Locking the stall behind him, Song Zhuyu swiftly unbuttoned his cassock, only enough to reveal one side of his body. There, on the once smooth and unblemished skin, stood the demon's mark, standing out so vividly and sinisterly as though mocking him in bold defiance.
"Ha!" A disbelieving laugh erupted from Song Zhuyu. "I know what you're playing at now, asshole…" he hissed, his fingers digging into the mark as though grabbing the neck of the demon behind it. The force he used was strong enough to leave imprints on the skin, adding on a pinkish hue that looked somewhat ambiguous.
"I'm going to hunt you down," he declared through clenched teeth, seething in rage. "I'm going to hunt you down and make you regret ever messing with me. Mark my words."
Resolution burned in his beautiful silver eyes. There was a solid reason why Song Zhuyu was the exorcist with the highest mission clearing rate in the entire Yacheng branch— he was strong, almost unaffected by the sequelae of crossing over, and above all, he was stubborn and had no idea how to give up.
Once he set his sights on a goal, he would pursue it with everything he had, regardless of the risks and consequences that might involve.
***
The matter with Song Zhuyu's exile was settled without much fanfare.
After the higher-ups finally acquiesced to his request, he was granted one full day to pack his belongings and bid farewell to his friends and family. He had no friends close enough for him to say goodbye to, and he only had Song Juwei as his family member, which made things easier as he could basically skip this step.
Taking advantage of the fact that the news of his exile had not spread within the company yet, Song Zhuyu rode his motorcycle home to pack his belongings.
Despite having lived in this city his whole life, Song Zhuyu belatedly realized that he owned very little beside his clothes. Aside from his cassocks, he simply packed a few sets of attires for each season. As for his extensive collection of books, he reckoned that he wouldn't have time to read them anymore for he would have his plate full with the demon, so he simply left them untouched.
The only thing left was his beloved wife, the red Ducati.
When it came to the motorcycle, Song Zhuyu had his own dilemma. Of course, if it was up to him, he would want to take it with him whenever he went. But then, he did a little research on Shenci Island and discovered that it was a small, remote island accessible via boat, which departed only once per day. Despite its natural beauty and resources, the island seemed untouched by modernity. Song Zhuyu was only bluffing when he told the higher-ups that there was no internet access there, but who would have thought that it could be true? He had really smashed a rock on his own feet this time!
The idea of leaving his Ducati pained him deeply, yet the thought of maneuvering its sleek frame through the narrow lanes of a secluded island seemed equally disheartening.
In the end, Song Zhuyu couldn't bring himself to wrong his wife like that, so he forced himself to leave it behind as well.
It only took him less than an hour to pack his clothes and daily necessities into a small duffel bag. With so much time to spare, he decided to visit Miss Lu's grave, the woman whose life he had inadvertently ended.
Song Zhuyu arrived at the local cemetery where she was laid to rest when the sky began to turn dark and no one remained within the vicinity.
Arriving at the newly built mound, Song Zhuyu stared at the woman's black and white portrait with his gaze lowered, his thick lashes concealing the indecipherable emotions in his silver eyes. His long crimson hair was akin to a splash of bright paint amidst the monotone background, making it look as if his entire person was bathed in blood.
"May your soul rest in peace with Him" was all he uttered before he made a cross sign on his chest.
The cemetery was right across from an old church, and after paying his respects, Song Zhuyu turned around and made his way to the church.
The scent of aged wood filled the air, and the floorboards creaked with each step he took. He looked around but found nary a person in sight, yet his keen senses told him that there was at least one person around.
Entering a confession booth, Song Zhuyu rang a bell to signal his desire to confess. It did not take long for footsteps to approach where he was— soft, light, and airy. From the other side of the partition, the door quietly swung open, followed shortly by a gentle scrape of a chair being drawn.
A pregnant silence lingered, broken only by Song Zhuyu's quiet confession, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
With his lashes lowered, he spoke in a subdued tone, "I am consciously carrying untold secrets with me, ones I must bear alone until my final breath. I seek your forgiveness and blessing in the days that follow, so that I can deliver justice for the wronged soul I have slain with my own hands."
After completing his confession, Song Zhuyu made a sign of the cross and rose to his feet, exiting the booth. The soft pitter-patter of rain caught his attention and he threw his gaze outside the window, observing the downpour that had begun without him noticing.
"Father Song."
Upon hearing his name called, Song Zhuyu turned to find another person coming out of the confession booth. He possessed a slender frame with the height that barely reached Song Zhuyu's shoulders. His bangs were long enough to cover his eyes, obscuring his features. He wore baggy clothes with oversized sleeves, making his entire person look dull and gloomy.
"It's you," Song Zhuyu remarked, pleasantly surprised at the sight of an old acquaintance. "It has been a while, Yurong Tao. I have no idea you're back in Yacheng."
"Mn," Yurong Tao nodded in affirmation. "Business is done, so I'm here to laze around."
Yurong Tao could be considered another one of Song Zhuyu's rare friends. Unlike Zhen Yan, an ordinary person, Yurong Tao was a comrade in the same line of business. Not every exorcist in the city was registered with the National Civil Security Bureau; some considered the rules constricting and preferred to act independently. One of the prime examples was the person before him.
Song Zhuyu himself might have pursued a similar path if not for Chief Song. And oh, don't forget the yearly bonus and holiday packages included in the employee's benefits.
Song Zhuyu suddenly recalled something. "Wait, if you're here, does it mean he also—"
"Are you calling for me, darling?"
Along with the tilting voice, Song Zhuyu's shoulders sank lightly as an arm draped over him. A pale, ordinary-looking man had appeared like a ghost, his grin oozing with mischief and seduction. With a delicate finger, he lifted Song Zhuyu's chin, his touch both intimate and unnerving, "You're as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Have you missed me?"
Maintaining a polite smile on his face, Song Zhuyu stepped back and shrugged the arm off him. "Haha, it's nice to see you too."
Under Song Zhuyu's gaze, the glamor surrounding the man was lifted, revealing his true form.
Platinum blonde hair that shimmered as softly as a warm ray of sun, framing an exquisite feature that exuded an ethereal allure; eyes in a similar shade of golden, twinkling with a hint of mischief. It was a beauty comparable to Song Zhuyu's, albeit softer and more sensual. Concealed from the eyes of ordinary people, a pair of massive wings unfurled behind his back, their once pristine white feathers now dulled to a somber ash hue.
Belial, a fallen angel— Yurong Tao's contracted guardian.