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墨書 Inktalez
"What exactly do you want?" The man in red spoke coldly. He was strikingly beautiful, almost ethereal, with skin so pale it was nearly translucent. His long fingers revealed blue veins beneath, and his beauty surpassed that of any woman. A black eye mask embroidered with lotus flowers adorned his face, yet it did nothing to diminish his allure; rather, it made him appear even more seductive, like a poppy swaying in the wind.
An elderly servant dressed in gray stood silently nearby, expressionless as he gazed at him for a while before ultimately saying nothing and leaving quietly. A terrifying scar marred his throat, appearing grotesque in the night, while the graying hair at his temples and the wrinkles on his face hinted at the sorrows he had endured.
The Red-Clad Man, filled with pride and defiance, watched the old man's retreating figure and said coldly, "If you dare to harm her, I will not let you go. Even if that person is you, I will not spare you." After speaking, he seemed to weaken entirely, coughing violently in the wind, a trace of crimson appearing at the corner of his mouth.
The old man's footsteps paused momentarily; he still said nothing, but a slight change flickered across his expression.
If only you could see that even if you punish me or blame me, you would forgive me for a lifetime. A woman who exists like a demon in this world must not remain here. Moreover, she has hurt you so deeply and ignored your suffering. Watching you nearly perish for her while she remained cold-hearted and indifferent—never even glancing your way—this detached woman should not have been loved by you. Yet it is too late now. So let me sever the ties that bind your heart in this world.
The old man closed his eyes and silently withdrew into the night.
The Red-Clad Man's weakened body could no longer hold up; he leaned against the wall beside him, supporting himself with his hands as he coughed violently.
He realized how useless he still was; he thought himself a genius but had become so weak after merely breaking one curse.
Moreover, he couldn't help but touch the scar on his chest—a mark she also bore in the same place. He wondered what she was doing at that moment and if she was well.
But thinking of her indifference and distance brought a bitter smile to his lips. This was all self-inflicted; he had no one else to blame.
He looked up at the place where the old man had disappeared. For so many years, he had remained silent, enduring in silence. He should believe that he would not truly go through with that act.
Otherwise, even if he was the most important person in his life, he still could not forgive.
In the darkness, the Red-Clad Man clenched his fists tightly, his beautiful red attire stained with blood from his cough. The crimson droplets made Mei Luo appear even more pale, as white as snow, alluring yet ghostly.
The red was dazzling, brilliant, passionate, almost illuminating the world... Yet red was also the loneliest color, a color of pride. Was this what he had become, a figure lost in longing? He was destined to fade away like this red garment... He despairingly closed his eyes. Little did he expect that throughout his life he would bear countless curses, only to be ultimately backfired by the Emotional Curse. He could never feel love; each time he did, it brought him pain, and it could never be undone. Because that person would never love him. Never.
To break the Emotional Curse, the one he loved must also deeply love him in return and willingly nourish a mandrake with her blood. The day the mandrake bloomed would be the day he could consume it and lift the curse.
But... he smiled bitterly. How could that person ever fall in love with her and willingly pour her blood into a mandrake for him?
The old man who had not left remained hidden in the shadows, watching his suffering and his blood, his gaze growing colder. He had already endured too much pain; he absolutely would not allow anyone else to hurt him again.
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