Chapter 8: The End and the Beginning

But I didn’t explain further. I just relived that worse-than-death pain day after day. At first, my heart grew every few days; later, every half month; then, every few months. Not knowing when the next heart would grow, or if it ever would, I fell into long comas.

The world became a blur of pain and darkness. I lost track of time, of myself. Only Derek remained, always waiting for the next drop.

And Derek seemed to grow more obsessed. While I was unconscious, he stayed by my bed—not for me, but for my blood.

I’d wake to find him sitting at my side, eyes fixed on my chest. His love was a hunger, a need I could never fill.

Once, I don’t know how long I was out, when I woke, my chest was cut open, exposing a tiny, weakly beating heart. I was too weak to move, and Derek was staring at my heart.

His gaze was clinical, detached. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was weep.

I don’t know why, but I suddenly began to cry. I rarely cry; my tears were all spent during those five hundred years in hiding. I know crying is useless, but I couldn’t help it. When Derek raised the knife to cut, I sobbed, "Derek, I’ll die, I really will die."

My voice broke on the words, raw and pleading. For the first time, I saw doubt flicker in his eyes.

His hand paused, then he looked into my eyes: "I can only gamble, Morgan. I must save Lila."

His words were final, unyielding. I closed my eyes, accepting my fate.

I closed my eyes and said, "Do you remember you promised to marry me as your dark queen?"

It was a last, desperate plea—a reminder of what we once were, what we could have been.

That’s right, before attacking Phoenix Ridge, he had actually proposed to me.

The memory was bittersweet, a bright spot in the darkness. For a moment, I let myself hope.

Monsters, even after transforming, are still beasts at heart. At first, there was no sign; I just liked sticking close to Derek during that time.

I followed him everywhere, content to be near. My feelings grew, slow and steady, until they became impossible to hide.

Derek cultivated every night, slowly recovering his strength. Not trusting others, it was always me guarding him at night.

I watched over him as he slept, my heart aching with love and fear. I would have given anything to keep him safe.

Until one night, I unconsciously snuggled up to him in my sleep. He was startled and pushed me away, asking, "What are you doing?"

His voice was sharp, but there was a softness beneath it. I stared at him, confused, unsure how to explain.

Moonlight like frost, gently covering us. I looked at him blankly, not knowing anything, just gazing at him.

The world was quiet, the only sound our breathing. I wanted to reach for him, but I held back.

Derek touched my forehead, stood silent for a long time.

His hand was warm, gentle. I closed my eyes, savoring the touch.

Later, he made a big show in the underworld to find me a husband, finally taking me to Monster Peak to let me choose one.

He paraded me before the monsters, forcing me to choose. It was a cruel joke, but I played along.

Anyone but him.

I wanted to choose him, but I knew I couldn’t. So I picked at random, hoping he’d understand.

I casually pointed, picking a wolf shifter.

The wolf was strong, handsome, everything Derek was not. But he wasn’t Derek.

After picking, I looked back at him: "Are you happy now?"

My voice was bitter, my eyes full of tears. Derek just smiled, cold and distant.

He looked at me, smiling, but not in his eyes: "You’ll be happy, Morgan."

His words were a lie, but I pretended to believe him.

On my wedding night, I fell out with the wolf shifter because I wouldn’t let him approach me.

The room was cold, the air thick with tension. I stood my ground, refusing to yield.

A long, long time ago, when I had just transformed, I wasn’t used to wearing clothes, often half-undressed when Derek wasn’t looking. There was no one else on the mountain then; every time Derek saw, he’d really lay into me. He seriously told me, "In human form, you can’t be naked before anyone, not even in your underwear. If anyone tries to undress you, hit them hard, kill them if you can, got it?"

His rules were strict, but I followed them. They became my armor, my protection.

I naively asked, "Not even you?"

I was young, innocent. Derek’s face turned red, but he answered anyway.

He choked, then said, "That’s right, not even me."

He looked away, embarrassed. I remembered his words, always.

On my wedding night, I thought of this for some reason.

The memory made me strong, gave me the courage to say no.

So when the wolf shifter tried to untie my belt, I stopped him: "Stop."

My voice was sharp, unwavering. He didn’t like that.

