Muzan: My daughter can't be that weak!

The light faded, and silence returned.

Within the ice crystals, the priestess's figure, along with its radiance, silently disintegrated, turning into fine fragments of bone dust that scattered throughout the Infinite City.

Death?

It doesn't seem... that scary.

In the last moment before her consciousness faded, a faint sense of mockery even surfaced in her heart.

It's over, that's for the best.

However, the anticipated darkness did not immediately engulf everything.

A voice, piercing through the barriers of centuries, gently knocked on the door of her heart.

It was a gentle female voice, carrying the warmth of cooking smoke, as distant as if from another world:

"Ling, breakfast is ready."

Annoying…

She felt an instinctive, deep loathing, and her remaining consciousness tried to shut itself off.

They've been dead for hundreds of years, why bother chasing after these sounds and images that should have rotted away long ago?

Leave far away.

I am not Ling.

That name, along with everything associated with it, should have been buried long ago, along with that charred body, in that rainy night.

But the sound didn't disappear; instead, it became clearer and clearer, enveloping and dragging her.

She is falling.

Passing through the Infinite City, passing through the torrent of time, falling ever deeper into the depths of memory.

Then, the scenery changed.

Scenes she had buried deep in her soul began to surge up uncontrollably.

At fourteen, the cherry blossoms on the hill behind the shrine were in full bloom.

Her father's broad, warm hand covered her small hand, guiding her to write the blessing stroke by stroke on the offering paper.

The ink spread across the paper, and the mother knelt beside her, her eyes crinkling with a smile: "Our Ling will definitely become a very remarkable priestess in the future."

At sixteen, an epidemic that swept down from the mountain took away all the beauty of spring.

Her parents lay on a simple hospital bed, their thin, bony hands gripping her tightly, their breaths weak: "The shrine... I'm entrusting it to you, Rei."

But her hands were so small, how could they hold such a heavy entrustment and the desolation of the entire mountain?

At seventeen, she was already all alone.

Clean the vast, empty shrine and listen to the villagers' various prayers.

She helped the old woman find her lost goat, carefully bandaged the wounded hunter, and quietly shared the little rice left in the shrine's rice bin with the children who were watching her longingly.

At that time, she still believed that as long as one was devout and kind enough, the gods would see and show compassion.

Why... do I have to watch this even after I'm dead!

Get out! All of you, get out!

Her remaining consciousness screamed angrily, pounding her head with both hands, trying to dispel these damned hallucinations.

But the torrent of memories remains unmoved, still surging.

On a damp, rainy night, a ronin, barely clinging to life, collapsed in front of a shrine.

She dragged him in, cleaned his wounds, and cooked him some thin porridge. When he woke up, he said, "You are truly...a kind person, like a god."

Three days later, he left, bowing deeply: "I will definitely repay this kindness."

She stood on the stone steps waving, feeling a warm glow in her heart.

Then, the floods came.

The river flooded the fields, and locusts blotted out the sky.

Hungry villagers gathered in front of the shrine, their eyes not filled with pleading.

She later realized that it was a desperate look in her eyes, a look of needing to find a culprit to take the blame for all the misfortune in a desperate situation.

Later, a ragged monk, who appeared out of nowhere, stood in front of the crowd, pointed at her, and said, "It's her! I saw it with my own eyes, that night she was at the shrine with the ronin who was asking for lodging..."

Before he finished speaking, the crowd erupted in cheers.

"No wonder God no longer protects us!"

"A filthy priestess!"

"Offer her away! Offer her to the mountain god!"

She tried to explain, but her voice was drowned out by shouts.

Some people tore at her white clothes, others smashed the shrine windows. She saw the usually kind old woman with cold eyes; the children she had saved were throwing stones at her.

They stripped her of her shrine maiden robes and dressed her in coarse white blouses, garments of purity worn only as offerings to the gods.

But in their words, she was already impure.

As she was being tied to the altar, she saw the ronin. He stood on the outskirts of the crowd, head bowed, and turned to leave.

The torches ignited the pile of firewood.

When the heatwave hit, she finally understood: there are no gods in this world, or if there are, the gods... never look down on humankind.

