75: Chapter 75 The Spiritual Musician's Memories

On the outskirts of the Savage Beast Forest, after the cleanup, the woods were much quieter; the roars of the Savage Beasts gradually faded into the distance, like the lingering ripples on the sea after a storm had ebbed.

Only the sound of the Lingxi River flowing in the distance served as a gentle accompaniment, passing through the branches and leaves of ancient trees, through moss-covered rocks, and through this silent forest forgotten by the gods of the Savage Land, like the oldest lullaby on the Savage Continent.

The setting sun was sinking in the west, and golden-red light spilled through the gaps in the canopy, as if the gods of the Savage Land had used their fingers to draw beams of golden light into the dark, dense forest. The beams fell upon the rotting leaf-covered ground, upon the moss-covered rocks, and upon the rough bark of the ancient trees, just like golden ink smudging across the oldest canvas of the Savage Land, dyeing this forest, once filled with blood and shadows, in a layer of gentle golden-red.

Wang Sheng walked in front, carrying Zhao Linger on his back.

His footsteps were steady, like the most calming drumbeat on the Savage Continent, and every step landed on the golden patches of light cast by the setting sun, as if a golden path were extending beneath his feet.

Spirit power flowed slowly within him, and his Warrior Rank 4 physique made carrying someone over a long distance effortless, yet he deliberately slowed his pace—not out of exhaustion, but because the girl on his back was pressing her face against the nape of his neck.

Her breathing was warm and long, like a spring stream flowing over his skin, one breath after another, like the gentlest rhythm of a Spirit Sound Master; he did not want his pace to be too fast and jostle her.

Murong Xue and Liu Ruyan were on guard twenty meters behind; the two maintained a tacit distance, neither too far nor too close, just enough to leave sufficient space for the two in front.

The Holy Light Knight's lips curved slightly; she glanced at the back of Wang Sheng carrying Zhao Linger, then shook her head gently. Liu Ruyan said nothing, but a flash of understanding passed through her misty, smoke-like eyes.

The White Deer scouted the path fifty meters ahead, the Deer Spirit Archer's beast ears twitching slightly in the sunset, capturing the faintest sounds in the woods, while the Elf Archer maintained a guard at the rear with their bowstring half-drawn.

The entire team was like a necklace strung together with golden thread by the gods of the Savage Land, moving quietly and orderly toward Guangming Village.

Zhao Linger's body pressed against Wang Sheng's back.

After her injury, she was so weak she could barely lift her hand; the white bandage on her right arm wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder like silver thread entwining white jade, yet her left arm was still looped around Wang Sheng's neck.

Her slender fingers unconsciously toyed with the edge of his collar; those fingers were like white jade carved from moonlight by the gods of the Savage Land, and her fingertips traced invisible circles on the edge of his golden armor, like moonlight falling on the edge of sunlight, over and over again.

Her body was soft and warm, her petite frame lying against his broad back like a weary kitten that had found the warmest nest.

The form-fitting cut of her Spirit Vine combat suit outlined her devilish figure completely; her slender waist was small enough to be held in one hand, a curve seemingly pinched gently by the fingers of the gods of the Savage Land, with the shallow indentations at her waist resembling two tiny whirlpools, and the edge of the Spirit Vine belt accentuating a stunning curve.

Her chest pressed against his back, rising and falling slightly with the rhythm of his walk; that soft sensation transmitted through the thin combat suit, like two warm clouds gently pressing against his back with each breath.

The full curves were like two full moons sculpted by the hands of the gods of the Savage Land, rounded and plump as they were lifted by the plates of the Spirit Vine armor, forming an extreme contrast with her petite body, like a contradiction on the Savage Continent that one could not take their eyes off of.

Her legs were crossed around his waist.

The legs of her Spirit Vine combat suit had been torn in several places during the battle, revealing skin like congealed fat, so fair and delicate it was almost transparent.

The skin on the inner thighs shimmered with a warm, moist luster in the golden light of the setting sun, like white jade finely polished with gold dust by the gods of the Savage Land.

