments ago—a haunting splattering of bloodstains and the lingering echoes of a presence now lost.

.

.

.

In the heart of the lush oasis, a vibrant patch of green stood like a meadow under the embrace of the sun. The grass was a verdant carpet, flourishing and reaching for the heavens. The air was filled with the sweet scent of life, an intoxicating blend that kissed the senses.

It was a dreamscape where nature painted with an artist’s delicacy, creating a magnificent work of colors that danced in the golden sunlight.

Yet, at the center of this picturesque scene, an anomaly was revealed. A figure, draped in clothing tinged with a black red hue, lay in rest but not leisure.

It was as though stale blood had soaked and set into the fabric over a long period of time, leaving a permanent mark of yet to be forgotten pain. The features of this prone form were drained of vitality, a porcelain like mask of beauty that commanded attention.

It could easily be mistaken for an exquisite manikin, a lifeless creation crafted with meticulous care.

The body’s contours were sculpted with a hint of airy grace, capturing the essence of both fragility and allure.

If not for the absence of color in the cheeks...and throughout the entire frame, one might want to surrender to the illusion of perfection.

The stillness of this form radiated a captivating charm, like a puppeteer’s masterpiece waiting for a breath of life.

And yet, if one dared to look closer, past the façade of lifeless beauty, a subtle revelation unfolded. The barely perceptible rise and fall of the chest betrayed the secret of existence within this surreal manikin.

In the midst of nature’s grandeur—or maybe it was magic’s handiwork—the silent breath of life persisted, a fragile heartbeat against the backdrop of the eternal greenery.

But as the eyes ventured beyond the oasis of vibrant life, a blatant contrast emerged in the field of green and life. The edges of this seemingly boundless haven were shrouded in the grasp of decay, as if the very essence of life recoiled in the face of encroaching darkness.

The once lush meadow faded into a desolate expanse, where the emerald hues surrendered to the pallor of death.

Like the manikin laying lifelessly in the center of the fields of green, the edges of the haven were decaying steadily.

The contrast between life and decay played out in this dreamlike scene, where the radiant center of vitality was besieged by encroaching shadows. The very air seemed to ripple with an unspoken tension, an invisible battle between the forces of creation and destruction.

In the surreal setting, the now delicate vessel, reflected the intricate dance of life and mortality. The tendrils of his existence extended into the flourishing greenery that defied the ominous encroachment of lifelessness.

As the sun painted the landscape with hues of gold, the body remained silent, and the keeper of the space stood even more silently like a ghostly watchman—neither existing or not existing.

Dong Yang stood near the middle of the lush oasis, his eyes fixed on the nearly lifeless body in his realm. The vibrant greenery that once danced with life seemed to wither under the weight of hopelessness that shrouded his very being.

His mood would cause the space to collapse before the overconsumption of energy would. His noble stance, usually a symbol of unyielding strength, now carried the weight of lifetimes of emotions.

His posture, straighter than that of any noble or scholar, betrayed the heaviness of a soul burdened by decades of silence, numbness, and regret. It was as if Dong Yang had stolen a piece of time, and now the consequences were catching up with him.

The lifetimes of emotions, the regrets that haunted him, all seemed to converge in this moment.

History was threatening to repeat itself in a new way but following the same pattern, and Dong Yang found himself unprepared to endure the resurgence of feelings he had long suppressed.

The bringer of life had unexpectedly rekindled the flame within him, forcing him to confront the pain he had sought to escape for so long.

A pang of guilt surged through him, a self imposed punishment for the theft of something that was never his to take. His own stolen moments of happiness and subsequent moments of numbness were now replaced by a throbbing ache, a constant reminder of the sins he had committed against the natural order.

The irony wasn’t lost on him, he had stolen from the bringer of life, and now life itself was exacting its price.

Not just on him, but all of them. They were doomed to suffer because of his greed. His desire for a happiness that wasn’t meant to be. It was a stolen happiness after all.

Their paths had crossed sooner than he anticipated, and Dong Yang felt like a prisoner of fate, bound to witness the suffering he had inadvertently caused.

The green expanse, the rolling hills, the vibrant plants, and the glistening waters—all seemed inconsequential in the face of the impending doom that hung over the frail figure lying before him.

Dong Yang contemplated the seemingly boundless beauty of his realm, knowing that its limits were not visible from any single perspective. The very essence of the oasis, once a sanctuary of life, now felt futile in the wake of impending tragedy.

A surge of desperation overcame him as he surveyed the landscape, anything to keep his eyes from the centerpiece, the apple of his eye.

The bringer of life had gifted him with a renewed heart, yet he couldn’t escape the mortal passions that threatened to consume him. He felt trapped in a cycle of stolen moments and undeserved gifts.

He would sacrifice it all—the hills, the greenery, the plants, and the waters—if it meant sparing the one he had stolen from.

The little troublemaker, a thorn in his side and yet the source of a newfound vitality, lay still, a constant reminder of the consequences of stolen moments and the intricacies of a stolen heart.

Dong Yang couldn’t escape the weight of his actions, and the oasis, once a symbol of boundless beauty, now bore witness to the fragility of life and the heavy toll of regret.

He wondered how long it would take for the space to crumble and with it, this piece of him. Would he be forever lost? Would he become mortal in truth? Or would his reincarnations finally end?

Whatever the consequences of his actions were, he would bear it all.

However long it took until the life bringer was revitalized, he was willing to fight to stay a source of energy until then. This was the least he could do. A small sacrifice for his sin.

Dong Yang stood frozen in the sea of flourishing greenery for only a moment more. His gaze, usually indifferent and detached, now held a weight that seemed to mirror the burden of lifetimes.

The space around him, filled with the intoxicating scent of life, couldn’t alleviate the sense of hopelessness that shrouded his being.

Decades of silence and numbness seemed to unravel in the face of this near lifeless body.

His stolen moments had caught up with him, and the one he had taken from was now destined to suffer. The ancient specter, locked in a dance with the inescapable cycle of life, found himself tethered to the consequences of his actions.

The boy, Xu Feng, lay there with pale, lifeless lips, and an ache penetrated Dong Yang’s ancient heart. Though his face remained impassive, the pain in his eyes betrayed the internal turmoil.

With a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation, Dong Yang shifted his gaze away from Xu Feng. His steps were deliberate as he moved toward his cave, the innermost sanctuary of his existence.

This was not a retreat for cultivation; it was a journey to power the very space that enveloped them.

Within the confines of the cave, Dong Yang seemed to meld with the environment, becoming an integral part of the eerie prison that bound him.