The clouds never rained too quickly. Instead, they gathered in the heavens, heavy and swollen with a bruised, slate-gray intensity—as if the sky itself were preparing for a violent labor. That was how the atmosphere moved when Kirihito was at the center of the world: heavy, thick, and expectant.
In the market below, the air tasted of cold metal and ancient dust. The golden-orange sunlight fought through the haze, kissing the spinning trinkets and hanging lanterns of the Yinglòu Market, while thin veils of silver-blue silk billowed overhead like tides.
The Hàngwō males stood rigid. They swallowed hard, their spines snapping into deep, sharp bows of reverence, before retreating with practiced, backward steps. They dared not turn their backs on the violet shadow that had appeared.
"Take care, Lǎshī Kùmsūn," one whispered. His voice was a low blade—sharp, professional, and flickering with a trace of genuine concern that was quickly buried by the weight of duty.
Wùji offered a single, imperious nod. Without a word, he vaulted from the hills. He did not fly by spiritual sword or talisman; he simply dived. His violet robes and hair trailed behind him like freezing smoke. Landing with feline grace on the red-tiled slopes, he began to skip across the rooftops. He moved faster than the wind, his "violet pools" of eyes locked onto a target he never failed to corner: Lan Suji.
Suji's breath hitched. Looking back, he saw Wùji gaining ground with terrifying efficiency. He wasn't using external powers—this was raw, physical dominance, the kind that reminded everyone exactly why the Hàngwō Sect sat upon the throne.
"That violet creep..." Suji hissed, his jaw tightening. His blue eyes hardened as he pushed his legs to their limit. It was a race between shadows, a desperate sprint to see who would claim the right to cleanse the curses infecting the city's heart.
Behind them, Suji's own clan members skidded to a halt on a long rooftop, breathing raggedly. They had spotted Wùji—the Second Grandmaster. To continue running would be an act of war; they stood frozen in respect, for even their lands were gifts from the Hàngwō Sect.
Wùji's gaze cut through them like a scythe. Move, his eyes commanded. I have personal business.
The members nodded shakily and vanished into the shadows, leaving the brothers alone.
"More prideful than your elder brother, no?" Wùji's voice was like ice cracking—perfectly calm, not a single ragged breath despite the chase. He was the elder twin by a mere minute, yet he felt centuries more ancient. Cold. Obedient. Talented.
Suji stubbornly refused to stop until Wùji lunged. Suji pivoted, his boots echoing against the tiles as they both skidded to a halt, standing back-to-back before leaping away to face one another.
"It's always you, flexing your status!" Suji hissed, his eyes burning with years of stored humiliation.
"Still the head of a hummingbird... you understand nothing," Wùji muttered, a faint, prideful smirk touching his lips. He lunged again—not to strike, but to goad.
"Stop it, just—!" Suji gasped, dodging the phantom strike.
They landed on separate rooftops, flanking the Yinglòu Chéng dance floor where Kirihito stood. The music was growing louder. Dark, flickering shapes—the curses—streaked across the rooftops above the stage, drawn to the melody like moths to a funeral pyre.
"Our war never ends," Suji said, looking down at the gathering crowd, "but those special-grade curses... they must."
"Indeed," Wùji whispered. His violet gaze sparkled as it caught the reflection of Kirihito's jewels. "No commoners must sense them. If they panic, the negative energy will feed the curses . "
Suji turned his head away. "I know. I don't need guidance from a Hàngwō master... nor from a brother born one minute earlier." With a grunt of effort, Suji dropped into the crowd, moving like a phantom toward his team, his mind heavy with the incidents in the Kazomaki Palace and the growing worry for master Suiren.
Wùji remained. He let out a sigh of elegant annoyance. He didn't rush. He moved closer to the stage's edge, his eyes fixed on the black-haired dancer. The key to this chaos is you, Wùji thought.
On the stage, behind the red silk ribbon, Kirihito caught Wùji's eye. A dark, guttural voice echoed within his mind. "I am taking half the control as promised," the entity purred. "Stay ready, kid."
Kirihito smirked, his neck remaining perfectly still as he scanned the perimeter. He saw Xio trembling in the crowd, frozen by the pressure of Kirihito's aura. "Wèi never forgot how to move like a snake just because he was playing with a butterfly," Kirihito murmured to the darkness inside.
