Chapter Forty-Three: I Once Found a Ray of Light

“Everyone, please get up,” Phoenix said. “Come on, we’re neighbors, there’s no need to kneel to each other.”
She’d first heard the word “neighbors” from Tang Fei’s lips. It sounded both intimate and amusing to her, and she’d grown fond of being called that.
On New Star, she’d never had neighbors.
Besides, she was a princess of the Phoenix Empire, but the empire’s lands didn’t include the Old Earth.
This was land forsaken by the gods; these people were refugees, abandoned by the divine...
They could have chosen not to kneel, but they did so anyway.
It stirred in Phoenix an inexplicable sense of responsibility, as though if she failed to ensure their well-being, she herself would be at fault...
At her summons, everyone scrambled to their feet. Someone called out, “Your Highness, which country are you from?”
“The Phoenix Empire,” Phoenix replied with a smile.
“Oh, I saw that big bird on the plane... so it was a phoenix...”
“I heard the Phoenix Empire is incredible! Too bad I’ll never get a chance to see it for myself...”
“Your Highness, what’s it like up on New Star? There aren’t any monsters eating people, are there?”
“No wonder you’re so beautiful—you’re a princess...”
------
Phoenix patiently answered everyone’s questions, and when she could not, she simply smiled.
Her lessons in court etiquette had prepared her for this, teaching her how to handle such occasions, how to maintain her poise in public and win as much favor as possible.
This was not communication—it was a performance.
Yet Phoenix wanted to be more genuine, to pour more of her true feelings into these moments.
After all, this place meant something different to her.
“Your Highness, it’s time to go,” Bai Qi urged from her side.
Phoenix’s special status meant he’d found her before the other squads—a feat worthy of great merit.
But Old Earth was fraught with danger. They might have powerful weapons and formidable skills, but who could say what might happen?
Even the assassins of the Palace of No Worries had arrived. If anything happened to the princess under his watch, if she were injured or worse, he’d be as good as dead.
He wasn’t about to take that risk.
Phoenix nodded, waved farewell to everyone, and made her way toward the stardisk’s luminous ramp.
Step by step, her heart grew heavier with each ascent.
She reached the starship’s entrance and paused.
Turning back, she searched the crowd for a familiar figure.
While the others surged forward, he remained rooted in place, drifting out of step with the crowd, looking oddly out of place.
He hugged a pulse rifle to his chest, stroking it with a look of utter contentment, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.
Phoenix wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
To say nothing—yet the reluctance to part was overwhelming.
A thousand feelings surged through her, and her eyes filled with tears.
She remembered the first time they met, crawling out of the escape pod and seeing his stunned face...
When she awoke from unconsciousness, he was carefully chewing snakeskin leaves to treat her wounds.
When the man in black eyed her with lust, she’d worried Tang Fei would be cowed by power and abandon her—but instead he’d slyly winked at her...
In that instant, she felt safe—safer than even her own cultivation could make her.
When acid rain fell, he took off his own bamboo hat and put it on her head. When she tried to resist, he pressed her head down with his hand...
And in the cave, that thrilling moment of wild abandon...
All her memories were beautiful; the petty, tiresome, mean-spirited scenes of the past had all vanished without a trace.

