"Just that?" Zheng Xie's voice came out flat, almost mechanical.
Even the man in blood paused. His eyes twitched. That lack of emotion, that sheer refusal to even pretend this was shocking, scraped against his expectations.
But the pause lasted only a heartbeat. His surprise curled into something darker… amusement. The twitch smoothed into a smile, and then into a chuckle. "Yes, just that. As simple as that."
His tone was rich with mockery, but his grin was sincere. "Do that, and I will grant you everything. My demonic scripture, my cultivation journey, my blood-soaked enlightenment. All the information a so-called mortal like you would ever need to claw his way into a higher realm. Everything! Within the span of a single breath—"
Zheng Xie raised his hand lazily, cutting through his boast.
The man in blood stopped mid-sentence. For a brief flicker, annoyance flared in his crimson eyes.
Zheng Xie turned his head slowly, deliberately. "Then be ready to give me whatever rotting nook and filthy cranny of information you've hoarded away. Every technique you clung to, every fragment of insight you carved into your marrow, every step you crawled through on this path of yours. All of it."
A silence stretched, thick with tension.
Then—
"Ahaha!" The man in blood's laughter cracked out, sharp and jagged. "Yes! Yes, I am ready. I have been ready since my last drop of blood dried, since my flesh rotted away to dust. I have waited here for countless years, gnawed by time and silence, waiting for someone like you." His grin widened to an unnatural stretch. "So no, do not worry. I will not withhold what you've earned."
Zheng Xie inclined his head slightly, neither thankful nor dismissive. A simple acknowledgment. Then his eyes shifted back to the figures standing before him, the blood-forged phantoms of family and friends.
His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, from face to face. His father. His mother. His sister and brothers. His wife. His comrades, his so-called friends. The expressions on their faces were eerily familiar, dangerously convincing, so much so that one careless glance might trick even him into forgetting they were nothing but conjured husks.
"[Spectral Eye]," Zheng Xie whispered, almost inaudibly.
At once, his eyes changed. The faint crimson gleam that lingered in them dimmed, fading into an azure glow. From the corners of his eyes, the faintest wisps of smoke drifted outward.
When he looked again, the phantoms no longer seemed lifeless. Their flesh no longer appeared dull or flat. Each figure pulsed faintly with vitality. There was movement where none should be, a rhythm echoing through them like a ghost of a heartbeat.
And worse, there was essence.
An undeniable, fragment of soul.
Zheng Xie's mind stilled. 'This man… can he gather even their souls, drawn from the cage of my memory?' His lips pressed into a thin line. 'Such an act...'
The casual malice of it was terrifying. Soul fragments were not things to be tampered with lightly. To toy with them was to invite madness, backlash, or worse.
His thoughts spiraled deeper. 'These aren't ordinary illusions. If these are mere shadows, I could cut them down without hesitation. But the essence of soul… no matter how faint, no matter how distorted… if they truly belong to my family, my wife, my friends, then killing them here could potentially kill them outside, or at the very least cripple them. Could I truly gamble with that?'
His chest tightened, but his face betrayed nothing. Each of these people were resourceful for him. In his future path of cultivation, they were an indispensable tool.
Choosing between them and the Demonic Inheritance might have been a choice before but.
The lie alone, that false declaration that these were mere illusions was enough to lessen the man's worth in Zheng Xie's eyes.
'Yet… abandoning this chance entirely, over nothing more than a hunch, would be sheer stupidity. Especially if he truly intends to pass on his inheritance. If he wants a successor, then my role is to feed his desire, to sate his thirst to witness my "demonic heart."'
His gaze lingered on his family one last time.
Inside, Zheng Xie's thoughts whispered coldly: If blood must flow, then let it be the kind that stains my hands without consuming my foundation. There are other ways to dance in the dark without cutting off my own limbs.
His lips curled into the faintest smile.
Yes. There would be a way.
A way to prove his cruelty without sacrificing his future.
And if this ancient demon truly wanted to see blood flow… then Zheng Xie would make certain the spectacle was one he would never forget.
…
A heavy silence persisted between them.
