Famine 85: Heaven’s Pulse, Life-Binding Stakes

With that shrill cry, countless ancient, blood-veined wooden spikes materialized before Si Zhiyan. Brimming with vivid crimson veins, as if alive, they spread out in front of him—countless, seamless—forming a massive wall hundreds of meters wide, sealing off every escape.

In the center of this wall of wooden spikes hung a string of milk teeth, bloody, swaying gently in the air.

Behind the spikes, myriad pairs of blood-soaked eyes and spectral hands could be seen clawing their way up.

Not good. Si Zhiyan lifted his eyes.

[Heaven’s Pulse, Life-Binding Stake]
Heaven’s pulse has declared the hour of your death.
Your destined day of demise is today.
For this world, for the greater good, you must be interred here.

How can you ensure your spear never misses?
The answer: make ten thousand copies!
Leave no gap for your enemy to escape—thus is destiny’s inevitability.

The cursed, blood-stained wall of spikes charged toward him with thunderous, overwhelming force!

In that instant, Si Zhiyan’s very soul seemed to lift out of his body; his mind raced, flickering through countless possible responses.

Room to dodge? None.
Potential gaps? None.
The shrine maiden’s thread? Too late!

In the blink of an eye, only one option remained.

—Dispel this half of his shadow avatar, withdraw to the farm, and act as if nothing had happened.

In the Sacred Tomb on the icy cliffs, when the shadow avatar was only heavily wounded, Si Zhiyan had coughed blood, his life nearly halved.

If the avatar was fully destroyed—what would become of him?

Si Zhiyan instantly understood what he should do. He should dispel his avatar now, immediately, to preserve as much of his strength as he could.

—But… what about those behind him?

But right behind him stood the farm.

That was two thousand three hundred ordinary players. And among them, five or six hundred were non-combatant service workers.

If this attack landed on the farm, how many would die?

If the fire dome was withdrawn and the Life-Binding Stakes and firestorm fell together, what would become of the farm? How many of his people would survive?

Don’t think about it—reason whispered at Si Zhiyan’s ear.

If you die here, the Eye’s assault stops. But how long will they survive on their own?

Save yourself—as long as you live, this is not the end. As long as the farm’s foundation endures, no matter how many times it falls, you can rebuild it.

Si Zhiyan believed these things.
……

But no matter how he reasoned.

At the instant that lethal curse brushed his skin—so close he could smell the blood in the air—Si Zhiyan did not move at all.

Si Zhiyan gazed up at the avalanche of spikes, and in that moment of deadly cold, reached an almost insane conclusion—

This decision was already made.

Perhaps, in the end, humans are simply incapable of being perfectly rational.

Si Zhiyan thought, quietly.

—

At the very instant the curse was about to pierce him, a warmth—familiar, gentle—swept around his back.

A golden phantom appeared at his back, took his wrist from behind, and raised his arm up high.

From Si Zhiyan’s fingertip, a burst of golden light erupted.

Brilliant radiance, vibrant as the new sun, lit up the blood-colored sky in an instant.

Buzz!—

And then, it was over in a flash.

The overwhelming, desperate [Heaven’s Pulse, Life-Binding Stakes] shattered before Si Zhiyan in the blaze of sunlight.

“Ah… sir.”

A familiar warmth brushed against the downy hairs at his ear.

It was Bian Xu.

Bian Xu’s voice was as ever, bright and light, with the hint of a smile in it.

Si Zhiyan gave a faint shudder.
So close, and so warm. That soft, solid body pressed gently to his back, hand clasping his wrist. For all the intimacy of the posture, it held not a shred of domination—on the contrary, it was… incredibly gentle.

That feeling, so profoundly familiar—it was like… the vines of the farm entwined around him.

So it was you, then. Si Zhiyan’s breath caught for a moment.

“I knew it would be you—because with you, I knew you’d make this choice.”

A fleeting softness brushed his wrist.
Si Zhiyan was wrapped in black, fitted gloves and all; only the thin skin at his neck and wrist exposed.

Bian Xu tilted his head and gently pressed a kiss to Si Zhiyan’s wrist.

Whispering:

“You will never become the High Priest. You will go farther—much farther—than he, than I, than any of us ever could.”

Bian Xu was always so unflappable, his trust in Si Zhiyan nearly blind.
It was as if, no matter how insurmountable the mountain, before Si Zhiyan it must inevitably be reduced to nothing beneath his feet.

I will always be with you.

When Si Zhiyan spoke, his voice carried the subtlest tremor.

“Where did I… first meet you, Xu?”

Bian Xu’s soft golden phantom grinned slyly, lifted his chin, left hand behind his back, right hand snapping his fingers.

With a clap, countless bursts of radiant sunlight flared into the sky, floating like dozens of miniature suns.

“…As for that, let’s save the story for after the fight.”

“I can’t keep this state up for long, so please give your orders, sir.”

“And—one thing I have to say up front, sir…”
Bian Xu’s luminous eyes dropped, and he scratched his head.
“When I appear like this—the farm’s [Weeder]… can’t operate.”