The wolf shifter slapped me; I don’t remember clearly what happened after. I just remember Derek probably heard my screams and came, throwing the wolf shifter off me. He looked grim, stepping on the wolf shifter’s neck, asking, "Who told you to hit her?"

His rage was terrifying, a force of nature. I felt safe, for the first time in years.

My last memory is him carrying me, flying over the pine forest. Moonlight like water, he placed me on the peak of Daliang Mountain, so close to the sky.

The wind was cold, but his arms were warm. I clung to him, afraid to let go.

He asked, "What do you want, Morgan?"

His voice was soft, hesitant. I knew what I wanted, but I was afraid to say it.

I must have been dizzy then. I didn’t want to use the debt of saving his life to coerce him, but when you’re one step from what you’ve longed for, it’s hard not to be tempted.

Desire is a dangerous thing. I gave in, just this once.

So I gently touched his face, murmured, "You."

The word hung in the air, heavy and sweet. For a moment, I thought he might say yes.

All these years, all I’ve wanted is him.

It was the simplest truth, the hardest to admit.

I woke up in his arms, and when I woke, he was always looking down at me. I couldn’t read his expression, but he gently pressed his face to mine, holding me inch by inch, as if convincing himself, or compromising: "Morgan, after I find out the truth of the past and let go of all worldly matters, you will marry me as my dark queen."

His promise was soft, almost shy. I clung to it, hoping it would be enough.

I covered my mouth, crying with joy, nodding through sobs.

My tears were hot, my heart light. For a moment, I believed in happy endings.

I know Lila is his obsession; he doesn’t understand why she betrayed him. If I were him, I’d want to ask Lila: did you ever love me?

The question haunted us both. I knew he’d never be free until he had his answer.

But no one could have predicted how things would turn out.

Fate is a cruel mistress. We were all just pawns in her game.

I asked if he remembered his promise to marry me as dark queen; his expression froze, as if in pain.

He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. I felt the hope drain from my body.

But I waited a long time, and no answer came. I didn’t have the strength to wait longer; pain in my chest, I fell asleep again.

Sleep was a mercy, a way to escape the pain.

When I woke, Derek was cutting open my chest, his movements frozen, eyes fixed on my heart, silent for a long time.

His hands shook, his eyes haunted. I knew then that he was lost, that I couldn’t save him.

I groggily looked down; that tiny, abnormal, fragile heart was gray.

The sight shocked me. My heart, once bright and red, was now dull, lifeless—a sign of betrayal, of love lost.

A monster’s heart is only bright red before the one they love and serve, but one day, my heart turned gray before Derek—a broken heart, a heart of stone.

It was the final proof, the last nail in the coffin. I was no longer his, and he was no longer mine.

This is the most blatant betrayal.

I felt it in my bones, a cold certainty. There was no going back.

Derek, afraid I’d run, made me revert to my original form, since it didn’t consume much energy. He nailed my antennae to the marble bed, then forced me to eat earthworm monster cores.

The pain was excruciating. I screamed, but he didn’t stop. He thought he was saving me, but he was only making it worse.

He thought this would restore my heart’s regrowth speed.

He was desperate, clinging to hope. I pitied him, even as I hated him.

Long ago, when I had just followed Derek, rumors spread in the underworld that the pretty girl by his side had a terrifying original form. Some bold monsters forced me to show my original form to satisfy their curiosity.

They laughed, mocked, tried to break me. I refused, even as they beat me half to death.

I was timid then, but hated my original form, and even beaten half to death, I wouldn’t change back. Later, Derek returned, furious, and the tiger shifter who led the beating was skinned alive and hung on a tree. He sneered at all monsters: "Who else wants to see her original form?"

His rage was legendary. No one dared cross him after that. I felt safe, for the first time.

I was covered in wounds; he bent to pick me up. I still remember his tone, very gentle, like a stream flowing from his fingers: "I promise you, Morgan, no one will ever force you to show your original form again."

His words were a balm, a promise I clung to for centuries.

He also said, "Those monster cores were forced on you by others, Morgan, it’s not your fault."

He forgave me, even when I couldn’t forgive myself.

