In Hell, many had already heard the name Anbaixiu, and countless devils were inquiring about news of him.
They all longed to know what trick had allowed a sinner condemned to Hell to escape the punishment of an Archduke of Hell, even gaining Zariel's recognition and attaining a status far exceeding that of ordinary devils.
This could no longer be explained by deception alone—it had to be outright brainwashing or hypnosis, right?
Much like what the Lord of Hell had once done to Zariel... Could it be that the Lord of Hell had placed some secret command in Zariel's soul, and this Mr. Lich had uncovered the passphrase, allowing him to seize complete control of Zariel's mind?
Others claimed Zariel had hopelessly fallen in love with the lich, spending every day sucking on his bones. Only love could blind someone so thoroughly—even a fallen angel was no exception.
Conspiracy theories began to spread, fermenting into thousands of variations in a matter of days. Such was the convergence of all malice, where slander could spawn countless forms.
Yet these rumors could never shake Zariel's standing in Hell, nor could they affect the fallen angel. It was just idle gossip; there were already countless devils who cursed Zariel to die a gruesome death every single day, and Zariel was sick of hearing it.
What truly irked Zariel was still Anbaixiu. The lich seemed busy with bank affairs, and everything was progressing smoothly and systematically, but Zariel felt more and more sidelined.
The investment shares in the bank hadn't changed, and Zariel remained the primary shareholder, yet the Archduke helplessly discovered an inability to meddle in bank operations. It wasn't that Zariel was explicitly forbidden, but whenever Zariel chimed in with unsolicited suggestions, Mammon would curse the fallen angel into oblivion, as those so-called proposals would cause their operating costs to skyrocket.
Mammon would blurt out bluntly, "Shut your mouth if you don't know what you're doing, and go hack a few more demons to pieces on the Blood River battlefield if you've got time to waste! What's wrong with lying back and raking in coin? Why go looking for grief?!"
Zariel was nearly furious enough to duel Mammon.
Still, Zariel had to face facts: economics was simply not the archduke's forte, and none of Zariel's subordinates had that talent either.
Thus, Zariel set sights on Anbaixiu.
After all, his was the soul of a sinner that had fallen into the Archduke's hands. Under the laws of Hell, Anbaixiu rightfully should have become a slave, with life and death entirely at Zariel's mercy.
The Archduke of Hell did not believe Anbaixiu's nonsense about being here yet not here, or some special superposition state... Most of that was likely utter hogwash invented by the lich. Consequently, Zariel recently abandoned bank affairs entirely, pulling out every infernal grimoire within reach to scrutinize Hell's legal codes and statutes, vowing to firmly grasp Anbaixiu in hand. Only then would the bank truly fall under Zariel's control.
Anbaixiu was not unaware of this, but he was not worried in the slightest.
For Zariel only understood Hell, knowing nothing of alchemy.
The magic mirror was an extraordinary alchemical product, an artifact created by the God of Alchemy after breaking through ruin to rise anew, advancing back to intermediate deity status.
At first, it had indeed been limited to simple communication. But the fascinating part of alchemy lay in the continuous evolution of the concept itself. The magic mirror's internal core had been upgraded time and again, and because Anbaixiu and the God of Alchemy shared an inseparable bond, what Anbaixiu knew, the God of Alchemy knew as well.
Among that knowledge, the most valuable was unquestionably the entirety of the Shadow Weave's secrets.
Anbaixiu had shared this knowledge with the God of Alchemy without hesitation. As a result, the new generation of magic mirrors already incorporated the special properties of the Weave—though since it had nothing to do with casting magic, that mysterious Goddess of Magic voiced no displeasure.
Nowadays, Anbaixiu could be understood as a ghost hiding inside a "pseudo-Weave," with merely a single strand of hair left behind in Hell.
If Zariel wanted to drag him out, the Archduke would first have to comprehend the Weave, then understand alchemy, and finally face the most difficult and crucial step—destroying the original magic mirror housed within the God of Alchemy's divine realm, thereby cutting off Anbaixiu's ability to shift freely through the network.
Unfortunately, the God of Alchemy was not the Kuo-toa Goddess; lacking any mental psychosis, how could he possibly abandon his divine realm?
Thus, Anbaixiu was unconcerned about anything Zariel might do to him. Nor did he pay much heed to these minor troubles in Hell. Right now, he had a far more important matter to attend to.
In the depths of the Underdark, the Rose of Decay had changed back into her original long black gown. Standing before the magic mirror, she quietly gazed at Anbaixiu within.
