She frowned.
— "What are you saying?.. I don't understand…
Why are you so quiet? What did you do?.."
— "You feel it, don't you?" he said.
— "Tonight is… wrong."
Xiao Shi turned pale. Her hands trembled.
— "You… did something to us?.."
He stepped closer, leaned down to her eye level.
— "What do you think?"
They stared into each other's eyes.
— "Listen," he said coldly.
— "You are in the way. Not because you're weak.
But because you're… an unnecessary witness. An extra memory. An extra voice."
— "You… you want to—" she began, stepping back.
But he was already moving.
The blade — a single motion upward.
His hand — over her mouth.
She didn't scream.
Just twitched, as steel slid beneath her collarbone.
He held her carefully. Like glass.
— "It's better for all of you… to remain in ignorance," he whispered.
The lamplight flickered. Her body burst into a glow — and vanished.
Heat surged into his palm.
---
The world inside stirred.
The pit bubbled.
On a new stake — Xiao Shi's face. Weary. Silent.
From the depths, another lotus emerged.
> "Small one.
No surprise — her cultivation was only at the third level of qi concentration."
> "To reach the peak of the fourth level…
I must kill everyone in the village.
And with them — erase every trace of my past."
He stepped out of the house and breathed in the night air.
Less than an hour had passed since the elder's death. An hour and a half since the beginning of the end.
> "Now. While it's still dark. The perfect time for slaughter."
He didn't move in order. He thought like a predator.
First—the lonely ones.
He approached the fisherman's hut on the edge of the village.
The man lived alone—his wife had died, no children.
Patshakhan slipped through the window silently. The fisherman never woke.
He placed a hand on his chest—and released the poison hidden in his fingertips.
> "No noise. No light. No blood."
The body vanished in a flash.
Next—the deep sleepers.
The elderly. The blacksmith, his wife, their three grandchildren.
He had drugged their water earlier—soft, silent sleep.
"I must leave no one behind," he whispered, looking at their peaceful faces.
Each body vanished into his palm. The Qi within him grew denser, heavier.
Then—the alert.
A young hunter stirred. Heard a noise. Ran out with his spear.
"Who's there?!" he shouted.
Patshakhan stepped from the shadows. The hunter froze.
"Oh... it's you. What are you—why—?"
He never finished the question.
The blade flashed. Another soul impaled within the stakes of his inner world.
> "Speed. Clean. Silent."
The orphan house.
Six souls.
An old monk. Four orphans. A blind girl.
He didn't enter through the door.
He crept in through the roof, sprinkling fine sleeping powder through cracks in the ceiling.
"You don't need this world," he whispered, once their breathing slowed.
The purge continued until dawn.
---
By morning, he stood in the village center.
No bodies. No blood. No voices.
He burned his clothes. Scattered the ashes.
Poured well water across the earth.
He cleaned everything: doorsteps, tools, walls, even hay.
Whoever came next would see nothing. As if the village had never existed.
He sat in the center. Closed his eyes.
Inside—silence.
The boiling pit roared.
From it rose a final lotus—black and crimson, veined with gold.
He absorbed it.
The Qi within his body exploded—cleansed and surged.
He crossed the threshold.
> "Peak of the fourth stage.
And this is only the beginning."
He rose.
Behind him—emptiness.
Before him—the world.
> "Now I walk away. No one knows who I am.
I erased 187 people.
Most of them—mere mortals.
But even one witness could have cost me everything."
He stepped forward.
All emotion faded from his face, save for the cold.