PTGWD Chapter 89: Conception

Strangely enough, whether in his true form or human guise, Lu Jianchuan had never clearly smelled his own scent—only faintly detecting something akin to pheromones.

He stared at Mom in astonishment, while Fang Xingzhou, equally surprised, asked, “What does it smell like to you?”

Qi Yilian pondered for a moment before describing, “Like sandalwood used in Buddhist rituals.”

It was completely different.

To Fang Xingzhou, the scent was an indescribably eerie fragrance, reminiscent of sinister flowers blooming in hell—intense and dangerous, bearing no resemblance to sandalwood.

Perhaps after years of close contact, Mom had also been subtly influenced, her sense of smell altered in a way distinct from Fang Xingzhou’s.

Both fell silent for a few seconds.

Fang Xingzhou: “I thought you’d at least be shocked or scared. After all, I’ve formed a partnership with the jellyfish I kept as a child and even conceived offspring with it.”

Qi Yilian slowly thumbed her prayer beads, smiling softly as she stated calmly, “Xiao Zhou, I told you—after your father passed, I lost all my emotions. No matter the stimulus, I can’t feel joy, anger, sorrow, fear, surprise, or hatred anymore.”

She gently stroked her son’s hair again.

“I should be happy for you, but truthfully, my heart hasn’t reacted at all,” she said. “Still, I sincerely congratulate you. Finding the love of your life and creating new life with it is the most beautiful thing in this world.”

Fang Xingzhou opened his mouth slightly.

A bitter taste rose at the base of his tongue. He pressed his lips together, nodded, and after another pause, asked, “Has being at the temple changed anything?”

Qi Yilian remained smiling. Her delicate features, upon closer inspection, began to resemble the serene, expressionless Buddha statues on the walls.

“No,” she said. “I’m not truly devout either, but this place brings me peace. Perhaps the Buddha will forgive me for that.”

Fang Xingzhou embraced her gently. “Peace is already rare enough.”

After they parted, Lu Jianchuan also reached out to hug Mom.

Their embrace lasted longer.

All the words he’d prepared on the way here vanished like bubbles. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nervously gathered his thoughts, finally murmuring in a low voice, “I’m sorry, Mom. It was my fault XingZhou almost died when he was little.”

Once the words were out, his tension abruptly dissipated. It felt as if a weight he’d carried for twenty-two years had finally been lifted.

Qi Yilian chuckled softly in his ear and patted his back. She didn’t fly into a rage as he’d feared, nor did her eyes show any trace of disgust—her breathing didn’t even change.

“This is fate between you two. Destiny is always so wondrous,” she said. “There’s no need for apologies, especially not to me.”

Lu Jianchuan tightened his arms around her, hugging her gratefully before asking, “Then… will I be with Xingzhou for the rest of my life?”

Qi Yilian’s smile deepened, her eyes crinkling in a way that looked just like Fang Xingzhou’s.

“Of course,” she said. “For two lifetimes, if you like.”

Lu Jianchuan released her, a radiant smile slowly spreading across his face. He turned to kiss Fang Xingzhou’s cheek, then the scorching egg, and—imitating his lover—bowed solemnly to Mom in the Buddhist fashion. “Thank you.”

Qi Yilian returned the gesture, picked up her broom again, and resumed sweeping the fallen leaves outside the temple. “Go light some incense,” she said.

Lu Jianchuan: “Okay.”

They entered the temple, purchased two sticks of incense at the offering table, and prayed before the statues.

Fang Xingzhou glanced at Lu Jianchuan.

Despite being a powerful entity capable of granting others’ wishes himself, Lu Jianchuan had his eyes tightly shut, silently reciting something with utmost seriousness—as if genuinely believing a higher power could make his desires come true.

Fang Xingzhou couldn’t help but smile.

He’d never believed in gods or Buddhas, yet now he too closed his eyes, silently voicing his wishes before inserting the incense into the burner.

Lu Jianchuan finished earlier. Having already placed his incense, he watched Fang Xingzhou intently. “What did you wish for?”

Fang Xingzhou: “Hmm, the usual things.”

Lu Jianchuan pressed: “What ‘usual things’?”

Fang Xingzhou: “Smooth sailing, family health, safety, Fang Yanzhou hatching successfully, and… that I can be with the one I love—”

Suddenly, Lu Jianchuan covered his mouth.

His light-colored pupils reflected Fang Xingzhou’s image as he lowered his voice solemnly, as if remembering something important. “Don’t say it out loud. It won’t come true if you do.”

Fang Xingzhou licked his palm. Lu Jianchuan, embarrassed, quickly withdrew his hand and even glanced guiltily at the Buddha statue behind them.

