Chapter 796: The Person I Love

The old man busied himself all morning, yet the canola flowers he uprooted amounted to only a tiny fraction of the boundless floral sea.

I didn't sit idle while he worked. I scoured the area for useful clues and discovered that the old man had personally planted this sea of canola flowers for his wife ten years ago.

Just past noon, the old man returned to the house to clean himself up. He then left the village on foot, heading toward the city.

Driven by curiosity, I trailed right behind him.

A familiar main gate, a corridor that hadn't changed in years, and recessed wall lights casting a faint glow.

Jinghai Central Hospital!

The old man wove his way through patients and nurses, venturing alone to the deepest end of the seventh floor before stopping outside a special care ward.

Much like the scene I had witnessed in reality, the ward held only a single patient: a gray-haired woman paralyzed in bed.

The old man was well-acquainted with the duty nurse. After a brief greeting, he pushed the door open and went inside.

The patient lying in the bed had soft facial contours, her youthful beauty still faintly visible.

This had to be his wife. For her sake, the old man had spent ten years planting a hundred mu of canola flowers.

Sitting quietly by the bedside, he looked like a child waiting for a miracle—a heartbreaking sight.

He helped his wife turn over, cleaned her bedpan, and wiped her down with a clean towel. His movements were practiced and meticulous.

He sat in the chair beside the bed until the sun dipped in the west. Only then did he quietly stand up and leave.

The walk through the night was a long one. By the time he trekked from the city center back to the village and pushed his door open, another morning had arrived.

In the morning, he would shoulder his hoe and uproot the canola flowers he had personally planted; in the afternoon, he would walk to the city to care for his paralyzed wife.

The old man lived a highly regimented life. Watching him repeat this routine day after day as a bystander, I couldn't help but wonder. Why would such a person become a vessel for the Butcher's Will? His life trajectory had absolutely nothing to do with taking the lives of others.

As the sea of canola flowers continuously shrank, the colors of the old man's Dream Realm faded as well.

I lost track of how many mornings went by. One afternoon, when the old man entered Jinghai Central Hospital once again, I noticed a change. His wife had been moved out of the special care ward and transferred to the ICU.

His wife was suffering from lung failure and severe respiratory dysfunction. Only a lung transplant could cure her, but her failing body was entirely incapable of surviving such a major surgery. Her life could only be sustained through various medical machines and medications.

Family members were not allowed inside the ICU for visitations. During that period, the old man would sit in the hallway outside, remaining there for the entire afternoon.

By the time only half of the canola flower sea remained, his wife had pulled through the critical stage and was transferred back to her original ward.

The doctors, the nurses, and even the old man himself knew the truth: his wife's time was running out.

An indescribable sorrow permeated the ward. The doctors and nurses offered their verbal comfort, but the old man remained just as he had been—sitting quietly beside his wife, silently keeping her company.

By the time a mere quarter of the canola flower sea remained, his wife had been tortured by illness until she was practically unrecognizable on the hospital bed.

Her face swelled with severe edema, bedsores erupted across her body, her teeth withered and blackened, and her delicate facial features began to twist.

How could a perfectly vibrant person end up like this, bruised and battered by disease?

Watching his wife, the old man was lost in unknown thoughts. He gripped her swollen hand, a heart-wrenching expression on his face.

The colors of the Dream Realm quietly faded away. One early morning, the old man dug out the very last canola flower. He turned his head; the sky was no longer azure, and only a barren wasteland met his eyes.

Having painstakingly uprooted every single one of the hundred mu of canola flowers he had personally planted, the old man tossed his hoe to the ground. He returned to the house, changed into a completely fresh set of clothes, and set off toward the city like a pilgrim.

Realizing that the Dream Realm had reached its most crucial juncture, I followed closely behind.

The old man passed through the crowd and entered the familiar ward.

He cleaned his wife's bedsores and wiped her down. His movements were careful and incredibly gentle, exactly as they had been on the very first day he cared for her years ago.

Sitting quietly by the bed, the old man watched his comatose, paralyzed wife enduring the torment of her illness. He waited there until the sun set. Only then did he slowly rise, brush the back of his hand against her forehead, and slowly straighten up.

Raising his hand, he pulled the plug on her ventilator.

He didn't dare look back. He sat on the bench outside the door, looking as though his soul had been ripped away.

