After Transmigrating, I Died of Depression Without My Phone - Chapter 99.2

Even from a world away, Long Xiang could sense the fervent power of their belief. In her dream, she tried to enter the Divine Pillar but, as expected, failed.

Unwilling to give up, she tried again, but just as she moved, she suddenly saw a pair of eyes within the Divine Pillar.

Their gazes locked, and she recoiled in horror. Moments later, she awoke, drenched in cold sweat.

She tugged at the collar of her pajamas and stood up, her body neither too hot nor too cold, but the sweat wouldn’t stop.

The image of those eyes lingered in her mind. She couldn’t find the words to describe them, but she was certain they didn’t belong to a human being.

Indifferent and arrogant, everything about them was white—white skin, white lashes, swirling pupils that sucked in and spit out chaos, shrouding the human realm in eternal night, waiting for someone to surrender and merge with it, only to restore daylight once it had gathered enough power.

Shaken, Long Xiang sat down at her desk. With trembling hands, she pulled out some paper and a brush, quickly sketching the eyes she had seen.

She had majored in art in college, and her skills were exceptional.

Even on paper, those eyes were so vivid that anyone who saw them would feel a chill of fear.

Long Xiang told herself not to be afraid, reasoning that whatever this thing was, it must have been responsible for merging with Beiting Xue, causing her to travel through worlds and bringing about the eternal night.

But what exactly was it?

Looking at the lifelike eyes on the paper, Long Xiang almost felt as though they were about to come to life.

Was it just her imagination?

It seemed as if the eyes blinked.

At the same time, within the Divine Pillar, the Heavenly Dao, which had been losing ground, suddenly gained strength.

With the help of the Golden Crow, it managed to push back Beiting Xue, who had just recovered his protective scale.

Beiting Xue turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood. Leaning on his sword, he barely managed to stay on his feet. Though exhausted and drained, he refused to give up and collapse.

He, too, had seen the eyes in the clouds—eyes that belonged to the Heavenly Dao. For a mortal to gaze upon the Heavenly Dao would mean certain death. Even as a god, the overwhelming pressure was enough to leave Beiting Xue dizzy and disoriented.

The sensation had lasted for as long as Long Xiang had been absent.

Still, things couldn’t possibly get worse than they had been at the start.

Beiting Xue had gone from having no chance of winning to holding a small glimmer of hope. But now, something had suddenly given the Heavenly Dao a surge of power.

Wiping the blood from his mouth, Beiting Xue knew he couldn’t give it any more time—he had to end things quickly.

Once again, he raised his sword, and the sheer force of his battle power left the Golden Crow trembling in awe.

Meanwhile, back in the modern world, Long Xiang quickly tore the drawing of the eyes to pieces, destroying them completely.

Those eyes had moved.

She was now certain of it.

How terrifying—her own drawing had suddenly come to life! Without thinking, Long Xiang shredded the paper.

Ripping it up was no easy task. She could feel the eyes fighting back, and several times they almost burned her hand. But in the end, the drawing was hers, and once she made up her mind to destroy it, there was nothing it could do.

Still unsettled, Long Xiang wasn’t satisfied even after tearing it apart. Worried it might bring more trouble, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a stainless steel pot, and threw the torn pieces of paper inside. Using a lighter, she set them on fire, burning the paper to ash. Once it was all gone, she flushed the ashes down the toilet.

As she listened to the water swirl down the drain, a sudden idea hit her.

If drawing those eyes could bring them to life, what would happen if she drew Beiting Xue?

All the photos of him on her phone were gone, but his face was etched clearly in her memory.

Long Xiang hurried back to her room, set up her easel, and pulled out her best paints, carefully beginning her work.

She knew his face too well, too intimately. Every stroke of her brush was swift and precise, each line imbued with life.

As she painted, far away in the Divine Pillar, Beiting Xue’s exhaustion began to lift, little by little.

He paused, his hand tightening around his sword. Suddenly, there was a terrifying, bone-chilling roar, and the eyes of the Heavenly Dao twisted into a grotesque shape, as though they were being squeezed out of existence. Within moments, they vanished into the clouds.

The Golden Crow jumped about frantically, but Beiting Xue, feeling his newfound strength, immediately followed after it. Grabbing the Golden Crow, he dove into the clouds, searching the spot where the Heavenly Dao had hidden. Yet, he found no trace of it.

To hope that it had disappeared for good was wishful thinking.

Beiting Xue focused on gaining more control over the Divine Pillar. This time, his progress was smoother than ever before, though there was still some force stubbornly resisting.

Beiting Xue had intended to stop, but the power coursing through his body was recovering faster and faster, growing stronger by the moment. The force that had been resisting him began to wane, showing signs of collapse.

He couldn’t be certain what exactly was happening, but a voice in his mind urged him to continue.

As someone who possessed the power of prophecy, Beiting Xue’s intuition had always been remarkably accurate. At this crucial moment, he chose to trust it. Gripping his sword tightly, he drove it into the Golden Crow’s body, and amidst the burst of golden light, he summoned a formation to challenge the Heavenly Dao with everything he had.

At that same time, Long Xiang was nearly finished with her painting.

She hadn’t slept all night. Her face, hands, and clothes were smeared with paint, but she refused to stop. Something deep inside told her that if she paused now, she would lose the chance to complete the painting forever.

She couldn’t see Beiting Xue in her dreams anymore, and she didn’t know how to help him or how they could truly meet again. The eyes she had seen last night had been her greatest clue.

If she could make those eyes move, surely she could make Beiting Xue move too.

Without realizing it, Long Xiang had infused her brushstrokes with spiritual energy, bringing her painting to life. As she added the final stroke, giving life to the eyes of the figure on the canvas, she could finally lower her aching arms. She stared blankly into the eyes she had just drawn.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed—perhaps a few seconds, maybe a few hours. Her door seemed to become a barrier, shielding her from the outside world, even halting the flow of time.

A golden light began to shimmer from the painting, and the dark pupils she had drawn flickered with a deep emerald glow.

Long Xiang blinked in surprise, murmuring, “Beiting Xue?”

Her voice trembled with uncertainty, “Is it you?”

The figure in the painting wore a flowing white robe with red accents, a divine crown with long feathers, and held a sacred sword, radiating an air of reverence and holiness. He stood tall, his expression commanding, surveying the world with an untouchable majesty.

He stood atop swirling clouds, with vast celestial palaces stretching out behind him, an imposing presence that brooked no defiance.

Long Xiang had painted him with such care and precision, and with the spiritual energy she had poured into the work, the painting now possessed a soul of its own.

The face, the eyes—more vivid and lifelike than any photograph.

As a soft white light enveloped Long Xiang, the celestial figure in the painting reached out with a hand as pale as jade, his wide sleeves flowing gracefully as his fingers gently brushed against her cheek, wiping away the paint smeared across her skin.

“Long Xiang.”

In the hazy glow, she heard his voice again, real and unmistakable.

“It’s me.”