Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 256 - 240: Are You Willing to Offer Me...

A single word, "friend," made Wang Cong shiver as if a cold knife had pierced through his dark heart. His legs weakened, collapsing like a pile of mud without support, kneeling powerlessly at Feng Mu’s feet as tears streamed uncontrollably, sobbing beyond coherence.

Wang Cong’s face was filled with regret, his throat felt blocked by something, and the sounds he made were disjointed, unable to form complete sentences:

"Feng Mu, I, I, I..."

Feng Mu, as always, understanding, spoke for Wang Cong:

"I know, you secretly swapped my electric baton, and you also dropped something filthy into my food. I know everything."

Wang Cong was in tears, staring blankly upwards, his snot and tears flowing back, smearing his face.

Feng Mu did not feel disgusted at all; he leisurely pulled out a tissue from his pocket and gently wiped Wang Cong’s face of mucus and tears.

Feng Mu said softly, "If you want to climb up, you must keep yourself clean at all times. How could you forget so quickly, Captain Wang Cong?"

Wang Cong felt the touch and warmth through the tissue on his face, reminiscing the moment when he first met Feng Mu, who kindly offered him a towel to wipe his face.

He wished dearly for time to turn back to that day, if only he could do it over again, he certainly wouldn’t have...

Wang Cong stared blankly at Feng Mu, biting his lip until it bled, and hoarsely said:

"Feng Mu, thank you for teaching me so much. It is I who let you down, who broke my word, who betrayed you. I can’t climb up with you anymore; you should go, don’t dirty your hands. I will, later on, set a fire to cleanse my dirty body and soul."

Wang Cong removed the tissue from his face, leaving some dirt remaining, but his expression was cleaner than ever. He sincerely expressed his gratitude:

"Thank you for being willing to see me one last time before I die. I want to tell you that meeting you is the happiest thing in my life."

Feng Mu was willing to believe that Wang Cong was sincere in his words, and he couldn’t help but reflect:

"Indeed, a person is only clean upon birth and before death, but it’s not entirely people’s fault; it’s because the world is too dirty."

Wang Cong did not blink as he looked at Feng Mu, as though trying to imprint this face onto his soul, carrying it with him into the underworld.

Suddenly, Wang Cong seemed to think of something and urgently said to Feng Mu:

"Oh, you must be careful of the warden, Qian Huan. He’s more insidious and evil than Tian Tao and Chang Wei. He instigated me to betray you; you must never trust what the warden says in the future."

Feng Mu sighed and said, "I know, I know everything, so Captain Wang Cong, please don’t say these joyless things anymore."

Wang Cong was stunned, a little unsure of Feng Mu’s meaning. He was ready to die; what else could he talk about?

Feng Mu said seriously, "Don’t cry, because I don’t believe in tears; tears are the cheapest form of repayment in this world. Also, don’t repent, because I won’t accept it; it’s worthless to me."

Wang Cong opened his mouth, then heard Feng Mu continue in his ear:

"If you wish to repay me, it should not be with your tears but by paving a constantly rising path for me with the blood of our enemies."

"To lessen the sin in your heart, you should not just kneel at my feet and repent, but take your enemies’ heads and lay them at my feet."

"What do you think, Captain Wang Cong?"

Wang Cong blinked lightly, filled with disbelief, looking at Feng Mu, his eyes slowly filled with the flames of hope, a kind of blinding desire and longing that could almost pierce through the darkness.

He swallowed with difficulty, his voice slightly hoarse, and asked, "I betrayed you in such a way, are you still willing to trust me again?"

Feng Mu’s understanding of loyalty and betrayal was not the same as ordinary people. In most people’s eyes, loyalty is absolute, and betrayal is unforgivable.

Generally, people might prefer to trust those clean and without stains of betrayal.

But Feng Mu was different; he thought that those who had never betrayed probably just hadn’t faced real temptation, and once temptation came, they might be more likely to succumb and thus betray.

Whereas those who have betrayed once are different. They’ve tasted the sugar, and if they have paid a painful price for it, they are less likely to betray next time.

Wang Cong was such a person.

He ate the candy given by the warden and, without even truly eating it, had already paid a price he wouldn’t want to remember for a lifetime.

Feng Mu was a merciful person, willing to give every person who truly awakened a chance to return to the right path.

So, he said to Wang Cong: "If it’s the living you, maybe I’d find it hard to trust completely, but if it’s the dead you, I am willing to believe in you once more!"

Wang Cong’s mind went blank, nearly doubting his hearing: "What?"

Feng Mu stood up from the couch, squatting a bit in front of Wang Cong, looking calmly and politely into Wang Cong’s eyes, speaking softly: "What I mean is, are you willing to offer your death for me?"

Wang Cong still didn’t quite understand Feng Mu’s meaning, but he nodded, sincerely: "I am willing."

Splurt!

Wang Cong stiffly turned his neck, lowering his head, seeing Feng Mu holding a warm, pulsating thing in his hand, with steam still lingering on the surface.

He then looked down at his own chest, which had already opened up into a hollow.

He numbly raised his head, his vision blurry as he looked at Feng Mu, without the slightest resentment in his eyes, only a profound sense of relief.

His body leaned forward powerlessly, forehead gently resting on Feng Mu’s shoulder, as if seeking some final form of solace.

He used the last breath within his body, whispering faintly into Feng Mu’s ear:

"How nice... my heart is not completely black... finally, it’s been dyed red by you again."

Feng Mu gently patted Wang Cong’s back, lifting him slowly and laying him flat on the couch. His gaze was unlike that for the departed, more like watching a friend in slumber.

Feng Mu closed his fingers together, letting the pulsating thing disperse like smoke. He raised his hand slightly, the surface marks quietly cleansed by an invisible force, disappearing without a trace in an instant.

He unhurriedly extended a finger, hovering over the hollow in Wang Cong’s chest.

A drop of thick blood oozed from his fingertip, slowly gathering at the edge of the nail, finally dropping straight down into that hollow.

Drip —

Like an ink drop into barren soil, followed by an increasingly rapid thudding sound.

Visibly, a deep and cold conscience slowly took shape within, stretching, rebirthing...