Fifteen minutes later, the duty nurse realized something was wrong and rushed over. His wife was hurried into the emergency room.

It wasn't long before a middle-aged man in leather shoes arrived. Upon seeing the old man, he grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. His lips trembled, but no words came out. His eyes were red and wet with tears.

The old man, who had been entirely silent since I entered the Dream Realm, finally looked up at his son, who stood taller than him. "Don't you think it's too painful for her to be kept alive like that, purely out of our selfishness? We're her closest family. If even we stop her from passing on..."

Before he could finish, the old man choked on his words. Cloudy tears slid down the deep wrinkles of his face.

It was a sight that moved everyone present.

The resuscitation efforts failed. The old man walked down that long night road just as he always did, but it looked as if he had lost a piece of himself. His shoulders slumped heavily, and he walked in fits and starts—almost as if he finally understood that the person waiting at the end of this road was gone forever.

Opening my eyes, I withdrew from the old man's Dream Realm.

I tucked the Paulownia Mulberry Talisman away and looked at the lonely old man in the hospital bed.

In a certain sense, he had indeed killed someone. That colorful crystal, which held special significance and likely symbolized humanity, had fallen out of his body the very moment he pulled the ventilator plug.

According to my agreement with the Black-Robed Anchor, I should kill him right now. I was supposed to kill this final vessel of the Butcher's Will.

Surging malevolent yin energy churned throughout the room, but in the end, I didn't strike. I withdrew my aura and slipped away silently, as if I had never been there at all.

Seven crystalline bodies forged from human emotion now floated within my sea of consciousness. I had my own plans.

The memories that surfaced upon the opening of my Spleen Aperture told me that the Butcher and I knew each other in the past. Moreover, the one who had actually murdered the other live show streamers wasn't him—it was me!

At the same time, I also had a pact with him. It seemed that, a long time ago, I had already known I would meet him again in the Deep Dream Layer.

'Since the old man isn't dead, the Butcher's Will still has a retreat path. I need to make good use of this. I might be able to wring even more out of the Butcher.' The Butcher and the Black Robe were fighting. My goal wasn't to fight to the death against either of them, but rather to figure out how to maximize my own benefits.

Summoning my Fate Ghost, I wound a few strands of black hair, woven with fate, around the old man's wrist. This gave me the leverage I needed to negotiate with the Butcher.

I wouldn't kill the old man, but his life had to rest in my hands.

By the time I walked out of Jinghai Central Hospital, the sky was already turning a faint gray. I pulled off my mask and exhaled a puff of white breath. "Some of those five victims have probably been discovered by now. I need to get out of here as soon as possible."

I took out my phone and dialed Chu Men's number. Someone answered the moment the call went through.

"I've arrived in Jinghai. The items are perfectly intact. I'm at Jinghai Airport right now."

Chu Men certainly hadn't let me down. "Did you encounter anyone strange at the bank?" I asked.

"A man in a uniform led me into the underground vault. I've already memorized the smile on his face—I can imitate it with at least eighty percent accuracy." Chu Men's voice was deep, steady, and entirely convincing.

"Excellent." I gave Chu Men the location of the demolition zone where Zhu Li lived and arranged to meet him there.

I had essentially finished the tasks the Black-Robed Anchor had entrusted to me. By now, he was likely still battling the Butcher's Will inside Zhu Li's Dream Realm. They might have even entered the Deep Dream Layer, and it could very well draw in the Traitors of the Live Show.

To ensure nothing went wrong on Zhu Li's end, I didn't return to Yan Shengnan's clinic. Instead, I headed straight back to the Apartment Building where Zhu Li and the Black-Robed Anchor were located.

Pushing open the iron door, I found everything inside exactly as I had left it. Nothing had changed.

Looking at the Black-Robed Anchor seated upright beside Zhu Li, I suddenly realized a problem. Time flowed at a completely different rate in the Dream Realm compared to reality. For the Black Robe to have been inside Zhu Li's dreamscape for this long without waking meant something unexpected must have happened.

'The Dream Immortal Chant Child Talisman hasn't given any hints. I have no idea what the Black Robe has encountered in the Dream Realm.' I didn't disturb him. Leaving my Fate Ghost behind to stand guard, I went downstairs to study the seven Crystals of Humanity while waiting for Chu Men.

An hour and a half later, a man wearing a trench coat and carrying a black cloth bag walked into view at the end of the dilapidated cement road.