Fang Xingzhou: “Then why did you ask?”

“I forgot earlier,” Lu Jianchuan admitted sheepishly. “I looked up tips before coming. They said you must keep it secret in your heart.”

“Did those tips mention whether gods and immortals actually exist in this world?”

“No… but they must.”

Lu Jianchuan unzipped his pocket to peer at the still-trembling egg inside. “Look,” he told Fang Xingzhou, “a not-so-reliable one is about to be born soon.”

A third crack had split the eggshell. If one listened closely, they could hear the sound of flesh growing inside, along with Tangtang’s tentacles scratching against the shell. Fang Xingzhou watched briefly, not wanting to pressure it with too much attention, and casually zipped the pocket back up.

Lu Jianchuan took his hand. “Let’s walk around.”

Fang Xingzhou nodded.

They strolled through the temple grounds until noon, then returned to the vegetarian hall to share a meal with Mom before meditating until evening.

The eggshell continued its faint rustling. Seven hours had passed, yet it seemed perpetually stuck at three cracks, making no further progress.

After dinner, as the setting sun dyed the sky orange, Fang Xingzhou’s heart began pounding inexplicably—as if sensing an approaching turning point.

He stepped outside the temple, gazing at the blood-orange horizon and the beautiful forest bathed in twilight, his pupils reflecting half gold, half deep green.

Lu Jianchuan followed, sensing fate-related divine energy and worrying Fang Yanzhou might hatch at any moment. “Should we head back?” he suggested.

Fang Xingzhou spoke: “Deer, I’d like to stay here tonight.”

Lu Jianchuan paused slightly.

Without much hesitation, he said, “Alright. If you want to stay, I’ll stay with you.”

Fang Xingzhou turned to meet his gaze, smiling naturally. “I’d like some time alone with Mom to talk about Dad. Come pick Tangtang and me up tomorrow at 8 a.m., okay?”

Lu Jianchuan frowned immediately.

“I can’t stay?” he asked. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you and Tangtang alone at the temple.”

Fang Xingzhou: “You said this place is safe, with that luck-related artifact buried underground.”

Lu Jianchuan’s frown deepened. “But—”

“I’d like to keep some secrets too, Deer,” Fang Xingzhou said. “I rarely ask things of you.”

Lu Jianchuan pressed his lips together.

“Tangtang might hatch tonight,” he argued, still unwilling to agree.

Fang Xingzhou: “I’ll take care of it. But judging by its current state, it might take a few more days to hatch successfully.”

They both looked down at the egg in the pocket.

The rustling had quieted compared to earlier. Fang Yanzhou seemed exhausted, just like during its previous failed hatching attempts.

“At your speed, you can reach here from Xiangxing Street anytime,” Fang Xingzhou added. “It’s just a temple with visitors coming and going daily. Nothing will happen in one night.”

Lu Jianchuan had to admit his wife was right.

The Mother and son hadn’t seen each other in years—it was only natural they’d want privacy to discuss past pains. He shouldn’t refuse.

With a reluctant sigh, he conceded: “Fine. You know I can’t say no to you, darling.”

Fang Xingzhou removed the jade pendant from Lu Jianchuan’s neck and hung it around his own, then kissed the corner of his mouth. He shared the monitoring app for the “Wushipai” pendant with Lu Jianchuan. “Here. You can track my location, hear my voice and breathing, even monitor my vitals through this.”

Lu Jianchuan looked slightly more at ease and nodded.

He circled the temple repeatedly, ensuring no dangers lurked, then discreetly revealed part of his true form—leaving traces of his presence on walls, tree roots, incense burners, even the Buddha statues.

Then, with Fang Xingzhou urging him on, he departed down the mountain path, turning back every few steps.

Lu Jianchuan: “Contact me anytime.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t go anywhere. Stay in the temple.”

“Mm.”

“Let’s make it earlier tomorrow—6 a.m.?”

“Okay.”

“And also—”

Fang Xingzhou frowned slightly.

Seeing this, Lu Jianchuan promptly shut his mouth and reluctantly disappeared into the bamboo forest.

Fang Xingzhou checked his phone. He’d placed a second tracker on Lu Jianchuan.

The location showed him racing back to Xiangxing Street at 200 km/h, soon leaving the mountains for the city.

Fang Xingzhou retrieved the first-aid kit from the car and returned to the temple, finding Mom meditating under a tree, her robe covered in autumn leaves.

He approached quietly.

Without opening her eyes, Qi Yilian spoke as he drew near: “Do you need my help?”

“Yes, Mom,” Fang Xingzhou said. “The baby seems to be having trouble hatching.”

