The ancestral sword, now mine, lay cool and heavy across my lap. Three months. Three months to dismantle a life, to weave a tapestry of despair for those who had so casually discarded mine. What should I do to make him miserable? What can I possibly do? My mind, a labyrinth of dark possibilities, spun with ruthless efficiency. Then, an idea, sharp and insidious, began to coalesce. What if I do that? A slow, predatory smile stretched across my lips, a genuine villain's smile, chilling even to myself. Yes, I can do that.
I would give him a taste of his own medicine, a bitter draught brewed from his own ambition. I would systematically strip away his spotlight, the adoration he craved, the destiny he believed was his by right. And the female leads? Xiao Ling and Lin Ya. Directly or indirectly, both had been instrumental in my death, their blind faith in Ryu Shen a weapon against me. I won't kill them... at least not yet. Or perhaps I will? A hundred different scenarios, each more agonizing than the last, played out in my mind, ways to twist their lives into a miserable, unending torment. The thought brought a cold, satisfying thrill.
Lost in these dark machinations, a soft knock echoed at my door. "Jin?" A cheerful voice, utterly devoid of the malice I now harbored, called out. A chill ran down my spine, not of fear, but of anticipation. He's here.
The door swung open, revealing a young boy, barely ten years old, with a strikingly mature look in his dark, intelligent eyes. His black hair, a stark contrast to my own white strands, framed a face currently alight with pure, unadulterated affection. It was the innocent, admiring gaze of a younger brother looking up to his beloved elder. Ryu Shen.
He came running towards me, a whirlwind of youthful energy. "Brother! You're back!" he exclaimed, his voice bright with genuine happiness. Then, a flicker of confusion crossed his face. "But didn't Patriarch punish you to stay there for six months? You're back early!"
I looked at him, every fiber of my being dedicated to hiding the burning hatred, the venomous contempt that churned within me. My expression was a carefully constructed mask of warmth and feigned vulnerability. "It's nothing, brother," I said, my voice soft, almost pleading. "I just asked Father to make my punishment shorter. I pleaded with him, as I truly wanted to meet you, brother."
His face lit up even further, his dark eyes sparkling. "My big brother is the best!" he declared, his innocent praise a jarring counterpoint to the dark thoughts I harbored. Then, his gaze sharpened, a hint of curiosity entering his tone. "Brother, I heard you also had a fight with Patriarch?"
I met his gaze, my own eyes carefully blank, devoid of any true emotion. "It was just a small spar, brother," I replied, a dismissive wave of my hand. "I couldn't even last thirty seconds." I watched his face closely, noting the subtle shift. His expression was a mix of confusion and perhaps a hint of relief, thinking my 'mediocrity' was confirmed. "But I got a gift from Father," I added, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across my face.
His confusion deepened, his eyes darting to my hand. Then, with a practiced flourish, I pulled the ancestral sword from its sheath. The polished blade, now gleaming with a subtle, internal light, slid free with a soft shing.
Ryu Shen's eyes widened, first with disbelief, then with a raw, undeniable flash of jealousy. It was fleeting, quickly masked, but I saw it. The mask he wore was good, but not good enough for me. He quickly lowered his gaze, feigning casualness. "What sword is it, brother?" he asked, his voice a touch too eager, a touch too strained.
"It's the sword given to the next Patriarch of the family," I replied, my voice ringing with a feigned pride that was almost indistinguishable from genuine triumph. I watched his reaction, savoring it.
His head snapped up, his eyes wide again, but this time with a different emotion—a forced enthusiasm that barely concealed the shock and burgeoning resentment. "It means brother will be the next Patriarch!" he exclaimed, the words sounding hollow. He forced a bright smile. "I will also have to get stronger now to help my brother in managing the family in the future!" He paused, the forced cheerfulness faltering for a split second. "Brother, it's time for my swordsmanship lesson. I will go now."
He turned, his movements a little too stiff, a little too hurried, as he left the room. I watched him go, the door clicking softly shut behind him. A strange, exhilarating emotion, a twisted form of triumph, arose inside me. This is what I wanted all along, I thought, the coldness in my heart expanding, filling me with a dark satisfaction. His expression. His defeat. I want to see it more.
A low, guttural laugh escaped me, growing in intensity until it filled the quiet room, the sound of a madman reveling in his own sinister genius. The first seed of doubt had been planted. The dream had begun.
CLAN PATRIARCH'S ROOM
The opulent chamber of the Ryu Clan Head was steeped in a silence that felt heavier than usual, broken only by the faint, rhythmic drip of water from a hidden fountain. Ryu Yong, the Patriarch, sat upon his grand, gold-inlaid chair, his imposing figure a dark silhouette against the elaborate tapestries adorning the walls. His gaze, sharp and analytical, was fixed on the figure kneeling before him.
This figure was cloaked entirely in black, from the tips of their soft-soled boots to the hood that obscured their head. A dark, featureless mask covered their face, save for a single, stark white number painted upon it: 20. They knelt on one knee, head bowed, an embodiment of silent, respectful obedience. This was one of Ryu Yong's elite, personal shadows, a secret operative.
"How was it?" Ryu Yong's voice rumbled, deep and authoritative, cutting through the stillness. "What happened there?"
The figure, '20', spoke, their voice a low, gravelly whisper, devoid of emotion. "Young Lord Shen visited Young Lord Jin's room." A brief pause, a subtle shift in the air. "But after coming out, his expression was... different. It was hatred."
A slow, chilling smile spread across Ryu Yong's face, a predatory curve that deepened the lines around his eyes. He let out a low, satisfied laugh, a sound that held no warmth, only a profound, dark amusement. "Hahahahah. I guess my son has finally understood everything now. Jin knows what he has to do." The laughter continued, a low, guttural sound that filled the silent chamber, echoing with triumph and a sinister anticipation.