Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 185: Jörmungandr (10)

Dragon Raja 2

This was the power of the King of Earth and Mountains—Jörmungandr could find the “eye” of anything, striking at its weakest point to channel her power and destroy it in an instant. It was this tremendous power that Jörmungandr used to destroy the South Train Station and “Midgard Serpent.”

Chu Zihang fell into the fissure.

Jörmungandr struck the ground again, causing the red-hot rails around them to shake. They twisted like serpents, the tremendous force injected by Jörmungandr twisting them into spirals. They lunged toward Chu Zihang, who dodged purely on instinct, but the rails formed a birdcage around him, obstructing his escape. A red-hot rail pierced his right chest, tearing through his lung.

Chu Zihang crashed into the corpse of the fallen Dragon King Fenrir like a cannonball, shattering the tough dragon scales. Jörmungandr descended from above, her clawed feet digging into the concrete, standing firm with bone wings spread behind her!

She swung her hand, and the battered giant scythe shattered into pieces. Chu Zihang had left hundreds of scars on that weapon. In his hand, all that remained was the bare hilt. The memento from that man was destroyed—the Divine Blade, Muramasa, had expended its life as a sword after repeated clashes, growing weaker with every scar it inflicted on the giant scythe. Chu Zihang tossed aside the hilt, leaning wearily against the dragon’s corpse.

The clarity slowly returned to his eyes, the blinding gold fading away. His uncontrollable golden pupils extinguished on this day because their master had burned through all his blood.

“You’re awake,” Jörmungandr said softly, just as she had waited at his bedside the last time Chu Zihang had awakened from his ten-day coma.

The dragon features on her body quickly receded. The bulging muscles relaxed; bone spurs, scales, bone protrusions, and claws all withdrew into her body. The terrifying wings slowly folded, pressing against her back, sinking beneath her skin. Her battered body healed rapidly, new skin soft as a baby’s. She was Xia Mi again, standing there naked, her skin glowing as if lit from within. Every curve was youthful and beautiful, pure and clean, evoking no improper thoughts.

“It felt like a nightmare,” Chu Zihang said softly.

“The nightmare is over,” Xia Mi whispered.

She walked toward Chu Zihang barefoot, her feet as translucent as jade. “You’re about to die. Do you have anything you want to say?”

“To Xia Mi… or to Jörmungandr?” Chu Zihang looked at her.

“To Xia Mi. You have no idea what Jörmungandr truly is.”

“Why did you ask me to come to your house?”

Xia Mi was silent for a long time before smiling. “You weren’t originally supposed to die here. If you had followed the last message I sent you, had a good night’s sleep, and come to my house tomorrow afternoon in the new clothes you bought, you wouldn’t have. Of course, you wouldn’t have seen me, because by then, I would already be gone. According to my plan, tonight was supposed to be the birth of Hela. But why didn’t you listen to me and insisted on coming here?”

Chu Zihang clutched his chest, making a final effort to stem the bleeding. “Don’t mind me. I just wanted a few more minutes… I still have a few questions.”

“Okay,” Xia Mi nodded.

Chu Zihang studied her face. “I should have guessed… there were so many suspicious things about you, but I didn’t, because the first time I met you, I felt a sense of familiarity. Why? Why can’t I remember? I’ve been trying to recall these days, but I just can’t.”

“We grew up together. I told you that. I was always your classmate,” Xia Mi tilted her head. “As two people without friends, maybe we were the most familiar people to each other.”

“I don’t disbelieve it, but I really can’t remember, so I kept trying.”

“Did you once ask a girl to the movies? She was the cheerleading captain for Shilan Middle School’s basketball team. Once, during a match between your team and another school, she cheered in high-heeled boots, shouting your name from the stands. She wore her hair in a high ponytail.” Xia Mi reached behind her head, gathering her long hair into a high ponytail, humming a tune that both Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei recognized.

It was the Shilan Middle School anthem, sung at every sports event or important occasion.

“You also once took a girl to an aquarium. She was the dance troupe leader at Shilan Middle School, and you worked with her on a paper. That summer was hot—you went to her house once. She lived in an old building shaded by a large wutong tree. You were organizing references at the table while she was on a yoga mat behind you, practicing in a black leotard—handstands, splits, flips. But you never looked back, only commenting on how cool it was in the room.” Xia Mi rose on tiptoe, spinning gracefully, her neck and legs long, like a swan gliding on water.

The human brain is like a damaged hard drive that easily loses data, but some things cannot be erased no matter how they are formatted. At that moment, memories flooded back from the depths of Chu Zihang’s mind, like a tide rushing toward him, vivid to the point of pain—like a herd of wild horses trampling through the desolate fields of his memory.

He remembered now: the cheerleader in a purple skirt and white high-heeled boots, with a high ponytail and sparkly makeup on her eyelids. Her eyes shone brightly, outshining even the glitter. The teammate playing as guard nudged Chu Zihang with his elbow, saying, “That girl is looking at you, that girl is looking at you.” He also remembered the huge wutong tree shading the sky, the cicadas chirping outside, the cool breeze flowing in the small house under the tree. The sound of his pencil moving across paper, the silent dance behind him, the black swan spinning. There was also that silly little turtle at the aquarium and the goofy uncle swimming with a turtle shell on his back, whom the dance troupe leader laughed at through the glass, pointing at the turtle’s small tail. And there was that somewhat dreary Irish movie, “Once”—he even remembered the plot of that film. It was the story of a wandering musician and his girlfriend, an immigrant from Poland. The girl was married and had a family, and the only way she could help the musician was by playing piano for him, running around tirelessly to help him find sponsors to release his album. In the end, the musician became famous and went to London, and the only thing he could do for the girl was to buy her the piano she had longed for. The musician, with his guitar, left for the airport, and the girl, happy, played her piano, living an ordinary life. Her husband kissed her forehead. The faint, uncertain affection that lingered left…

He remembered those blurry faces—each one so clear now, overlapping and becoming the girl kneeling beside him.

He realized that throughout his life, he had always been observed by someone—a dragon, hidden close by, never approaching yet never moving away. He had never remembered her, although he recalled countless other things every night—none of them were related to her.

“I erased your memory,” Xia Mi said softly. “Remembering me wouldn’t do you any good.”

“Why were you observing me?”

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