“Tang Fei...”
Phoenix called out.
Tang Fei looked up, their eyes meeting, and he waved at her with that signature smile.
That smile was pure and dazzling, like a ray of sunlight.
She’d once found Tang Fei’s smile frightening, something that sent chills down her spine.
Now it seemed so warm, so familiar—she’d grown used to it.
“Do you remember the bet we made?” Phoenix called out.
The wind was rising, the rain falling, the sky darkening, and the distance between them was just a little too far...
It was as if everything in the world was conspiring to keep them apart.
So she had to raise her voice.
“I remember,” Tang Fei replied with a smile. “You lost.”
“I’ve prepared a gift for you,” Phoenix said.
“Where is it?”
“Guess.”
“...”
Are you going to guess if I’ll guess?
Tang Fei wanted to reply with that, but it would sound like the two of them were openly flirting.
If he really did, those Deathless soldiers nearby, watching like hawks, might just gun him down on the spot.
“And one more thing...” Phoenix waved to him and shouted, “Remember, my name is Zhong Yu Xiuxue.”
“Zhong Yu Xiuxue,” Tang Fei repeated softly, tasting the name.
It had a lovely ring to it, though it seemed it would take some effort to write.
“Take care!”
“I will,” Tang Fei replied with a smile.
“Stay alive!” Phoenix called, louder this time, her voice nearly breaking.
“I will.”
“Miss me!”
“...”
Phoenix didn’t hear his answer.
Maybe he would answer, maybe he wouldn’t.
But she heard the voice in her own heart, and the answer was perfectly clear.
Miss me!
Because I will miss you!
Was it the camaraderie of surviving hardship together, or a tender, budding love? She couldn’t say, and didn’t care.
They were about to part—perhaps this time, forever...
So let her be brave, just this once.
Phoenix turned and entered the stardisk, immediately hiding herself away in the restroom.
She didn’t want anyone to see her face, because she knew she was already weeping.
Her figure vanished from view.
When Bai Qi entered the hatch, he turned and gave Tang Fei a long look—deep and thoughtful, as if pondering some mystery.
More than a few young officers were surreptitiously sizing Tang Fei up, speculating about his relationship with the princess.
Her final words—“Miss me”—had been nothing short of sensational. If those three words reached the Empire, who knew what storm they might cause?

Of course, no one showed any emotion openly.
Officers and soldiers, in strict order of rank, filed into the stardisk.
Click!
The hatch sealed shut, the vessel slowly rose, and the scattered golden phoenix reassembled into a single radiant shape.
With a whoosh, it vanished from sight, leaving not even a lingering trace behind.
Tang Fei looked up at the gray sky, cold rain streaming down his face and hair.
“All right,” he whispered in reply.
The old man who’d been hiding came out, glanced at Tang Fei, and said, “If you like her, just say it! If you love her, go after her! What’s the point of hiding here wiping your eyes? So wishy-washy.”
At the word “wishy-washy,” Tang Fei couldn’t help but laugh.
When Phoenix had spoken to him earlier, he’d snapped at her for being “wishy-washy” too.
But she was a girl—a princess. Wasn’t she entitled to be a little wishy-washy?
Of course, he couldn’t admit any weakness in front of the old man.
Tang Fei wiped the rain from his face and retorted, “Who’s crying? Can’t you see it’s just the rain... Like her? Like what?”
He patted the pulse rifle in his arms and said, “With this in my hands, who needs a woman?”
“You think I don’t know you?” the old man snorted, mocking, “When she was here, you pretended to be all carefree and heartless, just because you’re scared to show your feelings and get nothing in return. Scared of losing face?”
“Lose face? I don’t even care about face,” Tang Fei shot back, finding the old man deeply annoying.
The old man squinted, studying Tang Fei’s face for a while, then asked in a low voice, “No regrets at all?”
Tang Fei was silent.
No regrets? Of course not.
Well, maybe a little...
After all, right now his heart felt hollow, as if a piece of it had been carved out.
But what could he do?
This ending had been inevitable from the start.
She was a favored guest of New Star, a princess of the Empire, a figure who drew every eye—she should be holding a glass of red wine, gliding through crowds in a gown slit to the thigh, basking in envy and admiration as the leading lady...
And what was he?
A refugee from the ruins? A hunter from the Bitter Mountains? A master of barbecue?
Or, as the old man put it: did she fall for your habitual lack of showers, your perpetual wild hair, or the thrill of never knowing where your next meal is coming from?
A person must know himself.
Tang Fei never used to, but now he did.
“I’m not worthy!” he told himself.
After a long moment, he finally said, “What’s there to regret? Doesn’t the book say: I once found a beam of light, and at sunset I gave it back to the sun. What did I lose? Nothing. That light wasn’t mine to keep.”
Smack!
The old man slapped Tang Fei on the head, scolding, “How many times have I told you? Stop reading ‘Zhiyin’, stop reading it! Read ‘Story Club’ instead... The stories in Story Club are much better. What kind of sentimental drivel are you filling your head with?”
“...”
Seeing Tang Fei fall silent again, the old man looked up at the pitch-black, lonely sky and said gently, “Young man, maybe your story is only just beginning.”
Distance isn’t the obstacle. Nor is status.
Hatred is.

(P.S. A new week begins—Old Liu rolls around, begging for votes.
Ladies and gentlemen, our story is only just beginning.)