He must have forgotten these words, because now the one who said them has my original form nailed to the bed, forcing me to eat unknown monster cores. Tears fell on his hand; he jerked back as if burned, then forced a smile, stroked my head, gently coaxing, "Bear with it, Morgan, just a bit longer. I’ve found a new way; soon I won’t need your blood."

His voice was soft, but his eyes were hard. I knew he was lying, but I let him.

Maybe he really found a new way, but even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, because the monster cores I ate were useless. After bleeding for him for five hundred years, this body was already covered in scars, couldn’t bear the backlash of monster cores, and my energy was fading—a sign of soul dispersal. We both knew I was probably going to die.

Death was a mercy, a release from pain. I welcomed it, even as I feared it.

This weakness made Derek feel pity; he pulled out the nails, so I found a chance to escape.

I ran, stumbling through the darkness, my body broken but my will unbroken. I just wanted to be free, for once in my life.

Escaping didn’t help; my body was too sick, I just didn’t want to die at Derek’s hands.

I wanted to choose my own ending, to die on my own terms.

Nor did I want to die while still being cut open—after five hundred years, I had no heart left.

My chest was hollow, my soul fading. I was ready to let go.

It really, really hurts.

The pain was a living thing, gnawing at my insides. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.

When I woke up in the cave again, there was someone beside me—a sorcerer, roasting fish by the fire. I shrank back warily, pulling a dagger from my sleeve. Hearing movement, he turned around, that familiar, gentle face. He smiled slightly and said to me, "Mo, what a coincidence."

His voice was warm, familiar—a lifeline in the darkness. I let the dagger fall, relief flooding my body.

The dagger fell from my hand; I stared at him in a daze.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe it was real. I wanted to reach out, to touch his face, to make sure he was really there.

Perhaps heaven pitied me; before dying, I met my only old acquaintance.

It felt like a miracle, a gift I didn’t deserve.

The sorcerer who saved me was someone I knew. Five hundred years ago, while I was nourishing Derek’s essence with my blood, hiding in the human world, I had once received his help.

He’d been a stranger then, but he’d saved my life without asking for anything in return. I never forgot his kindness.

He was called Grant then, but in that life he hadn’t gained immortality. He was a wandering magician, without orthodox training. Over thousands of years, I don’t know how many times he reincarnated. I recognized him because he looked exactly the same as when I first met him a thousand years ago.

His eyes were the same—kind, patient, full of secrets. I wondered if he remembered me, too.

This person is truly persistent, still devoted to the supernatural path after all these years.

He’d spent lifetimes chasing wisdom, never settling, never giving up. I admired him, even as I pitied him.

He carefully bandaged all my wounds. Seeing my disbelief, he explained with a smile, "I’ve almost completed my work, so I only reincarnate, not enter the cycle. That means I remember every life."

His hands were gentle, his touch soothing. I let myself relax, just for a moment.

A thousand years, a hundred-year cycle, a hundred reincarnations—he really has almost completed his merit.

It was a staggering thought, but I believed him. Some souls are just too stubborn to let go.

He paused and asked, "Now a hundred years have passed; your husband should have been reborn, right? Isn’t he the dark lord? Why are you still so miserable?"

His question was gentle, but it cut deep. I looked away, unable to answer.

Yes, back then, I escaped to the human world with a wisp of Derek’s essence, nourishing it with my blood. When I was dying, Grant passed by; I grabbed his coat with bloody hands, whispering, "Save me."

His coat was warm, smelling of cedar and smoke. He didn’t hesitate, just scooped me up and carried me to safety.

When I woke, my first thought was to kill him, because I hated sorcerers most in this life. But I was too weak, lacking power, and was subdued by him instead. He wasn’t angry at my ingratitude, just smiled in surprise: "I just saved you, and you want to repay kindness with enmity?"

His laughter was soft, forgiving. I felt ashamed, but I didn’t show it.

Later, after we became familiar, he watched me dig out a heart daily to nourish Derek’s essence, and asked with emotion, "What kind of monster are you? I always thought monsters, gods, humans only had one heart."

He was fascinated, not afraid. I let him watch, too tired to care.

I ignored him; he wasn’t annoyed, then asked, "The person you saved must be very important to you, right?"

His eyes were kind, understanding. I nodded, unable to speak.

Not wanting trouble, I perfunctorily said, "He’s my husband."

