Feng Shen, clinging desperately to the fragile remnants of his sanity, was consumed by a blinding lust for blood. Desperation clawed at him as he fought to control the violent urges surging through his mind.
"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!" He kept repeating over and over. He so badly wanted to see everything burn.
However, deep down, Feng Shen knew he couldn't—he was too weak.
He knew he couldn't afford to entertain those thoughts, not now. If he allowed himself to slip into a bloodlusted state, he'd only be throwing himself toward certain death.
'I need to relax. I need to relax. RELAX!'
That small, rational part of Feng Shen's mind finally surfaced, piercing through the haze.
Realizing his own fragility, he began to slow the furious headbutts against the wall. His breathing heavy, he staggered back, his body trembling as the last remnants of bloodlust ebbed away.
This state was all too familiar for Feng Shen. Whenever the thrill of a kill or the frenzy of slaughter consumed him, he transformed into a laughing demon, crazed and unstoppable.
Once unleashed, he wouldn't, or couldn't, stop, driven only by the urge to destroy everything in his path.
But this time was different. Feng Shen had to control himself, or the consequences would be disastrous.
Consequences… Something he didn't have to worry about in so long.
"Tsk. Pathetic." Feng Shen despised his current weakness. He longed to return to the days of his past life, when he was unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.
Overpowered.
Broken.
Though he appeared calmer, Feng Shen wasn't truly at ease. He stormed out of the cell, his bad attitude pouring from him.
As Feng Shen exited the cell block and made his way down the hall, he stumbled upon Ping Zichen, casually flirting—cough, "conversing"—with a female guard.
"You know, if you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber."
"Cute-cumber, huh? I guess that makes you my farmer then."
Before Ping Zichen could make another attempt at what he considered flirting, he heard footsteps approaching.
He turned to see the Second Young Master of the Feng family walking toward him.
"Ah! Second Young Master, I see you're done," Ping Zichen exclaimed. He glanced around, searching for the personal attendant, but found her absent. "Um, if I may ask, where is she?"
Without breaking his stride, Feng Shen walked past and replied, "She killed herself."
"???" Confusion marked Ping Zichen's face as he processed those words. He had seen her alive and well in the cell.
'What the fuck?'
Ping Zichen wasn't naive; he understood that the Second Young Master had killed her.
What puzzled him was the reason behind it, especially after how concerned he had been about his personal servant just moments ago.
'Well, this is not my concern.'
Ping Zichen shook his head, reminding himself that it wasn't his business. There was no point in dwelling on it; he had a mess to clean up.
Well… his staff did… not him…
'Hopefully it's not too bloody…' Ping Zichen thought.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
Feng Shen returned to his family's estate, the moon hanging high in the night sky.
As he was welcomed back by personal servants, he passed through the courtyard; he made his way toward the dining hall.
Stepping onto the wooden floor, Feng Shen pressed on until he reached a pair of doors. With no care, he pushed them open casually.
In that fleeting moment, memories of this life flooded back, replaying traumatic experiences of being ignored in this very place—never treated like family.
Instead, Feng Shen was often forced to sit in the corner, facing the wall, even though he rarely came here.
'What a loser,' he thought to himself, struggling to comprehend how anyone could tolerate such disrespect.
As Feng Shen fully entered the dining hall, all eyes turned toward him, and the room fell silent.
At that moment, he became the center of attention.
Feng Yuanyun, seated at the center of the table and facing the entrance, stood up, holding a small cup of alcohol. With a faint smile on his face, he raised it toward his second son.
"Welcome home, my boy! I was going to wait for your return before we started dinner, but it was getting rather late."
"Don't mind me, old man." Feng Shen walked over to the low, circular table, grabbed an apple, and took a bite. "I'm just here for a quick bite to eat before I go back to cultivating." He pulled out a cushion and settled onto it.
"Ahahaha! Good, good! Help yourself to anything you want! We have plenty of food and alcohol!" Feng Yuanyun said, settling back into his cushion, genuinely loving his second son's new attitude.
He couldn't wait to spar with him, eager to see how strong he had truly become and to gauge his progress.
Completely oblivious to everyone else's emotions in the dining hall, Feng Yuanyun returned to his meal, happily chatting with his second son.
Feng Wuhao kept glancing at his younger brother as he sat slurping noodles, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
'Fuck…'
Despite thinking he was prepared for this moment, the reality was far more intense than Feng Wuhao had expected.
He didn't know why, but when he looked at his younger brother, who returned his gaze with a small smile, his instincts screamed at him to run—to avoid the fight at all costs, or risk death.
So, Feng Wuhao decided to keep his mouth shut and focus on eating, plotting a way to kill his young brother without being near him.
'I could hire a professional to kill him...? I have enough Spirit Stones.'
As the conversation between Feng Wuhao and Feng Shen settled, a small, elegant voice broke through the silence:
"Little Feng, where is Xiǎo Bāo?" Mei Lian asked. A beautiful woman in her forties, her long blonde hair framed her face, and her black eyes reflected deep concern.
She wore a flowing lavender robe made of silk, with pretty flowers embroidered on the sleeves. A simple sash tied around her waist, and her feet were clad in soft, embroidered slippers.
Glancing at his mother, Feng Shen took a sip of alcohol and replied in a monotone voice:
"Dead."