The words rang around Chóng Fēi's ears like they were already becoming a trauma he would never forget—though punishing people like this was his regular thing.
But this wasn't regular. It was just.. him.
"If you manage to prove yourself, you will be free.. and this sword will be yours to keep." Chóng Féng said, his sharp eyes both dark and hopeful that he would keep his words. "Half officially announced as the one I would hand my throne.. before I ever leave the warmth of this world.."
'Half.. officially..?'
'T-this quick? I'm not even twenty..'
Chóng Fēi slowly turned to his father, as if searching for truth in his eyes. He wasn't sure if his father was making him greedy for the throne—or if this was just how it was supposed to be.
It looked like both.
A traditional way of testing loyalty. A way to punish the person who had deliberately almost ruined everything by the most naive thing he could ever find: his young son.
But Chóng Fēi wanted this throne. He never had the surety that he would get it or not. There had been a long line of siblings who came and went. His father left no clue of who would be the next dàoist—more than just investing more time in Chóng Fēi, as if he was searching for something beyond the cultivation core in him.
It wasn't only about spiritual powers. His father himself hadn't started from there either. It all began with swordsmanship and calligraphy rituals. This was the one thing that made them a little different from others—they could work without spiritual power, using the sword as if it was the only power they needed.
And as a son who eventually received spiritual powers while his father didn't, and whose mother was probably a normal human—Chóng Fēi was being trained to use both sword and signature spiritual powers. But he still didn't find them effective, because there was no test to be tested. Nobody to challenge, and no way out of this town.
That was what led him to this man's motive. At first, it felt fair. The town would be free, and he would be too. But unfortunately, it was only himself and this guy—not his father, not the people.
And even after his father discovered it, he had chosen to save him. Not only his name, but fully him—while he was just about to walk into the blades that would have cut his throat if he hadn't interfered.
How could he not owe him, when this felt like the only silent, soundless way of a father who actually stood by his side—no matter how many curses he threw under his breath?
He couldn't escape it, even though Chóng Fēi himself hated being locked in here and always felt cornered among a family that didn't have more than a father and a lot of sons—for God knows how he managed to always have sons, which seemed like a dream for all sect leaders.
And now this—a man who felt like deliberately burning violet flame that made him feel the bump in a way he couldn't speak of. Something unforgettable that felt hotter than the slashes of his blade.
It was hard.
Too hard that bringing those words out from his mouth made his veins hurt. But now that the words had left, a lot of things happened without control—he had nothing to do but obey.
Because the throne might cage him here, but this man… if he could kill so many people to cultivate curses and be powerful, then Chóng Fēi was nothing to be killed in one thought too.
And why not?
If he just found out all of the cursed ghosts were somehow drawn to him, that his curse energy level was always higher than the cultivation core he was born with—he wouldn't be late.
So perhaps it was the best decision he could make with whatever education or knowledge he had at this age, though he still found himself less than a lot of heirs out there whom he had never even met properly.
And that's why, with so much heaviness, with so many things going on inside him, he didn't risk any word he had given.
He turned his last look—and his growing fear and guilt—into a look like he was sizing up the man's throat, deciding where to cut so he would die immediately.
Perhaps even thinking how to kill him without causing too much pain—the twisted last piece of care he could still show without risking his own life.
'Cutting the main veins from the.. left of his throat would perhaps be better..'
'N-no, no. There are no breathing pipes. The vocal cords would.. make sounds which would make me uncomfortable, no matter what. It would also be too painful.'
'Should it be done.. the way beef is cut from the throat in the middle?'
The exorcist tilted his head lower with that same smile, not letting him see the soft pulse of his neck or how his Adam's apple bobbed faintly. His next words were softer than the rest he had been saying. No mocking. No play. "You already miss me, do you not?~"
Chóng Fēi's grip tightened over the hilt of the sword. "N-never."
He held it close to the exorcist's throat, trying to mirror the action his father had done—specifically for him.
"If not~" The exorcist purred, no fear in his eyes or voice. His words turned into a soft, knowing chuckle in the middle. "Why do you seem.. remembering the whole history from the start of your life till now..?"
Chóng Fēi froze.
'He can read me like an open book.. yet I can't read a single motive of him. Not even now. Only he and the Lord of Earth know what is in his mind.'
Then his eyes hardened as quickly as they had melted.
"I fucking ordered you to shut up." Chóng Fēi held the tip of the sword really close to the main pulse of the exorcist's throat—the one that connected directly to the heart. His voice lacked the usual heat. "You would make my progress.. slow. I'm.. focusing on killing soundlessly."
But the exorcist tilted his head. His words somehow too close to home. "I would be hunting in your last seven minutes before death memory—even for a single second. Is it not?"
The more this guy started to expose him and hunt him before even dying, the more Chóng Fēi was losing his mind and voice to work properly.
He said nothing. But his silence said everything.
"Because I would do exactly that!" The exorcist grinned like a mindless psycho again. "I would return just for the sake of hunting you. Because you are a failure. And that is the difference between us." His eyes darkened. "Because you blame others. You run away from your mistakes. I would leave no space for you to forget it either!"
'No.. it can't be..'
'I'm not a failure.'
'H-he is the loser who has ever wished to destroy us..'
'I have.. done nothing wrong.'
'Or I had..?'
'He is confusing me..'
'He is killing me before I'm even murdered by those disloyal people.'
'I hate him..'
'I was only his tool to be close to zhù fù so he could unlock more critical information.'
'I hate being seen as a tool or only for the sake of profession.. while it blurred into something personal..'
'Those kinds of people are nothing less than the fucking fallen legend of the Yīlíng Mō clan. Those are just bugs that suddenly crossed the roads—who were unfortunately the queen bee.'
'They are just obsessed with themselves. On the surface. I'm nothing like them. Or him. He is taking advantage of my old guilts.'
Chóng Fēi couldn't breathe. His one free hand moved to hold his ear, fingers tangling around the loose lock of hair. The sword lowered heavily at his side, as if he was going to lose consciousness. The tip of the sword made a thin, sharp sound.
Chóng Fēi's dull senses couldn't believe this whole situation had cracked this hard over him. He never got close to being senseless even when he was weak. Not at least by overthinking.
It was always the needle matter.
"FEI?!" Chóng Féng's eyes widened at seeing Chóng Fēi struggling with so many things. He grabbed Chóng Fēi by his forearm, taking back the sword before it could fall sharply from his hand and cause any accidental injury.
"Fēi Gōngzǐ?!" The disciples' voices filled with shock and panic at the unexpected unsteadiness of their young master.
"ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!" Chóng Féng yelled.
He was getting sick of it—the anguished redness rising to his high cheekbones. His eyes wide with untold horror because of both this guy, who was leaving a demonic wish behind so he could return as a demonic ghost, and this.
Chóng Fēi was all numb. He couldn't even feel his father's hold over his arm. All he heard was the exorcist laughing in a high-pitched voice, as if breaking Chóng Fēi was one of his greatest victories—even while he had no escape from here. He said: That is it. I am not leaving. Do not cry, Lil prince.
And lastly—his eyes were covered by his father's hand.
Another pathetic comment from his father. "This would be the second exhibition of someone who actually made me remind that you are still a child who sometimes needs censorship."
A sharp sound across flesh followed.
He didn't see. But perhaps someone's throat—the mummy exorcist's throat.
'He can't be serious.'
'He is so haunting yet beautifully disgusting.. that even angels of hell would not let him out of the middle-hell.'
And then everything fully blacked out, like a thick layer of black embracing him.
[End of Flashback]