The lie tasted strange, but it made things easier. Grant nodded, satisfied.

He nodded slightly, indicating he understood.

He didn’t press, just smiled and moved on. I was grateful for his silence.

That life, I stayed by his side, simply because it was very safe. I was too weak then, needed a haven to recover.

He gave me shelter, food, a place to rest. I owed him more than I could ever repay.

He was the strangest magician I’d met, never practicing in peace. We traveled south in the human world, crossed mountains and rivers, seeking wisdom and magic. He led me to do many good deeds; a hundred years in the mortal world passed in a blink. Finally, he was old and dying, with only me, a monster, by his bed. Worried about me, he held on, smiling as he gave instructions.

His voice was weak, but his eyes were bright. He made me promise to take care of myself, to keep going, no matter what.

Strange, I wasn’t respectful or close to him, but as he urged me to be careful in the future, my heart ached. He asked, "Mo, I’m going to reincarnate; will you come find me?"

I hesitated, unsure how to answer. In the end, I told the truth.

I sat by his bed, wind and rain outside, storms raging. Sadly, I said, "No, once you enter reincarnation, the past is gone. By then, you won’t be you; what’s the point of searching?"

He smiled, understanding. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

He laughed softly, gently looking at me: "You’re truly insightful."

His words were a balm, a comfort I didn’t know I needed.

I looked at him and said, "Don’t worry about me. Honestly, my husband is the dark lord; at most, I wait five hundred years, then I can revive him. By then, no one can bully me."

I tried to sound brave, but my voice shook. Grant just smiled, squeezing my hand.

The light in his eyes faded, but his mouth curved up: "Then I’m at ease." I held his hand until his eyes closed peacefully, until his body cooled.

I stayed by his side until the end, refusing to let him die alone.

I know mortals like to be buried.

I dug his grave myself, hands raw and bleeding. It was the least I could do.

I didn’t expect, after a hundred years, he still remembered me and saved me again.

It was a miracle, a second chance I never thought I’d get.

I looked at him; he was always gentle, making one feel at ease. Looking at him, I couldn’t help but burst into loud sobs.

The tears came fast, hot and uncontrollable. I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe, clutching his sleeve like a child.

He stood helplessly aside, not knowing what to do. Through tears, I wondered, why am I crying? After so many years and hardships, I endured without a word; I can’t even remember when I last cried.

I tried to stop, but the grief was too much. I let it out, finally, after centuries of silence.

Now, just seeing Grant, why can’t I help crying?

He was a reminder of everything I’d lost, and everything I’d survived.

But I couldn’t hold back, crying all my thousand years of grievances to him.

The cave echoed with my sobs, the sound of a heart finally breaking.

Grant raised his sleeve to wipe my tears. I laughed and cried, leaning against the stone wall, saying, "It’s so good to meet you. You know I have few friends; before dying, to have someone to talk to is really nice."

His smile was warm, his touch gentle. I felt safe, for the first time in years.

He stared at me and asked, "If you knew it would end like this, would you still have risked your life to save him back then?"

His question was soft, but it cut deep. I thought for a long time before answering.

I shook my head; even knowing, I would still save him. Everyone has their own trials in this world; what I owe Derek is my debt. Cause and effect, karma—the love back then and all the years together were truly joyful and happy.

My voice was steady, sure. I had no regrets.

I can’t deny the past because of today’s outcome.

The good was real, even if the ending wasn’t.

Grant sighed, "Do you have any wishes left?"

His voice was gentle, patient. I closed my eyes, thinking of the life I’d left behind.

I wanted to travel the human world again. Before meeting Lila, the days with Derek in the human world were my happiest—traveling, pretending to be a fortune teller on the street, even pretending to be a court advisor in one era, so happy.

I smiled, remembering the laughter, the freedom, the joy of being alive.

Grant looked at me, then, just like the first life, smiled gently, stroked my hair, and said, "Alright, I’ll accompany you; let this be my last good deed."

His promise was soft, but it meant everything. I nodded, tears streaming down my face.

When he carried me to the human world, we met Derek.

The city was bright, noisy, alive—skyscrapers looming, car horns blaring, the smell of hot dogs and rain on asphalt everywhere. I hid in Grant’s sleeve, watching the world go by.

