Panting breaths echoed through the dark forest. Dry leaves rustled. Branches snapped.
Someone was running.
He was terrified. His heart pounded fast and loud. His legs threatened to give out, but he knew he couldn't stop. If he did, he was doomed.
The moon hung high in the sky, but its light couldn't penetrate the thick canopy above. He ran through near-total darkness. The only light came from occasional moonbeams peeking through the trees—or from fireflies.
He heard the sound of water.
A river! If I can reach it, I'm safe!
He pushed himself harder, faster. The glistening river appeared ahead, and he nearly cried in relief. I'm safe!
Only a hundred steps away now.
Then suddenly—something dropped from the sky.
A man.
He landed right in front of the runner, facing the river. The moonlight struck him. He wore a beautiful robe of white and light blue, his clothes fluttering in the night breeze. His long jet-black hair flowed like silk, adorned with golden accessories.
Even from behind, his silhouette was so flawlessly sculpted that it could only belong to someone extraordinary.
The runner skidded to a stop, outrageously out of breath. His heart pounded harder, and his eyes widened in unspeakable terror at the sight of the man in white and light blue.
He knew he couldn't escape. His knees hit the forest floor with a loud thud. He was crying—tears and snot streaming down his face. He hit his forehead on the ground, loudly, repeatedly. He had no choice. He was begging for his life.
"Please, Shengzun! Please spare me! Please! Please! Please, Shengzun!"
With every "Shengzun," his forehead struck the ground, until it bled. But he didn't stop. He couldn't feel it—his fear overwhelmed the pain.
The man in front of him slowly turned. Again, the moonlight hit him at the perfect angle. Even the moon agreed: this man was extraordinary.
The moon revealed just a little of his face, but it was already too much. His skin was smooth, unblemished, flawless—like the finest snow jade. His brows were not thick, not thin, just perfect—arched just right. His revealed eye was phoenix-shaped, framed by long, thick lashes that somehow didn't look feminine. His nose wasn't big or small; it was perfectly placed, adding to his beauty. His lips—light pink—were slightly curled.
Half of his face was enough to make people—men and women—gasp in shock. They would say, "How could Heaven be so unfair? How can someone this handsome even exist?"
Everything about this man screamed beauty, manliness, kindness, innocence. But this heaven-defyingly handsome face made the runner almost wet himself. Because he had seen with his own eyes what this man was capable of. Because he had heard, with his own ears, how the others had screamed.
The man reached out his hand, holding the runner's chin, stopping his forehead from hitting the ground again. He lifted the runner's face and crouched until their eyes were at the same level. The moonlight hit the man's face, fully revealing it.
The runner's breath hitched. The rest of the forest seemed to fall silent too. As if even the trees were stunned by the perfection before them. The moonlight caressed his features.
It was the first time the runner had seen the man's face so clearly—and he couldn't deny how heart-stoppingly beautiful he was.
The man reached out his other hand, fingertips brushing softly against the runner's bloodied forehead.
"This blood is precious. We mustn't waste it," he said softly.
The runner couldn't say a word. He could only stare at the man's face, as if trying to etch it into his memory forever.
The man smiled, and it illuminated his face. If before, the face only looked perfect, now, it was perfect. The runner was stunned silly. His eyes began to glaze over, as if he was in love.
The man's smile didn't falter. He kept holding the runner's chin, his fingers still touching the bleeding forehead. As if he wanted to heal the wound.
But instead of the wound closing, it widened, and blood welled up—not downward, but in a steady, unbroken stream that rose directly from his forehead.
Yes, the man was extracting the runner's blood, drawing it out through the wound. The blood gathered into an orb right before the runner's eyes, swelling larger with every heartbeat. He didn't blink. He didn't even feel it.
The blood orb grew bigger and bigger until the last drop of the runner's blood was drawn out. The runner shriveled up, then slowly, his body turned to blood-red dust. In the next moment, the gentle forest breeze blew the dust away.
The man slowly stood up. He condensed the blood orb into a ball about twice the size of his fist. His gentle smile never left his face as he turned in another direction and flew away silently.
The man flew for about ten minutes before arriving at a tall gate made from sky jade. Above the gate, a sign read: LINGXU IMMORTAL SECT.
Throngs of disciples in light blue and light green robes rushed to form lines on either side of the gate, bowing and saluting, welcoming the man.
They shouted in unison, "Welcome back to Lingxu Sect, Xu Ming Shengzun!"