chapter 8

Darkness clung to Bei Zui like a second skin. Thick, suffocating. His limbs were sluggish, his breath uneven, his mind a swirling abyss of exhaustion and something worse—something that wasn't his.

Pain curled up his spine, coiling around his skull like an iron vice. Too much pain. His body felt wrong, like something had shifted beneath his skin.

He didn't remember passing out.

But now, he was awake.

The first thing he noticed was the red spider lily still clutched in his fist. Its petals were soft, fragile—so different from the weight pressing down on his chest.

He had won.

Hadn't he?

A shiver crawled down his spine as he forced himself to stand. His legs trembled, the cave walls tilting slightly as if the world had been knocked off balance. The night air pressed against him, thick with moisture, filled with the scent of damp stone.

And something else.

Something metallic.

Something wrong.

He stepped forward.

The moment his foot met the ground, a sickening squelch echoed through the cave.

Bei Zui froze.

The cold touch of wetness seeped through his boots, thick and sticky. A sense of dread coiled in his stomach as he hesitantly lowered his gaze.

Blood.

A pool of it.

And ahead of him, bodies.

So many bodies.

Lying in twisted, unnatural angles, their robes stained a deep, suffocating red. The youngest among them had his eyes frozen wide in terror, his mouth parted as if he had died screaming.

Disciples. His sect members.

Bei Zui's breath hitched. His hands clenched—then stilled.

Something was dripping from his fingers.

Slowly, he lifted them.

His palms were slick with blood.

Fresh. Wet. Soaked into his skin.

His stomach twisted. He took an unsteady step back, shaking his head. No. No, no, no.

This wasn't—

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice curled around his ears like a serpent. Too close. Too intimate. Too pleased.

"The way they fell. The way their blood stains the stone. A perfect offering."

Bei Zui's heart pounded violently against his ribs.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't real.

His breath quickened, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements.

"You did this," he rasped.

The entity laughed.

"Did I?" it mused. "You walked this path alone, yet the bodies are fresh. Who, I wonder, could be strong enough to do this?"

No. That wasn't possible. He had sealed it away.

He had fought for his mind and won.

Didn't he?

A sudden rush of cold flooded his veins.

And then—

A memory surfaced.

But it wasn't his.

Or was it?

A hand—his hand—dripping with blood.

A throat, crushed beneath his grip.

Screams.

Terror.

Death.

A shudder wracked his body.

His breath was too fast. Too sharp.

"You're lying," he forced out.

"Am I?" The entity's voice was softer now. Almost gentle. Mocking. "Then tell me, Bei Zui—why do your hands tremble?"

He looked down.

Blood.

Too much blood.

It was on his hands. Under his nails. Seeping into his skin.

His heart slammed against his ribs. His vision blurred. The world warped, twisted, breathed. The shadows stretched, grasping. The corpses were moving—

Grinning.

No, no, no—

A voice—not the entity's—cut through the haze.

"You."

Bei Zui froze.

The air shifted. The mountain stilled. The shadows snapped back into place.

And standing there, at the edge of the massacre—

Senior Liu Xian.

His robes were bloodstained. His sword was drawn.

"What have you done?"

Bei Zui opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Liu Xian's grip on his weapon tightened. His eyes burned with something sharp. Something dangerous.

"I—" Bei Zui's throat was dry. He forced himself to look at the bodies, at the blood, at the horror sprawled out before him. He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember.

"I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me."

The way Liu Xian said it—low, shaking, furious—cut deeper than any blade ever could.

"I—" Bei Zui tried again, but what was there to say?

His hands were stained red.

He had no memory.

The entity's laughter coiled in his mind.

"You killed them."

Liu Xian's voice cracked.

"You killed them all."

No.

No. No, no, no.

Bei Zui needed to think.

Fast.

If Liu Xian believed he was a murderer, then the rest of the sect would, too.

They would hunt him down.

His only choice was to run.

Or fight.

His fingers tightened around the spider lily.

The entity purred.

"Run? Like a coward? Kill him instead. You've done it before, haven't you?"

No.

"His throat is right there."

NO.

"He already thinks you're a monster." The voice was silk. Soft. Insidious. "Why not prove him right?"

Bei Zui shut his eyes.

The entity pushed harder.

"Let me in, Bei Zui."

Pain.

Blinding, searing, mind-shattering pain.

The world tilted. The shadows swallowed him whole.

And in that moment—

He let go.