The crowd began to roar.
"Start the show!"
"Don't tease us boys! "
" This performance have to be continued no after what! "
" It'll the best rehearsal dance performance ever! "
" we need more ! "
" we have to celebrate the fall of velvet violet god! "
The musicians behind the curtain—invisible and perhaps inhuman—struck a chilling chord. Instruments played themselves in the darkness. Kirihito began to move. His body had no bones; it was fluid, hypnotic, a cobra uncoiling.
Xio watched, his blood running cold. He saw the background dancers... they looked wrong. There was a sound of cracking bone. Out of ten dancers, only four remained—the rest had vanished into a dark fog. These four wore ribbons over their eyes—blue, white, black, gray.
Two of them, black and gray ribbons, leaned against Kirihito, their chins resting on his shoulders. The others moved with sadistic grins, hands tracing the air near his hips. Kirihito's voice rose, magnetic and sharp.
"Let me introduce myself to all my insects on the dance floor~
让我向舞场上的小虫子们自我介绍一下~
Heh… Wèi never sleeps.
呵…魏从不睡."
He moved backward, palms pressed together before his face, slowly lowering them to expose his throat. He shifted his hips—a sharp, rhythmic snap that rang like a funeral bell. The humans cheered, unaware that the lyrics were a death sentence.
"I'm not some pound of flesh,
我不是什么肉块,
Not a soul, not an animal—
不是灵魂,不是动物——
I am venom wrapped in velvet,
我是绒毛包住的毒药,
Fangs and eyes that glitter cold.
隐炼的牙齿和寒亮的眼瞳~"
Kirihito was floating across the floor now, his movements echoing the tide. The music hit a peak of frantic, bloody energy.
"Pile off the skin of dragon fruit,
扒下火龙果的皮," Kirihito sang as the black-ribbon dancer stepped forward.
"Pour some blood, break the bones,
倒上血 / 打断骨头," the dancer mimicked the snapping of ribs with his fingers.
"Mix it up into bloody whiskey—
调成血红的威士忌——" the white-ribbon dancer added, mimicking a drink before retreating.
Kirihito took the center once more.
"Drink me down, or leave me alone.
要就一口喝下去,不然滚离我.
You can't touch the silver skin of Wèi
你不能配触碰魏的银之皮,
If you're an actual insect…
如果你真是个虫…"
The four backup singers joined in, a cacophony of dark delight:
"If you're a curse—join us on the marble floor.
如果你是咒 / 就来到大理板上"
Kirihito's gaze never left Wùji.
"If you're a Tearstone—let me break you on the marble floor.
如果你是泪石 / 就让我在大理板上踩断你.
All five Tearstones need to die—yeah.
五颗泪石 / 都应该死——耶."
The crowd, fueled by ancient hatred for the fallen gods, screamed back: "All five Tearstones need to die!"
Wùji's jaw tightened. He felt no curse energy from the dancers, yet his sixth sense screamed that these were not men but something else which shouldn't exist.
Kirihito chuckled, his dark side reveling in the tension. Thought: Interesting... violet is never boring.
"Don't stop those heartbeats,
别停那跳动的心跳,
Don't stop those hips yet!
别让你的腰停动!
Yin Lan to Hàngwō, blood flows river-red—
从银兰到杭窝 / 血流成河红——
From Lánxiè to Méi Rén, blue & white flames spread.
从蓝蟹到梅人 / 蓝白烈火蔓扩."
Wùji blinked. The lyrics named his clan. They named the great sects. This was no rehearsal. This was a prophecy or a threat. He was about to descend to the stage when a voice cut through the music.
"Attention everyone!"
The music died. The dancers snapped their heads around.
"Why does this white insect interrupt my fun?" Kirihito's inner voice growled. He stood still, acting the part of the confused performer, but his eyes were predatory behind the red ribbon .
"Shit, shit, shit," Xio cursed from the crowd. Everyone was turning. The balance had broken.
Wùji looked down, seeing his brother Suji standing exposed in the center.
"I told him not to let the commoners sense anything," Wùji hissed. He kicked off the rooftop, a violet streak descending into the chaos.
The stage was set, the song was interrupted, but the silwn danger in the market had only just begun.