Her expression was tranquil, as though the figure in the mirror was not the person she had yearned for day and night, but merely an old friend she hadn't seen in a long time.
Anbaixiu remarked with a sigh, "Your emotions are gradually fading. Over the past few days, haven't you also felt your ability to think slipping away, your bouts of dazed staring growing longer, and your sense of time vanishing?"
The Rose of Decay nodded and said calmly, "More or less. But the feeling isn't bad."
Anbaixiu fell silent. The soul of the Rose of Decay was closing in on itself, much like his own state when he had first become a wraith. Having lost all desire, she was gradually relinquishing even the capacity to think.
This was why Anbaixiu had tried to have Melina hide the truth of his resurrection. Regrettably, Melina was clearly incapable of keeping a secret, and within a few days, the Rose of Decay had discovered it.
After confirming that Anbaixiu had been successfully resurrected, her delight lasted less than half a day before the Rose of Decay began slipping into an "end-of-life" state. Her condition was slightly better than Anbaixiu's had been as an artifact spirit; she could perhaps hold out for ten days to a fortnight before falling into absolute dormancy, turning into an unmoving corpse or a zombie devoid of thought.
The Rose of Decay said to Anbaixiu, "Perhaps this is the destiny of the undead—never able to find fulfillment, and thus forever tormented. Yet once their desires are fulfilled, it marks their total demise. In any case, I am glad my final longing was tied to you. Now that I have seen you return to life, I have no regrets."
Once, all the Rose of Decay had desired was the destruction of Ryan. Yet across countless ages, she had been powerless, suffering failure after failure. It was Anbaixiu who had helped her fulfill that wish, and at that moment, Anbaixiu became deeply bound to the desire to destroy Ryan.
By the time the royal family of Ryan was thoroughly ruined and the Ryan Empire teetered on the brink of collapse, the Rose of Decay discovered that she had unknowingly placed Anbaixiu on an equally vital pedestal.
From then on, her desire shifted to resurrecting Anbaixiu.
The Rose of Decay did not know whether such a transformation of desires was unique or if all liches could do this, but she was now satisfied. An unprecedented sense of fulfillment filled her soul, and the exhaustion built up from enduring all this time came flooding in, leaving her wanting nothing more than to sleep soundly, thinking of nothing at all.
Gazing at the smiling Rose of Decay, Anbaixiu said firmly, "But this is not true fulfillment. This is merely evading other possibilities—anchoring one's soul to a fragile crutch, only to shatter into pieces across the floor when that prop is removed, and calling it an artistic ending. Lady Rose, we are both legends. Our lives should not end like this."
The Rose of Decay replied serenely, "Although I feel fine right now, I am willing to trust your judgment. You are always right... But what do you intend to do? You want to stop an undead from reaching her end—do you understand what that entails?"
Anbaixiu smiled and said, "It means I create another miracle."
Anbaixiu reached out, took off the clown mask from his face, and passed it out through the magic mirror.
"Put on this mask, Lady Rose. It can buy you a few days—enough time for me to figure out a solution!"
Why did so many people choose the Potion of Youth—costing hundreds of thousands of gold coins a bottle—preferring to drink until penniless and build up complete tolerance rather than transform into undead, even though they knew undead were immortal?
It wasn't merely because the undead were hideous. When living beings prolonged their lives, they were extending not just life itself, but the sensations of living.
And the undead were profoundly devoid of feeling.
The undead felt no pain, no fatigue, and in most cases no anger, happiness, or grief. Like cold machines, they acted purely on instinct.
In the eyes of many, this could not even be called living; it was merely a notebook with its memories intact, flipping a few pages when the wind blew, creating the illusion of moving on its own. Liches were comparatively higher beings, able to choose their obsessions and retain a solitary splash of emotional color. Other low-tier undead possessed only the base instincts to feed and slumber, virtually incapable of thought.
The members of the Elegy Poetry Society were not ordinary undead; each possessed traits transcending the ordinary, making them appear far more vivid. Ask any necromancer in the wilderness, and they would tell you that the clattering and scraping of bones inside a castle was as lively as undead ever got.
Yet no matter how extraordinary, when a desire was fulfilled, it was tantamount to pulling out the sole pillar supporting the soul.
Unless a new pillar could be provided for the Rose of Decay.
And so, Anbaixiu took off his clown mask and handed it to the Rose of Decay.
Having cast aside all wants and desires, the Undead Queen took the clown mask. After a moment of silence, she said to Anbaixiu, "If you give this to me, what about you?"