The darkness rushed in.

It devoured him.

And when his eyes snapped open again—

Liu Xian was on the ground.

His body twitched once, then went still.

Bei Zui didn't remember moving.

Didn't remember grabbing his sword.

Didn't remember—

But his hands were wet.

So wet.

The spider lily slipped from his grasp.

The entity sighed in satisfaction.

"Ah… now wasn't that easy?"

Bei Zui staggered back. His breath was too shallow. His mind was breaking.

He had sealed it away. He had won.

But now—

____

The Aftermath

The night air was cold against Bei Zui's skin, but he hardly felt it. He stumbled through the trees, his legs unsteady, his breath shallow. His clothes clung to him, stiff with dried blood—his blood, their blood, the blood of disciples whose names he didn't even know. The weight of it settled on his bones like an iron chain, dragging him down with every step.

He didn't know how long he walked before he heard it—the soft murmur of running water. A stream.

Relief, muted and fleeting, sparked in his chest.

Bei Zui barely registered his surroundings as he knelt at the water's edge. His reflection stared back at him—a ghost of a man, hollow-eyed, smeared in red. His breath hitched. He looked like a demon.

He plunged his hands into the icy water.

The cold bit into his fingers, but he scrubbed harder, nails raking against his skin. The blood refused to wash away. No matter how many times he submerged his hands, no matter how hard he scrubbed, the water still ran red.

His jaw clenched. His breath came fast, uneven.

"It's just blood," he told himself. "It's not yours. It's not yours. It's not—"

A memory surged forward, unwanted. The feeling of flesh giving way beneath his fingers. The snap of bone. The heat of blood spilling over his skin.

His stomach twisted. He turned away from the water and forced himself to breathe.

You killed him.

Bei Zui's fingers curled into fists, still damp, still trembling. He couldn't think about that now. He couldn't think about Liu Xian, about the bodies on the mountain, about the thing inside him whispering in the dark.

He had to go back.

He had to act like nothing happened.

—

The Azure Sky Sect loomed in the distance, lanterns still glowing against the early dawn. Bei Zui's pace slowed as he approached the gates, uncertainty gnawing at him. He hadn't thought this far ahead. What if someone asked questions? What if—

A sharp gasp rang through the courtyard.

"He's back—!"

A flurry of voices erupted as disciples turned toward him. Some stared in shock, others in cautious disbelief. A girl rushed forward, her hands hovering as if afraid to touch him.

"Bei Zui? You're alive?"

More people gathered. Someone grabbed his wrist—he flinched.

"Where were you?"

"We thought you were dead—"

"Gods, you're burning up, you're—"

"I'll get the sect healer—"

"No." His voice came out rough, strained. The last thing he needed was an elder taking too close of a look at him.

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, but before anyone could stop him, Bei Zui pulled his arm free and pushed past them, heading toward the inner halls.

He barely made it a few steps before a voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable.

"...Bei Zui?"

He stilled.

Slowly, he turned.

Jiang Feng stood at the steps, his expression unreadable.

Bei Zui expected anger. Suspicion. Maybe even horror. But Jiang Feng just stared at him, quiet and searching.

The last time they had seen each other, Bei Zui had left for a death grip.

A muscle in Jiang Feng's jaw twitched. Then, with careful, deliberate steps, he walked toward him. The girls and other disciples moved aside, their whispers hushed as they watched.

Bei Zui didn't move.

Jiang Feng stopped just a breath away.

"Where have you been?"

For a second, Bei Zui didn't know how to answer. His mind scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn't unravel everything.

"Lost," he said finally. "I was lost in the mountains."

Jiang Feng's eyes darkened.

"You were lost?"

Bei Zui held his gaze, refusing to break.

A long silence stretched between them before Jiang Feng exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"...We thought you died," he muttered. "We thought—" He cut himself off, his voice tight.

Bei Zui said nothing.

He had nothing to say.

—

Two days passed.

The news spread like wildfire.

The massacre on the mountain.

Dozens of Azure Sky Sect disciples—dead.

Theories ran rampant through the halls. Some claimed it was an ambush by a rival sect, an act of war disguised as a bloodbath. Others whispered of something worse—a monster lurking in the mountains, something not human.

Bei Zui listened in silence.

He kept his head down, his posture measured, his expression carefully neutral. He acted as though he were still recovering, still dazed from his supposed ordeal.

No one suspected him.

But Jiang Feng watched him closely.

Too closely.