Dance Of The Dragons Chapter 483 : The Final War (6)

Chapter 483: Chapter 483 : The Final War (6)

Qiao Wei trembled, his body wracked with a bizarre mix of awe and confusion. His mouth hung agape, brows furrowed in a question mark etched on his face. The blade in his hand wobbled, its deadly purpose dissolving.

A ragged gasp escaped him as his arm lost strength, the weapon missed its initial trajectory and slashed a wound across Xie Jianshen’s cheek before it clattered to the ground with a tallic clang.

Across from him, a crimson stain blossod on Xie Jianshen’s cheek, mixing with tears that spilled from the latter’s eyes.

A choked sob, thick with unshed tears, threatened to erupt from Qiao Wei’s throat, but sothing far more violent surged up first. A tallic tang flooded his mouth, followed by a hot gush that erupted in a crimson spray. Only then did his gaze drop down, finally registering a spear’s pointy tip protruding from his chest.

Qiao Wei’s eyes fluttered close as he fell backward. A pair of familiar arms grabbed him from behind and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Jianbao..."

Zhang Fengxi wept, tears cascading down his face like a relentless waterfall. Qiao Wei, eyelids fluttering open with agonizing slowness, found himself gazing upon his tear-streaked visage.

The throbbing in his head, a relentless torntor, gradually receded, replaced by an unsettling yet strangely peaceful sensation that seeped through his body. Exhaustion, vast and all-encompassing, settled over him, threatening to pull him under.

A trembling hand grasped his chin and forced him to stay awake. A soft groan escaped Qiao Wei as he clung to life with everything he had.

"Jianbao, do you rember...?" Zhang Fengxi asked, his voice hoarse from the relentless grip of grief.

Qiao Wei’s lips quivered slightly.

"W...hat?"

Zhang Fengxi’s fra shuddered with sobs.

"Don’t you rember that we are married...?"

"..."

"And we have two very cute children, Jianbao... A little tiger and a little dragon."

Qiao Wei sighed.

A little tiger and a little dragon?

Impossible. He only had one son... and the baby died within a week of his birth...

"N...o..."

"Little Yu..."

Xie Jianshen crawled on his knees and grasped one of Qiao Wei’s hands.

"Little Yu, look at . I am your big brother. Your only brother."

Qiao Wei slowly turned his head to look at Xie Jianshen.

"I was the one who raised you after our mother passed away.

When you were five years old, you ruined Mother’s painting by accident and Imperial Father punished you to kneel in Fuxi Palace’s ancestral hall for three days and three nights. I knelt together with you and rubbed your legs with an ointnt after we were done.

When you were ten years old, you won your first sword competition. To celebrate, we sneaked into the Human Realm to play and eat to our heart’s content. I bought you a colorful pinwheel and a rabbit lantern before we left.

When you were sixteen years old and just differentiated into an oga, you cried in my arms the entire day and night, telling

that you disappointed the entire family..."

Xie Jianshen’s fingers clamped onto Qiao Wei’s hand, a desperate lifeline amidst the overwhelming emotions threatening to drown him. Tears, unchecked and icy, spilled from his eyes, each one a searing brand upon Qiao Wei’s bloodied palm. Composure, a fragile thread already, frayed and snapped, leaving behind a tangle of raw grief.

"Little Yu, I am your brother. I really am your brother. Look at !" Xie Jianshen cried out, every single word a testant to his grief.

Qiao Wei’s breaths ca in shallow rasps. He managed a ghost of a squeeze at Xie Jianshen’s hand. It was but a flicker of life, a fading ember struggling against the encroaching darkness.

"B...rother. "

The single word escaped his lips, swallowed whole by a crimson cough that erupted from his chest.

"Little Yu...!"

Qiao Wei’s eyes fell shut, but another person tugged at his other hand urgently. It was Jiang Muchen.

"Little Uncle, please don’t close your eyes. Please stay awake. Stay with us."

Qiao Wei sighed.

"Mu...chen..."

"It’s , it’s ," Jiang Muchen pressed Qiao Wei’s bloodied hand against his wet cheek. "Little Uncle, please don’t go. Don’t leave

again."

"I... sorry..." Qiao Wei coughed. "I... have committed a grave cri..."

"You haven’t," Xie Jianshen interjected. "You were under the First Demon King’s evil spell. Little Yu, you have been very, very brave. You are the greatest pride and joy of the Heavenly Empire."

Qiao Wei’s gaze moved downward and saw tendrils of black demonic aura seeping out of his body. They dissipated into thin air after being neutralized by the Three Realm Spear protruding from his chest.

As the First Demon King’s grip over him weakened, Qiao Wei’s mories slowly returned.

His story did not end when he drew his last breath in Fuxi Palace. The pain and suffering of his first life had been rewritten when fate granted him a second chance. He had married Zhang Fengxi, and though his ti with him was cut short after birthing their twin sons, the babies lived on.

His brother, too, had walked a different path, ascending to the position of the Heavenly Emperor.

A soft smile tugged at Qiao Wei’s lips. A bittersweet peace settled over him. It wasn’t a perfect ending, but there were no regrets. He had loved, he had fought, and he had protected those he held dear.

"Feng...xi," he called out to the Supre General.

"I am here," Zhang Fengxi whispered. Hands, strong yet trembling with a love that transcended words, cradled him. These were the hands he knew intimately, the ones that had held him countless tis before -- a silent language of comfort woven from imasurable love and tender affection.

"I am... sorry..." Qiao Wei sobbed as he tilted his head to look at Zhang Fengxi one last ti. "P-please... wait..."

"I will wait," Zhang Fengxi cradled Qiao Wei’s form close, the warmth fading with each passing mont. Tears stread down his face as he pressed a gentle kiss against Qiao Wei’s cooling forehead. "I will wait no matter how long. Please co back soon, my Baby."

With a final, shuddering breath, Qiao Wei’s features softened into a serene smile. As his eyelids fluttered closed, a wave of peace washed over him, carrying away the burdens and pain that had weighed him down for so long. He was finally at rest.

A primal wail, raw and anguished, ripped from Jiang Muchen’s throat.

Xie Jianshen remained transfixed, his gaze lingering on Qiao Wei’s still form for a long, heavy mont.

"Supre General," he called out after so ti, his voice laced with a chilling edge.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Zhang Fengxi answered without tearing his gaze away from Qiao Wei’s bloody face.

"Bring

the First Demon King’s head," Xie Jianshen commanded, his eyes hardening. A flicker of malice ignited within them, mirroring the grim resolve settling on Zhang Fengxi’s face.

"Yes, Your Majesty."