Zheng Xie stood still, eyes fixed on the blood-forged images of his family and companions. He did not move, did not speak, did not even blink. The azure glow of his [Spectral Eye] shimmered faintly, catching the reflection of their false-yet-lifelike faces.
That silence, endless, oppressive, began to gnaw at the man in blood.
His brows drew together. The corners of his mouth, which had been curled in wicked anticipation, flattened into a scowl. A low, irritated hum slipped from his throat.
Tap—tap—tap.
His fingers beat against his folded arms, impatient, restless. His foot began to match the rhythm, clicking softly against the crimson ground. He stared at Zheng Xie as if trying to bore a hole through his skull. Yet the boy remained unbothered, staring at the phantoms like a man studying paintings at leisure.
The silence dragged on.
The man in blood's patience frayed further with each passing breath. His lips puckered, the corners twitching as if he were about to finally speak, to bark an order or hurl an insult.
But—
Splurt—!
A wet, sickening sound cut through the air like a blade.
The man in blood froze. His breath caught in his throat, his pupils contracted. His mind churned, unable to immediately register the sensation. Dozens of indistinct, festering thoughts rose in a swarm.
Slowly, his gaze dropped.
And there it was.
A pale hand, impossibly real, had pierced cleanly through his torso. His own blood spilled down in rivulets, staining that hand crimson. The warmth of it trickled over his ribs and stomach, pattering onto the ground like rainfall.
He stared, stunned, at the sight.
Then his eyes climbed upward. Past the hand. Past the arm. To the face of the one who had dared.
Crimson eyes stared back at him, eyes too sharp, too unflinching, too much like his own.
In their reflection, he saw himself. His expression twisted with shock. His mouth dripping with blood. His body quivering around the wound.
"Haahhh…" He gasped raggedly, a thick glob of blood bubbling up his throat.
For the first time in countless years, the man in blood felt… cornered.
Then—
BOOOOOOM—!
His right palm lashed out in desperation, striking Zheng Xie square in the chest. The sound was deafening, like a drum breaking the air.
Crack—!
A subtle fracture echoed as the impact caved against his ribs. The force sent Zheng Xie flying like a cannonball, his body streaking backward in a blur across the blood-soaked plain.
He hit the ground hard, skidding violently. Crimson dirt kicked up in streaks as his body carved a trail across the surface.
Yet amidst the chaos, Zheng Xie's hands shot out. His fingers clawed into the earth, gouging furrows until, at last, friction caught him. His body shuddered to a stop.
For a moment, he remained crouched, smoke of disturbed dust rising around him. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself up.
A faint grimace tugged at his lips as his ribs protested, but he brushed his robes clean with exaggerated casualness. Nonchalant. As though he'd tripped over a loose stone rather than been nearly caved in by an ancient demon's palm strike.
He tilted his head, adjusting his collar. His gaze slid upward, back toward the man in blood.
"Ghhhaaahhh—!"
A strangled cry tore from his throat as iron chains of force suddenly clamped around his neck. His breath cut off, his windpipe crushed by the grip.
The man in blood loomed above him, his crimson eyes blazing with raw bloodlust. He said nothing. His face was twisted, a grotesque mask of rage and hunger. His left hand drew back, fingers splayed, preparing to pierce him through.
The world trembled on the edge of violence.
But then, he froze.
A flicker of confusion darted across his face. His brows knit together. Something was… wrong.
The body in his grip, cold. Lifeless. No warmth of blood. No pulse of qi. The skin beneath his fingers began to pale.
The man's eyes narrowed sharply. "What—?"
"Looking for me?"
The voice came from behind him, calm, almost playful.
The man in blood's head whipped around.
There, just a few paces away stood Zheng Xie. Or rather, a translucent version of him. His form shimmered faintly, ethereal, but his face was untouched. His expression remained irritatingly composed.
Hands folded neatly behind his back, Zheng Xie tilted his head and spoke with maddening serenity. "How about we have an insightful little chat before we try to kill each other? You should know by now, I was simply showing you my demonic nature."
His lips curved into the faintest smile.
"So… did it please you?"