Era of Magic and Martial Arts

Chapter 387 - 371: The Corpse of the God

Zhang Liyou’s heart rate suddenly increased, [Turtle Breath Technique] could barely suppress her heart rate, and her fingers clutched the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white from the effort.

Her throat tightened as if an invisible hand was squeezing her breath.

"Cuicui?"

She called out softly, her voice trembling so much it was almost inaudible.

No response.

The room was deathly silent.

"Cuicui!"

Zhang Liyou raised her voice, but still received no response.

Countless terrifying thoughts flashed through her mind, each sending a chill down her spine.

Zhang Liyou’s heartbeat nearly stopped, and she stared hard at Feng Yuhuai: "What did you do to her?"

Feng Yuhuai stared at Zhang Liyou unblinkingly, her smile still gentle:

"Just let her sleep. Cuicui didn’t rest well, and her emotions were too sad and excited. Sleeping will help her recuperate, good for her health."

Her fingers gently caressed Cuicui’s cheek, as softly as stroking a piece of art, with a hint of playful reproach:

"Otherwise, what do you think I’d do to Cuicui, Liyou? Your question is a little strange, don’t you think?"

Zhang Liyou breathed a sigh of relief, only half-breath exhaled, making her scalp tingle.

She stiffly lifted her chin, looking at Feng Yuhuai’s face as gentle as a painting, but those eyes were as dark as two black holes devouring light.

Zhang Liyou’s mouth twitched, her face frozen as if in a still frame.

Only after three seconds did she pull out an awkward smile:

"I’m sorry Yuhuai, Xiaojuan is missing, I’ve been on edge these past two days. I just thought Cuicui was already not very sharp, and yet you made her faint, she might be even duller when she wakes up."

Feng Yuhuai didn’t press further, her mind restored to its usual liveliness over the past two days, she didn’t know why, but it surely had something to do with Xiaojuan.

Perhaps the quality of the last supper was too exceptional, containing some brain-nourishing effects, though she wasn’t sure how long the effects would last.

This made Feng Yuhuai both eager to devour Cuicui and Zhang Liyou quickly, yet reluctant to do so. This feeling, foodies who love delicacies might understand.

"Too bad, if Liyou doesn’t eat this supper soon, it might spoil, oh—"

Feng Yuhuai looked at Zhang Liyou’s stiff profile, her tongue unconsciously licking her canines, thinking gloomily.

Feng Yuhuai squinted her eyes, hiding the ferocious light within, laughing softly:

"Indeed, Cuicui has always been reckless, foolish.

But Liyou, how come you’re so calm today? I’m really impressed, I remember you used to clamor daily about avenging Yazhi."

Zhang Liyou’s heartbeat skipped a beat, she could feel Feng Yuhuai’s gaze tracing her carotid artery, as if measuring the angle to bite.

"A Yazhi, a Xiaojuan, "

She forced herself to meet Feng Yuhuai’s eyes,

"I realized I should mature, avenging is not just a slogan, it’s about conserving strength and strategic planning."

Feng Yuhuai removed her palm, revealing bright, neat teeth—that smile reminded Zhang Liyou of a beast before a hunt.

"Alright, our Liyou has grown up."

Her voice was as sweet as honey:

"Then accompany Cuicui for a nap, build your strength. I’ll be back after a match."

Zhang Liyou watched Feng Yuhuai’s departing silhouette through the door, her tense nerves slightly relaxing.

She forced a smile: "When Cuicui wakes up, I’ll pull her along to cheer for you."

"Great!"

Feng Yuhuai stuck out her tongue, licking her red lips.

She lifted both hands, casually gathering her waterfall-like long hair into her palms, she tied her hair high with a bright red ribbon, a few smooth strands slipping down her ears.

The red ribbon glistened slightly in the light, resembling congealed traces of fresh blood, contrasting sharply with her slender, pale fingers.

The ponytail swung proudly behind her, producing a "hiss—hiss—" sound as it rubbed against her martial arts uniform back, like a poised snake secretly flicking its dangerous tongue.

Gazing at Feng Yuhuai’s disappearing figure through the doorway, until her silhouette completely vanished down the corridor.

Zhang Liyou slowly released her grip on the sheet, her fingers stiff and white from prolonged exertion, fingernails deeply embedded in her palms, with even some reddish marks.

Zhang Liyou took a deep breath, supporting herself as she slowly walked towards the door, reaching out to gently close it, then locking it.

The crisp "click" sound echoed clearly in the silent room, she stared blankly at the lock for a moment, confirmed it was secured, then turned around, her steps slightly faltering.

She walked back to the bed, sat down, her trembling hand cautiously reaching toward Cuicui’s nostrils.

Confirming the temperature from Cuicui’s breath on her finger, Zhang Liyou seemed to collapse onto the bed, wrapping her arms tightly around the sleeping Cuicui, her body still shivering slightly.

"I can’t deal with this monster Feng Yuhuai alone, I need to find a helper, someone reliable enough and powerful..."

Exhaustion washed over her like a tide, seeping into her consciousness.

In a haze, her eyelids grew heavier, her thoughts gradually swallowed by the dim fatigue, and she fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke again, it seemed several hours had passed, the campus’s noise had diminished, and a thunderous rumble came from the sky.

Cuicui was awake for a while, staring dazedly out the window, and when she saw Zhang Liyou awake, she said in a pale tone:

"Liyou, it’s raining now!"

........

The gods of the old era always favored using heavy rain as an eraser.

Whenever human greed and bloodshed accumulated too heavily, Olympus’s thunder would roar, the glazed tiles of Lingxiao Hall would shatter, and the Milky Way would pour down with supreme majesty, cleansing the filthy earth completely.

All was white, as if unrolling a blank scroll of goodwill, waiting for humanity to write destiny anew.

Those devout believers knelt in the mud, singing hymns, trembling voices pleading for forgiveness.

They believed, every lightning bolt splitting the sky was a god’s annotation, and every fierce flood was a rebooting purge, as if after the punitive rain, decay would transform into renewal.

Alas, the gods of the old era have long fallen.

Their corpses lay sprawled on the clouds—the literal clouds, vast, cold, filling the sky, blocking the Sun, unmoving.

The Milky Way no longer existed, replaced by countless crisscrossing steel frames and mechanical pipes.

Three million alloy water pipes tangled overhead, forming a massive urinary network, hydraulic pumps’ dull sighs replacing the thunder’s roar.

When those chromium-plated pipes began rhythmic spasms, the Lower City People knew it was time for their "baptism"—the Upper City’s digestive system disgorging recycled water through artificial sphincters.

They called it rain.

Oh, by the way, don’t misunderstand, as long as it’s daytime, this "rain" wouldn’t be accompanied by dreary skies.

Because billions of colorful "Suns" remain ever-suspended, they are energy and symbols, never obscured, never extinguished during the day.

Moreover, the Sun is waterproof!

So,

The Lower City People affectionately call all this—Sun Rain!