The lines of her legs were long and firm, from the back of the knee to the ankle, like an artifact carved by the hands of the gods of the Savage Land; every curve was just right, the curve of her calves slender and beautiful, her ankle bones slightly protruding like two pearls soaked in moonlight.

Her short hair looked like fine amber in the setting sun; the ear-length hair was slightly dampened by battle and sweat, and a few strands clung to the side of her fair neck, like lines drawn with a gold pen by the gods of the Savage Land.

Her neck was slender and long, an elegant curve like a swan's extending from her chin to her collarbone, appearing as if plated with a layer of warm gold dust in the golden-red light of the sunset.

Zhao Linger buried her face in the nape of his neck, her warm breath spraying against his skin, one breath after another, like the gentlest musical notes of a Spirit Sound Master.

She closed her eyes; the hearing of a Spirit Sound Master allowed her to hear Wang Sheng's heartbeat—steady, powerful, like the most calming drumbeat on the Savage Continent. "Boom, boom, boom," each beat resonated in her perception like a golden bell tolling, penetrating his chest cavity, penetrating the metallic texture of the golden armor, penetrating all the clamor of the Savage Continent, and striking directly at the softest place in the bottom of her heart.

She remembered many things.

During her freshman year, she fell in the cafeteria; her tray flipped, soup spilled everywhere, and books were scattered all over the floor. Some people around laughed, others walked around her. It was Wang Sheng who helped her pick up the scattered books. When he crouched down, the sunlight just happened to shine in through the cafeteria window, landing on his profile. The golden light was just like the sunset on the Savage Continent right now, and she saw the tips of his ears turn red.

At that moment, her instinct, for the first time, captured a person's heartbeat—clearer than the noise of the cafeteria, clearer than the clatter of bowls and chopsticks, clearer than everyone's laughter and chatter. "Boom, boom, boom," steady, powerful, like a young sun.

During the autumn outing in her sophomore year, she secretly brought chili sauce to prank someone, but ended up crying from the spice herself, tears and snot streaming down her face, looking as disheveled as a kitten caught in the rain. It was Wang Sheng who handed her tissues. He didn't ask anything, he just handed her tissues—one, two, three. His hand was steady as he handed her the tissues, but she heard his heartbeat; it had slightly accelerated. It wasn't mockery; it was... heartache.

A Spirit Sound Master can distinguish the reason for every accelerated heartbeat; an angry heartbeat is rapid and intense, a nervous heartbeat is chaotic and jumping, but a heartbeat of heartache is a gentle acceleration, as if a piece of music had inadvertently shifted to a softer key.

From that moment on, she learned to distinguish the heartbeat of "heartache."

At the New Year's Eve party in her junior year, she sang a song. She stood on stage, and the lights were too bright to see the audience; the cheers below were like the tide, but she couldn't hear anything. She only listened to one person's voice—the sound of him clapping. She could tell; a Spirit Sound Master can distinguish everyone's voice, and everyone is different. And she, amidst the cheers, like the most precise acoustic probe of a Spirit Sound Master, accurately captured Wang Sheng's applause: unhurried, steady, and powerful, the same rhythm as his heartbeat when he picked up her books in the cafeteria, and his heartbeat when he handed her tissues during the autumn outing. "Boom, boom, boom."

A Spirit Sound Master can distinguish everyone's voice, but she, since her sophomore year, had only listened to his.

Three years. She spent three years sitting in the third row behind him, listening to his heartbeat, listening to his breathing, listening to the sound of him turning pages, listening to the sound of him coughing, listening to the warmth in his voice when he occasionally spoke to the person next to him. She never spoke.

The acoustic talent of a Spirit Sound Master allowed her to hear sounds that no one else could hear, but ironically, the words she most wanted to say—for three years, she couldn't utter a single note.

Until crossing into the Savage Land, until the toxic mist of the Ink-scaled Python rushed toward them, until she blocked it for him for three seconds in the toxic mist, until this very moment, as she lay on his back, listening to his steady, powerful heartbeat, like the most calming drumbeat on the Savage Continent, she suddenly felt that three years was enough. She had waited for three years; on this Savage Continent where death could come at any moment, she did not want to wait any longer.