The girl lay in the corner of the chamber, unconscious, her soft breathing the only sound besides the faint crackle of incense. Her chest rose and fell, fragile and faint, as though she were clinging to a fading dream.
Li Qiong crouched beside her for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her bruised face, before rising to his full height and turning back to the monk.
The old man's eyes were wet with fear now. He trembled against the stone floor, tears streaking his cheeks, his hands useless at his sides as the poison still sealed his meridians.
Li Qiong's smile deepened faintly as he approached — not cruel, nor kind. Just... inevitable.
He knelt before his former master and, almost tenderly, rubbed the tears from the corners of the monk's eyes with his thumb.
"Don't cry, Master," he murmured softly. "You taught me better than that. Didn't you always tell me a man should face his end with dignity?"
The monk swallowed, but could not speak.
Li Qiong stood and wandered the room as he spoke, his fingers idly brushing over jars and shelves. His tone was light, conversational — as if they were seated in the temple garden on a sunny afternoon.
"Do you remember... that day? When you found me. A boy, left to rot. My meridians shattered, my dantian ruined, no spiritual root to speak of. You fed me that first bun — ah..."
He bent and picked up a clean bone from one of the pyramids of remains. Turned it over in his hand, weighing it, then pressed it into the joint of an ancient corpse's hand, forcing the fingers to close around it like a weapon.
He lifted the corpse's hand and made it mimic a bowing gesture, grinning faintly.
"And I believed you, Master. I believed you were kind. That you'd make me strong. You told me I'd be your disciple..."
He let the corpse's arm drop with a hollow clack, then returned to the monk's side and crouched.
"You nursed me to health. You even smiled at me. Fed me human flesh. Bathed me in blood. Told me to drink your powders. You taught me everything I know — and all the while, I thought you were saving me."
He sighed through his nose, almost wistful.
The monk's tears flowed faster now, and Li Qiong reached out again, this time cupping his sunken cheek.
"Shhh. Don't be afraid. Here — eat."
He tore a steamed bun in half and pressed it gently to the monk's lips. The old man resisted, but his stomach betrayed him with a low groan. And so, gently, Li Qiong coaxed him to eat.
"Good. That's right. Chew slowly. You always said a cultivator should never waste good food."
The monk whimpered faintly, choking down the bun. His fear was so thick it hung in the air, yet he still ate — because Li Qiong's presence left no room for refusal.
Li Qiong nodded approvingly and picked up the wine gourd next, uncorking it.
The rich, fragrant aroma filled the chamber.
"Your favorite vintage, Master. Do you remember? You always saved it for special occasions. Tonight... is special, don't you think?"
He poured a cup and held it to the monk's mouth, tilting it just enough for the old man to swallow. Then another. And another.
The monk's breath became shallow and uneven, his head lolling slightly as sleep began to creep into him, helped along by wine, exhaustion, and despair.
And still Li Qiong spoke, almost in a whisper now, his hand stroking the monk's hair absently.
"You know... all these years, I thought it was hatred that kept me awake at night. But it wasn't. It was a knot in my chest. A heart demon. Because you gave me my first joy, Master. You made me believe in kindness — even if it was false."
He fed the monk the last sip of wine, watching his eyes flutter half‑closed, and smiled faintly.
"So now, I'll repay you properly. You wanted to create the perfect Yin corpse, didn't you? You failed, but your vision... was magnificent. The world should know the name of the man who dared to dream it."
He stood, brushing the crumbs of the bun from his robe, and looked down at the monk one last time.
"So tonight, I'll make your dream real. Strong enough to rival a great sect — and they will know it was your vision, Master. You can rest now."
The monk's tears glimmered in the torchlight, even as his breathing slowed, the wine and poison finally lulling him into a heavy, helpless sleep.
Li Qiong tucked the last stray hair behind the old man's ear, as though tucking in a child.
"Sleep well, Master."
Li Qiong took the last sip of wine from the cup himself, then set it down at the monk's side.
And then he rose, his shadow stretching long across the glowing array, already alive with dark power, waiting for its final sacrifice.