The night air was cold, laced with the lingering scent of blood and rain. The remnants of the Fang family estate lay in ruin, the bodies of its former masters turning cold under the moon's indifferent gaze. Amidst the carnage, a lone girl stood before the one who had orchestrated it all—the very man she had sworn her undying loyalty to.
"Master," she whispered, her voice trembling, "why did you do it?"
Fang Ling stood with his back turned, staring at the desolate remains of his past. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with an unfathomable depth.
"Because," he replied, his tone calm, almost amused, "You only see people's true faces in your darkest moments—when the light fades, so does the illusion of loyalty."
The servant girl lowered her head. She had seen the shift with her own eyes. The elders who once showered him with praise, the family that once held him dear, had cast him aside the moment they thought he was useless.
"In truth," Fang Ling continued, stepping forward, his hands behind his back, "I never lost my cultivation." He turned to face her, a cruel smirk forming on his lips. "I deliberately refused to break through. I wanted to test them."
She gasped. "You…you deceived them?"
Fang Ling chuckled. "No, they deceived themselves. Their concerns, their admiration—it was all jejune. A mere illusion, shattered the moment I was no longer useful." His eyes gleamed with a dark amusement. "I wanted to see who among them would remain loyal. The answer was as I expected—no one."
He took a step closer to her, his voice turning into a whisper that sent chills down her spine.
"Loyalty is the rarest currency in this world. It cannot be bought with wealth, nor secured with power. It is not found in kind words or warm smiles. True loyalty… is like a shadow at night—silent, unseen, but unwavering. And in this world, the foolish mistake flattery for devotion."
He looked up at the sky, his voice distant yet firm.
"Do not be fooled by kind smiles and gentle words. The deadliest demons do not wear horns; they wear silk, they whisper promises, and they stab you where you cannot see."
His servant's breath hitched. She had seen first-hand how the Fang family turned on him, how the elders who once praised him now spat on his name.
"They thought I was weak," Fang Ling continued, his tone laced with disdain. "That I had fallen. And so they turned their backs, showing their true nature. But if I let people like them live, I would eventually be stabbed in the back." His gaze darkened. "I simply chose to strike first."
A predator rather than prey.
His servant lowered her head, ashamed of her own ignorance. Even she had doubted him at first. She had wondered why he remained silent when they scorned him, why he did not retaliate. Now, she understood. He had never fallen—he had only been watching.
Fang Ling's eyes swept over the corpses. "Perhaps," he mused, "if they had shown even an ounce of true concern, they would still be breathing." He let out a quiet chuckle. "But humans are treacherous creatures. A moment of weakness, and they will rip you apart."
With those words, he turned toward the cemetery of his ancestors. His servant followed, silent and obedient.
The cemetery was old, the graves worn by time. Fang Ling strode through them, his expression indifferent. Then, he stopped before a particular grave—the grave of the Fang family's founding ancestor.
As he reached down to dig, his servant hesitated. "Master, I know you killed your family because they abandoned you and could become a threat… but shouldn't you at least show some respect to the dead?"
Fang Ling's hand froze. Then, without warning, he turned and slashed.
A sharp cry of pain pierced the air as her hand fell to the ground. She collapsed, clutching her bleeding wrist, her body trembling.
"I—I was wrong! Please forgive me, Master!"
Fang Ling knelt before her, his cold eyes devoid of sympathy. "Respect?" he whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Ha. What a load of bullshit."
He leaned closer, his voice like ice. "Do you think anyone truly respects you in this world? No. They respect your strength. Your power. Your position in society." His lips curled into a cruel smile. "When you have influence, they lick your boots. When you lose it, they treat you worse than a beggar."
He gestured toward the ruins of his family estate. "You just saw how my own family treated me when they thought I was useless. That is the reality of this world."
His servant, despite the pain, nodded desperately. She understood now. She had been foolish to speak of respect when she had just witnessed how fickle human hearts were.
"And as for the dead," Fang Ling continued, standing up, "do you truly believe people respect their ancestors?" He scoffed. "They only respect the wealth and legacy they left behind."
His voice was calm, his eyes sharp. "You are my most important servant. That is why I am only punishing you slightly."
She bowed her head, tears in her eyes. "Thank you… for your mercy, Master."
Fang Ling turned back to the grave, digging through the dirt. Moments later, his hands grasped something solid. He pulled it free, the moonlight gleaming off its edge—a sword, ancient and pristine, untouched by time.
The founding ancestor's sword.
A priceless relic.
Fang Ling ran his fingers along the blade, a smirk playing at his lips. "As expected."
He turned to his servant, who was still kneeling, clutching her bleeding wrist. "Come," he commanded, his voice indifferent. "We have what we came for."
She scrambled to her feet, forcing herself to ignore the pain. "Where… where are we going, Master?"
Fang Ling looked ahead, his gaze piercing through the night. A dark shadow loomed over his thoughts, a purpose only he knew.
"To our next destination."
And with that, the two figures disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind nothing but graves and the remnants of a forgotten legacy.