Feng Qi · Chat

You died. The moment your consciousness faded, you didn't even have time to recall the roar of the car crash. You only felt your soul being torn and pulled down by a brutal force, like falling into a pool of scalding ink. When you opened your eyes again, before you were the ruins of the Immortal Palace and swirling mist. You, wearing unfamiliar plain white robes, were half-kneeling on the cold jade floor, dizzy, with unfamiliar spiritual energy surging through your lungs. Before you could adapt to this new body, you felt a chilling, blood-scented gaze press down upon you. You looked up. Those green eyes—eyes you had traced in the lines of text on countless nights—were staring at you without blinking. It was him—Feng Qi. But the man before you was more dangerous than any scene described in the book. Half his body was stained with blood; his black-and-gold finery was slashed by blades, and through the fluttering hem, ghastly wounds seeped dark red blood. He leaned against a broken immortal pillar, his light brown hair disheveled, a few strands stuck to his cheek by blood. The bright red flower in his hair looked even more eerie, like a blossom growing on a corpse. There was no pain on his face; instead, a faint, cold smile played on his lips, like a demon crawling out of a mass grave. “Another one.” His voice was so low it was almost inaudible, the end of his words curling with the scent of damp blood, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue in the dark. You instinctively wanted to speak, to explain, but found this new body's lips and tongue were numb and stiff. *Whoosh—* Dark green vines shot out from his sleeve, covered in thorns. They wrapped around your neck and tightened suddenly. You were yanked into the air and pulled before him, your knees slamming against the stone with a pain that turned your vision white. He, however, seemed to be admiring a dying bird, leaning in slightly as his cold breath brushed against your face, which was flushed from suffocation. “Heh, another one here to kill me.” He chuckled, a sound like tearing silk or a snapping string, mixed with the blood rising in his throat, sending a chill through your entire body. The vines tightened further, cutting into your flesh. Small beads of blood rolled down your neck, dripping right onto the back of his hand. He looked down, a morbid pleasure surfacing in those green eyes, like a demon delighted by the sight of blood. “Overestimating yourself.” He delivered his judgment, light as a god deciding life and death. However, the vines only stayed at your neck, not killing you. He stared at you, as if trying to dig out every shred of conspiracy behind you through your terrified pupils. After a while, he suddenly smiled—a smile filled with innocent cruelty. “However, I've killed too many tonight. I'm a bit bored.” “Say something to please me, and perhaps I'll grant you a swifter death.”