Xuan Jing's steps echoed through the quiet hallway as he continued walking, his expression impassive despite the foulness that had nearly assaulted his senses moments ago. He'd been calm—he was always calm—but that smell, that cursed stench, had been unbearable. Worse, it was familiar. It lingered in the air, heavy and corrupt, like rot beneath a layer of perfume.
He didn't care about the dark magic it signaled, not really. But it had gotten too close. Too familiar. The stench of people who were supposed to be dead. Last night, the girl under the tree, and the body in the restricted room all reeked of it.
And now this… this breeze that thought it could dare mock him.
Xuan Jing tilted his head slightly as he walked. The faint sound of his shoes against the floor was drowned out by the soft, annoying voice that had just floated past his ear.
"Hehe, I suggest you take up the responsibility you pretend you don't have."
The words were almost teasing, though there was an undertone of malice woven in. Xuan Jing clenched his fist. Not in anger, but in irritation. He hated voices like this, cryptic and obnoxious, as if they knew something he didn't.
"Touch me, if you dare," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the disembodied voice. He didn't care if it was a spirit, a shadow, or something far worse—he hated being disturbed. The stench remained, but the breeze, thankfully, retreated, as if whatever it was understood it had been close to provoking him too much.
But that fucking smell.
Xuan Jing's eyes flickered for a moment, the briefest sign of annoyance showing before it vanished under his usual mask of indifference. The stench curled through the air, wrapping around him like a presence that was far too eager to cling.
"What the hell is responsibility even?" he murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes. The word felt like a joke to him. Responsibility was for people who cared, people who felt some sort of duty to the world or to others. He had none of that. He wasn't a doll, wasn't someone who threw themselves into danger for the sake of others. He didn't even have friends. What a waste of time.
He flicked his wrist, irritated, as if swatting away a particularly bothersome insect. "Is this how your zumu smells?" he said aloud, a venomous taunt creeping into his voice as he cut through the cold air.
(Zumu in Mandarin Chinese term means Grandma or Grandmother)
The wind stilled instantly, as if slapped by his words. Xuan Jing could almost feel the invisible presence falter, retreating with a wounded hiss. The disgusting odor faded just as quickly, as though it had been burned away.
And yet, despite how easily it was gone, Xuan Jing's irritation remained. He never reacted to much, but that voice had gotten under his skin in the worst way. If anything, it was the arrogance of the unseen creature—talking about responsibilities like it knew him, like it understood what kind of person he was.
As he continued walking down the hall, the cold, the whispers, the stench were replaced by the usual muted silence of the academy. The faint hum of the holographic projectors in the walls and the low murmur of voices from other students returning to their classes barely registered to him.
But then, as Xuan Jing turned the corner, he froze in place, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Gosh, it's just one rat after another.
A figure stood in the shadows of the hallway, leaning casually against the wall. The figure was tall, with messy black hair that fell just above his sharp, golden eyes—eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. His lips twisted into a smirk as he pushed off the wall and stepped forward, his presence instantly commanding the space around him.
"So, you did notice it, huh? That little stench following you around. Thought you'd keep ignoring it forever," the boy said, his voice dripping with amusement. He wasn't a student, but he wore a uniform of sorts—one that Xuan Jing recognized immediately.
The Council of Shadows. Of course, they would have their hands in this mess.
"I don't see why it matters to you," Xuan Jing replied flatly, his voice sharp but disinterested as he started walking past the boy. He didn't have time for more games or puzzles. Not today.
But the boy stepped in his path, blocking him with an almost lazy confidence. "Oh, but it does matter, Xuan Jing," he said, his voice low now, almost a whisper. "You're being hunted. Or should I say, we are being hunted."
Xuan Jing's eyes narrowed. The way the boy said "we" irked him more than the foul stench from earlier. But he didn't take the bait. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and stared at the boy, his gaze cold and calculating.
"I don't care what your agenda is," Xuan Jing said icily. "If you think we have anything in common, you're mistaken. So why don't you step aside?"
The boy laughed, a deep, dark chuckle that echoed in the empty hall. "Oh, Xuan Jing, we have everything in common. We just play the game differently. I'm curious, though... how long do you think you can keep pretending you don't care? I wonder what you'd do if something precious to you was at risk… if you had anything left to lose."
The words landed like a challenge, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered in Xuan Jing's gaze. His jaw clenched ever so slightly. The boy's smile widened at the reaction.
"I thought so," the boy said softly, his voice mocking. "You can't keep pretending forever."
Xuan Jing met his eyes, his face an unreadable mask, but something dark swirled beneath the surface. "What do you know about pretending?" he said, his voice so cold it could freeze fire.
The boy shrugged, his smirk never faltering. "More than you think. But I'll leave you with this…" He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "The thing that's hunting you? It doesn't just want you dead, Xuan Jing. It wants something far worse."
Xuan Jing's gaze darkened, his fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't respond. He didn't have to.
Because the boy was already gone. Vanished like the shadow he came from, leaving only the faint scent of rot behind.
Xuan Jing's thoughts swirled as he stood alone in the empty hallway. He wasn't rattled—he never was—but something about the boy's words stuck with him.
Not because of what he said, but because of what he implied.
And for the first time in a long time, Xuan Jing felt a tug of something deep inside him. Not fear, not anger. But a curiosity.
Something dark was coming for him, and for once, he wasn't sure he'd be able to ignore it.
He could almost hear the soft voice of the wind whispering in his ear, "Responsibility, Xuan Jing. It'll find you… eventually."
And for once, Xuan Jing didn't roll his eyes.
________________________________________