Anbaixiu smiled and said, "It's only a loan to test it out. Don't worry, my fond memories are enough to sustain me for a few days. During this time, I will find a way to save you."
Caressing the exquisite mask, the Rose of Decay asked once more, "If this is my fate, will you still save me?"
The question gave Anbaixiu pause.
Memories rippled to the surface. One evening many years ago, under a starry sky, a young girl had bathed her face in tears and asked him, "You say you won't save him because fate is already sealed. But what if the death you foresaw wasn't someone else's, but mine?"
How had he answered back then?
It seemed he hadn't answered at all.
At that time, Anbaixiu had watched his companion die with his own eyes without lifting a finger, knowing there was nothing he could do.
And because of that very matter, the young druid girl ultimately left the adventuring party, never to appear in Anbaixiu's life again. Only decades later in the Emerald Dream Forest did he hear her name once more, but by then, even her great-grandchildren were frail with age.
All these years later, having traversed from life into death and returned to live once more,
this time, he could finally give a serious answer.
"Fuck fate! I will save you, and I can save you, just as I saved myself!"
Anbaixiu answered with absolute resolve.
Indeed, every divination wizard was a scoundrel—no matter how many years passed, they would always end up playing fast and loose with the Goddess of Fate before casting her aside.
This time, Anbaixiu simply refused to yield. Even if he saw a prophecy of the future, he would exhaust every ounce of his power to save the Rose of Decay, as if saving that younger self of his.
Watching Anbaixiu's impassioned expression, the Rose of Decay tried placing the clown mask onto her face.
"How does it feel?" Anbaixiu asked hurriedly.
The Rose of Decay hesitated for a moment, then said, "I feel nothing at all."
"How could that be?" Anbaixiu was astonished. This was an artifact of Oghma, allowing even an artifact spirit like him to truly experience all kinds of emotions.
Removing the mask, the Rose of Decay handed it back to Anbaixiu and said, "It seems Oghma didn't permit you to lend the mask to others as you please."
Irked, Anbaixiu put the mask back on and grumbled, "Sharing knowledge with someone doubles the knowledge, and feelings should be the same. Oghma is truly stingy."
Such blasphemous words could only slip so casually from Anbaixiu's lips, yet the clown mask showed no offense. Once fastened over his face again, it dutifully restored Anbaixiu's vivid sensations.
"No rush. I have other ways."
Anbaixiu quickly produced some gray powder. This was the dream powder he had just obtained from Leira, capable of plunging someone into the Synesthesia Dreamscape anytime, anywhere.
And within the dream, even the undead could experience the sensations of the living.
Anbaixiu wanted to revitalize the Rose of Decay first before considering how to resolve this problem once and for all.
"While you are in the dream, I need to inspect your soul. You don't mind, do you?" Anbaixiu asked.
Without a word, the Rose of Decay showed her answer through action. The Undead Queen grabbed the dream powder, drew it into her mouth, and rapidly drifted into the dreamscape.
Anbaixiu lifted the Rose of Decay onto the bed, then extended a slender filament from the magic mirror, connecting it between her brows.
This was a sensory filament extracted from his own soul. It looked terrifying, but to the current Anbaixiu, it was merely like a strand of hair—he no longer needed to flay and mince his soul just to draw out a thread.
After all, during his rebirth, two Archdukes of Hell had pumped millions of soul coins into him. Anbaixiu's current soul strength could no longer be estimated by normal metrics; separating a single filament with his mind posed no difficulty whatsoever.
The Rose of Decay also trusted Anbaixiu implicitly. Her soul held no defenses, allowing Anbaixiu to peer into her every memory without keeping a single secret from him.
If an undead's demise was brought about by losing their desire, and Anbaixiu could not permanently restore the senses of a living human to the Rose of Decay, could he forcibly implant a desire into her by altering her soul?
Anbaixiu quickly found the answer.
It was indeed possible.
The soul of the Rose of Decay still held a wealth of memories related to Ryan. With a simple alteration—converting her hatred for the Ryan royal family into hatred for all people of Ryan—she could be restored to her former self.
Or, he could modify the wish she had just fulfilled.
The Rose of Decay had only wished to resurrect Anbaixiu; now that Anbaixiu was revived, her wish had been accomplished.
Yet what if that wish encompassed more than mere resurrection?
For example...
Anbaixiu pondered for a moment, and the filament of soul began weaving alterations within the Rose of Decay's soul.
Weaving the soul, weaving dreams—bringing her back to life once more!
Chapter 540