The fire burned terribly, more painful than any wound.

She smelled the burning of her own skin and heard the fat crackling in the fire.

Then, the rain started to fall.

The heavy rain extinguished the fire, and with it, extinguished her last shred of hope that she might be saved. She lay on the charred pile of firewood, half her face disfigured, her body like a piece of burnt wood.

The villagers thought she was dead and scattered in panic.

As the moon rose, a man dressed in aristocratic attire, holding an umbrella, walked by as if taking a stroll.

He looked down at her, his eyes unfathomable.

"Do you hate it?" he asked.

She couldn't speak, but stared intently at him with the one eye that could still move.

"Then live on." He cut his hand, the blood falling onto her charred lips, "with this hatred."

Intense pain, then rebirth, the body is being reshaped, wounds are healing, and power surges throughout the body.

When she stood up, she saw her reflection in the water: pale skin, empty eyes, and a human face that could never be regained.

That night, at the foot of the mountain where the shrine was located, blood flowed like a river, and not a single person survived.

She stood amidst the pool of blood and corpses, raised her head, and gazed softly at the sky she had once devoutly believed in:

"See, I don't need you anymore."

The final moment.

On the Infinite City platform, the pale light within the ice crystals reached its peak.

Within that light, the priestess felt herself completely detach from her body, falling into deeper darkness.

ended.

As Ling, as a sacrifice, as a vengeful demon, as Upper Moon Two... all these identities should vanish.

She awaits her descent into the promised hell, where raging flames of karma will burn away all her sins, and countless hands will reach out from the fire, seize her, and drag her down.

Sure enough, light appeared ahead.

The firelight was intense, flickering, and terrifying.

Even knowing this, her broken soul still instinctively flinched, the fear of being burned to death etched deep within her soul.

"No...don't burn me..."

A faint, girlish sob escaped from the depths of her heart.

Just then, someone gently tugged at her sleeve.

This action is so familiar, so irritating.

When she was still young, some mischievous village children would tug at her sleeves, almost causing her to spill the sacred wine.

"Get out!" she shouted habitually, her voice trembling with tears, and turned around abruptly.

Time seemed to stand still.

Standing before her was not the hideous, murderous ghost she had imagined.

Instead, they were her parents who had long since passed away.

Their appearance was just like the last warm memory I had of them.

Fine lines appeared at the corners of my mother's eyes, and my father's smile was somewhat shy.

They were dressed in simple but clean clothes, their eyes filled with tears, looking at her with immense heartache and tenderness.

Her father's lips trembled, and her mother reached out and gently embraced her.

"Ling..."

The mother's voice choked with sobs, her warm hand stroking her long, now-gone hair. "My child... you've suffered so much, it must have been so painful."

Her father's embrace was broad and comforting. He said nothing, just held her tightly, as if trying to shield her from all the past hurts.

Ling froze, then abruptly pushed them away, forcefully wiping away the tears that had unexpectedly welled up on her face, her voice hoarse: "I don't need you, get away!"

She wanted to say that this is hell, and you shouldn't be here.

But her parents seemed to have seen through all the pretense and vulnerability beneath her hard exterior.

Her mother hugged her tightly again, her hot tears falling onto her shoulder.

"I'm sorry... It's all my fault. I didn't protect you well, and Ling suffered so much all by herself."

"This time, please let your mom and dad walk with you."

Her parents' hot tears fell on Ling's shoulder, and all her defenses and hatred crumbled at that moment.

"Dad... Mom..."

Like a child who had been lost for a long time and finally returned home, she cried loudly, her tears rolling down and dripping into nothingness, yet seemingly warm.

"I'm sorry... I... I turned into a monster... I killed many people... I..."

She was incoherent, wanting only to pour out all her grievances, fears, and sins.

"We know, we all know," her mother said softly, kissing her forehead. "It wasn't your fault. You suffered, you really suffered."

The father spoke, his voice hoarse: "You've already done your best. Leave the rest to us."

After a warm hug, the mother sang the lullaby that had comforted her child when he was little.

At that moment, she suddenly felt that the scorching sea of ​​fire in front of her was no longer so terrifying.

Because this time, she was no longer alone.