Grant shrank me and hid me in his wide sleeve. Derek looked cold and weary, his face pale; perhaps Lila had hurt him. He glanced indifferently at Grant.

His eyes were empty, his shoulders slumped. I wanted to reach for him, but I stayed hidden.

Then walked past.

He didn’t look back. I let him go, finally, at last.

I secretly watched Derek from Grant’s sleeve; that was the last time I saw him.

The world moved on, and so did I.

My final wish was for him to get what he wanted.

I let go of my own happiness, hoping he’d find his.

Grant accompanied me in the human world for several years. When I died, he was by my side. I joked about how long I spent digging his grave back then, the lamp like a bean. In the dim light, he was gentle, truly compassionate. He said, "I know, thank you for digging the grave. Back then, I didn’t reincarnate, stayed by your side, you just didn’t see me."

His words were a comfort, a reminder that I was never truly alone.

I coughed blood, the monster cores I’d eaten beginning to backlash. I was in agony, but forced a smile: "This time, it’s your turn to dig my grave; just don’t be as miserable as I was."

We both laughed, the sound soft and sad. It was a good ending, as far as endings go.

He didn’t speak. In my last moments, he pressed his hand to my chest, golden light blazing. I heard his gentle whisper: "Mo, you’ve suffered too much. Don’t be afraid, I’ll help you cross over."

His magic was warm, soothing. I closed my eyes, letting go at last.

Epilogue—

Derek found Morgan several months later. In just a few months, the human world had changed as much as in a hundred years.

The world spun on, indifferent to grief. Derek wandered, searching for something he couldn’t name.

It was in a small-town church, nestled in a sleepy Southern town where the air was heavy with honeysuckle and the sound of church bells. He concealed himself; inside was an old priest. Strangely, though he believed, he neither preached nor meditated much.

The church was quiet, the air heavy with incense and dust. The priest moved slowly, his eyes kind, his hands steady.

Today he helped a neighbor find a lost dog, tomorrow helped a disabled aunt sell vegetables at the farmers’ market, the day after helped the widow at the edge of town weed and mow. Every day he ate and slept simply, always accompanied by a snow-white fox.

The fox was beautiful, its fur gleaming in the sunlight. It followed the priest everywhere, loyal and watchful, as friendly as a golden retriever, as clever as a tabby cat.

The fox followed him everywhere. When the priest searched for dogs, it watched eagerly; when he sold vegetables, it curled up obediently at his feet; when he weeded for the widow, it brought leaves, shading him while he rested, and roamed the woods to find wild berries to quench his thirst...

The townsfolk loved the priest and his fox. Children brought them treats, old ladies left flowers on the church steps. The fox was a local legend—some said it was a guardian angel, others a spirit in disguise.

Derek recalled what the angel in charge of souls told him. He said Morgan carried too much darkness, too many monster cores; even if not her fault, she bore the consequences, and should have suffered eternal torment in hell. But a master who had completed his good works scattered a thousand years of virtue just to help her cross, so the two entered human reincarnation together.

The angel’s words echoed in Derek’s mind, the stained glass of the church casting rainbows across the pews. Morgan was gone, but she wasn’t lost. She’d been given another chance, a new life.

To suffer the hardships of human life for many lifetimes.

It was a punishment and a gift, both at once. Derek wondered if she was happy, if she remembered him at all.

But Derek felt, maybe this life wasn’t so bitter after all.

He watched the priest and the fox, a strange hope blooming in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, Morgan had found peace.

While the priest was away, Derek revealed himself, wanting to touch the fox.

He knelt down, hand outstretched, voice soft. "Hey there, little one."

But the obedient fox instantly bristled, glaring at him, then darted away, jumping into the priest’s arms. Its dark eyes stared at him from the priest’s embrace.

The priest, not knowing what scared it, soothed its head. Apparently comfortable, it squinted and rubbed against his chest.

The priest chuckled, scratching the fox behind the ears. "It’s alright, Morgan. He’s just passing through."

A gust of wind passed; when the fox looked again, the man was gone.

The church was quiet once more, the world moving on. The fox curled up at the priest’s feet, eyes closing in peace. Somewhere, far away, a new story was beginning.