Qi Yilian nodded.

“I need a quiet room where no one will disturb us,” Fang Xingzhou said, hanging the jade Wushipai around her neck. “Even if Lu Jianchuan returns, he mustn’t enter.”

Qi Yilian opened her eyes.

“That’s all?”

“Mm, that’s enough. Sorry for the trouble.” Fang Xingzhou bowed slightly.

Qi Yilian: “I thought you’d need my blood, Xiao Zhou. Its birth seems to require flesh and blood, just like Lu Jianchuan needed your blood as nourishment twenty-two years ago.”

Fang Xingzhou smiled at her. “It’s fine.”

Qi Yilian studied him for a long time.

In the end, she said nothing more, standing to lead him to the most secluded empty room in the temple.

The room contained nothing but a bed, its walls woven from bamboo with a single window facing the barren mountains—no glass, just an open frame.

“No one will disturb you here,” Qi Yilian said. “Call if you need me. I’ll be right outside.”

Fang Xingzhou embraced her gently again. “Thank you, Mom.”

Qi Yilian patted his head, just as she had when he was little.

Under her gaze, Fang Xingzhou entered the room and locked the door. He walked to the window, looking up at the rising moon—strangely tinged with blood tonight.

The premonition of a turning point grew stronger. His heart raced as he checked Lu Jianchuan’s location again, confirming he’d kept his promise and returned home. Then he took the egg from his pocket.

The shell was utterly still, its cracks oozing blood so dark it was nearly black—evidence of Tangtang’s tentacles fraying from a full day’s struggle.

Fang Xingzhou returned to the bed and kissed the shell.

“Don’t worry,” he told the egg. “I’ll help you, Tangtang.”

A moment of silence.

A weak sound came from within the egg as Fang Yanzhou faintly called, “Dada.”

Fang Xingzhou acknowledged it with a hum, stroking the shell with his thumb before opening the first-aid kit and calmly retrieving the tools he’d prepared earlier.

Local anesthetic, scalpel, gauze, sutures, medical scissors, alcohol…

He removed his shirt, professionally disinfecting the eggshell, then the instruments and the skin of his abdomen.

The egg seemed to sense the shift in fate, realizing what was about to happen. It let out another feeble cry, trying to stop its father—only to be effortlessly restrained by Fang Xingzhou.

With one hand, he injected local anesthetic into himself, waiting for it to take effect before picking up the scalpel and making a deep incision across his abdomen—deep enough to reveal internal organs.

The bloody moonlight illuminated the scene, making the gushing blood resemble some sentient creature. The egg, catching the familiar sweet scent, emitted soft, weak shrieks.

The metallic tang of blood filled the sparse room as Fang Xingzhou smiled faintly, swiftly stuffing the egg into the wound.

The egg instinctively struggled. “Don’t move,” he murmured. “It’ll hurt.”

Fang Yanzhou immediately stilled, not daring to twitch as tears seeped from its shell, accompanied by quiet sobs.

“Don’t cry,” Fang Xingzhou said. “You’re our child—mine and Lu Jianchuan’s. There’s no shame in craving for my flesh.”

He pressed the egg deeper, letting the welling blood soak its shell completely before suturing himself up—his hands steady without the slightest tremor, the stitches so neat they could serve as a textbook example for surgical trainees.

After suturing, he left the wound briefly uncovered, allowing some blood to flow until dizziness set in before bandaging it layer by layer.

The entire laparotomy took less than twenty minutes.

Fang Xingzhou lay back on the bed, his face slightly pale, watching the blood-red moon now framed perfectly in the window.

Man and moon locked gazes, surrounded by the rustling of night wind through bamboo, punctuated by distant bell tolls.

Dong…

Dong…

Dong…

Fang Xingzhou stroked his swollen abdomen and closed his eyes, envisioning the giant monster’s pregnancy journey—every little detail.

Flesh, blood, and love were the finest nourishment for a newborn god.

His abdomen quickly grew feverish. He could hear the egg’s heartbeat inside the shell—growing faster, stronger, gradually syncing with his own.

Their blood merged, binding them with an ineffable connection as human and divine genes dissolved into one, conceiving the first true hybrid of both species in billions of years.

The moon darkened. Bamboo groves swayed violently under some unseen force. The bell tolls ceased.

In this nearly deserted mountain temple, the fate of the entire world pivoted, hurtling toward a new trajectory…

The exhausted egg regained strength, wielding its father’s extreme love and fresh blood as weapons to breach the final barrier.

 

T/N:

Oops…sorrry bout’ that.

I think I slept for 5678910111213hours…?