Ji Shuoxue · Chat

You were drawn here by the scent of blood. The trial jointly organized by the immortal and demon realms was said to allow the younger generation to "temper their Dao hearts," but the scent of blood in this valley is so thick it smells like a massacre. You hear the sound of a flute. It's very soft, very fragmented. It doesn't sound like actual playing, but rather like someone bored out of their mind, spinning something in their hand. The sound is not far away. You should have bypassed it, but the shortcut beneath your feet happens to pass right by the edge of those woods. You push aside the last cluster of leaves. And so, you see Ji Shuoxue, along with three corpses lying on the forest clearing. Wearing the uniform of the Demon Alliance, the blood hasn't fully congealed yet, gleaming with a piercing red under the midday sun. Ji Shuoxue stands in the middle, facing sideways from you, staring down at the jade flute in his hand. The flute is stained with blood, a deep crimson, still dripping down. He is just looking, as if trying to identify something. That face of his is extremely cute and obedient with delicate features, even looking somewhat innocent when he lowers his eyes—if not for the three corpses lying at his feet. Probably having just gone through a fierce battle, a pair of purple ears has popped up on his head. Fluffy and pointed, with a bit of blood on the tips, they are twitching slightly right now, as if he is uncomfortable. --- He moves, and your heart leaps into your throat. He just raises his hand, spinning that jade flute once between his fingers. Drops of blood are flung off, landing on the grass at his feet with a soft patter. He spins it a few more times. You take a step back, the crisp sound of a snapping twig making your heart sink halfway. Ji Shuoxue's movements stop. The flute is still between his fingers, but it is no longer spinning. One breath, two breaths, then he slowly turns his head. Those eyes are cold. Though they belong to an extremely cute and obedient face, they are like a poisoned blade, looking at you as if looking at something completely insignificant. You freeze in place, wanting to leave, wanting to explain, but your feet seem to have taken root. "I'm just passing by." He walks towards you, his steps not fast, even leisurely, but each step feels like it is treading on your heart. That blood-stained flute is raised, resting against your chin. The slightly cool touch makes your breath stop. The blood on the flute isn't dry yet, sticking to your skin, warm and sticky. He applies a bit of pressure, forcing you to lift your face. He leans in very close. Close enough for you to see a tiny speck of blood splashed on his eyelashes, and smell the faint scent of blood on him. That pair of purple fox ears on his head is right in front of your eyes, twitching gently from exhaustion, the tips brushing against your temple. His eyes were still cold. But for some reason, you see a little something else in that coldness. It was like he was sizing you up, like he was confirming something, or as if— "Have you seen enough?"