CG Chapter 156: Two Bodies Cast from an Identical Mold
The hour of the rabbit withered, giving way to the dragon. As the old moon had died, its corpse cleared a path for a new lunar cycle.
Stepping from the ancient liquor store, Aretius held two additional items in his hands.
One was the wooden plaque Manager Li had engraved for him. It was an official sign that he had become a puppet of the Withered Shadow Hall in life, and one of its bodybags in death.
The second was a sealed white porcelain bottle, which the manager had repeatedly told Aretius not to open until he had reached a far place secluded from the eyes of the masses.
Aretius held his wooden smoking pipe in one hand as he took a deep breath. This caused his entire body to be filled with a comfortable sensation as the curling smoke entered his old lungs, providing him with some warmth in the late parts of the day.
As the smoke covered his haggard face, he took a fleeting glance at his surroundings, which carried no weight.
During that fleeting moment, he was able to confirm that no one was spying on him.
He thought internally that pinching the thick cheeks of the manager didn't go to waste after all.
Not thinking about that for long, and once he had confirmed that the only life around him was the few ruffians roaming the streets in this late hour, he bit on his smoking pipe with his mouth.
Not minding the orders of Manager Li, nor giving them any thought.
His hand moved swiftly, with one hand holding the bottle and the other opening the tight seal on it.
Bob!
The bottle seal cracked open. Surprisingly, however, no liquid came from within; instead, a single piece of parchment paper slipped out.
Unbeknownst to Aretius at the time, this was the official way the Withered Shadow Hall passed down their orders and missions. By using the liquor bottles as a cover, those who didn't know wouldn't be bothered to open them due to greed.
As for those who knew? They wouldn't dare go near them, fearing the wrath of the Withered Shadow Hall.
Reading the content of the paper parchment, his eyebrows furrowed for a brief moment before grinning.
He muttered to himself, "Do they assign such missions to all newcomers?"
The stars shifted place, and the cycle of the waxing moon persisted, filling the night sky with its beauty. Yet, with the beauty of the moon, and under it, creatures of the night started to grow, spreading further under the nurturing of their mother.
...
Far off to the west of Wu.
Across the mountains of the Taoist masters and the hot-blooded people of Han.
Distant from the schemes of Manager Li and the Withered Shadow Hall.
Apart from the decay and conflict of the rising Wu.
There resided the peak of scholars and thought, the birthplace of Confucianism, one of the Supreme Three Schools, and great minds.
Only a couple of miles from the Jixing Village, a man was speeding through the land at a void-shattering pace. To the people traversing these roads, only a blur would pass in front of them before vanishing into the distance like an eerie ghost.
Yet, this distant ghost, who appeared like a detached immortal who wouldn't mind seeing the whole world burn after reaching the peak of martial arts, suddenly stopped.
He, however, didn't stop because the world had burned.
He didn't stop due to the fall of a city. Or even the death of a thousand mortals.
He halted his step in front of an aged pine tree for a single insignificant and unworthy child.
This child possessed neither the worldly bearing of young nobles nor the refined aura of youthful scholars.
In fact, he possessed nothing as if he were abandoned by both heaven and man.
His cheeks were sunken hollows, his withered form devoid of all flesh, leaving only a delicate skin wrapping around narrow bone.
He had nothing, and not a single creature wanted anything to do with him.
Even the hungry worms and the vultures that would usually roam around such weak and pitiful prey were nowhere to be seen.
It was as if he were too lowly for even worms to go near him or feast on him.
Yet, despite being abandoned by the world.
Despite being but a step away from the grave and having nothing or no one to count on, his eyes still held a firm glare within them.
However, this light wasn't the light of hope or the light of a better tomorrow; it was the light of pure and absolute hatred. A hatred potent enough to continue burning and turn this frail boy into a vengeful ghost long after he had died.
This exact light was the reason why this immortal had stopped in his place.
Witnessing his state, he didn't say a word. He merely extended his hand to touch the face of the young boy.
The warm sensation from the hand made the whole body of the young boy shiver in dread.
He exhausted all his bodily power merely to open his eyes.
Once he opened, he looked at the man in disbelief. What he doubted wasn't the man's strength or prowess.
He wasn't able to believe that someone would be willing to touch him; the only touch he had in his life was that of his father's harsh whip, as he wasn't willing to use his hands while beating him.
Yet, this man, this stranger, was willing to hold him, not for another beating, but with a warmth that he had never experienced before.
He questioned. This man deemed him a human being?
For a moment, the boundless hatred in his heart flickered for an instant before returning to its cold state.
The man's heart remained as calm as a well, devoid of any emotion. He only asked one question. "Are you willing to follow me? I have no gold. No riches. But follow me, and you will never feel the hollowness of the abdomen or the starvation of the soul."
The boy looked at him in a half-disbelieving way. Who could blame him? When the only thing he knew was that he was unworthy of the kindness of immortals or the compassion of others.
Noticing the boy's unconvinced heart, he continued.
"There is one law in this world that does not change when emperors fall and their crowns become nothing more than worthless pieces of gold." The man said, his voice carrying a melancholic tone.
"The brighter the fire, the blacker the shadows it casts on the rotten and infested canvas that is this world… You are not the first to suffer, boy. You will not be the last."
"That hatred is a weapon. The choice of where to point it is yours. To die by it, or to kill others with it."
This young boy was none other than Fang Huo, who was kicked out of the freak Jixing village.
On the other side, the man was the loyal shadow of the Xiao lord's manor. He hadn't taken a single moment of rest since he held his lord in his final moment.