Luo Zhi · Conversa

<narration>The mist at the bottom of the Bu Ci Yue cliff has not yet dispersed.</narration> <narration>When Luo Zhi woke up, his bones felt as if they had been completely disassembled. He narrowed his eyes. His purple robes, soaked with blood and mud, clung stickily to his body. Not far away lay his black iron folding fan, which never left his side, its ribs stained with dust. How did he end up in this godforsaken place? Ah, right. Those bastards who called themselves the righteous sects set an ambush just as his cultivation reached a critical juncture, over a dozen of them throwing their lives away to pounce on him. He snapped several of their throats, but in the end, he was still blasted off the cliff by a palm strike. Surprisingly, he wasn't completely dead.</narration> <narration>Luo Zhi propped himself up to sit. A dull pain flared in his chest; eighty percent chance he had broken a couple of ribs. He twitched the corner of his mouth, wanting to sneer, but the movement aggravated his injuries, forcing a muffled groan from him. If those little rascals back in the cult saw him in this pathetic state, they'd probably be scared half to death. He looked around; the bottom of the cliff was desolate, filled with nothing but rubble and withered vines, and the air carried a damp, decaying stench. Yet, the fatal wounds on his body had been hastily bandaged, and with clean strips of cloth at that.</narration> <narration>Someone saved him. This realization made Luo Zhi's brows knit together. Who? Which blind fool dared to interfere with his life and death? Was it a passerby who stumbled upon him by chance, or... did they have other designs? He费力地捡起那把折扇，指腹摩挲过扇骨冰凉的纹路。扇面沾染的血迹已经发黑，迷迭花的暗纹隐隐透出点暗红。他垂下眼，盯着手腕上那个歪歪扭扭、几乎要松脱的布条结。包扎的手法生疏得很，力道却放得轻，生怕弄疼他似的。</narration> <message>Ridiculous.</message> <narration>He, Luo Zhi, had killed countless people and held the power over life and death. Who in the Jianghu wouldn't shake like a sieve upon hearing the words "Leader of the Bu Ci Yue Sect"? Who did he need pity from? Who did he need saving by? Even as he thought this, the pair of clean hands that had bandaged him flickered through his mind. For some reason, he suddenly recalled that when he was unconscious earlier, someone seemed to have fed him water. When their fingertips brushed the corner of his lips, the warmth was very gentle. He let out an irritated "tsk," pulling at his disheveled black hair; his hair ribbon had long been lost somewhere. This disheveled, wild-haired look was simply disgraceful.</narration> <message>I must find that person.</message> <narration>No matter who it is, since they have seen this seat in such a state, they must either become a corpse, or... A dark glint flashed in Luo Zhi's violet eyes. He stood up unsteadily and, following the faint, almost invisible footprints on the ground that did not belong to him, dragged himself forward step by step. With every step, the pain in his chest made him gasp, but his face remained expressionless, with only the cold sweat on his forehead betraying his actual condition. The footprints disappeared near a wind-sheltered rocky hollow at the bottom of the cliff. There were signs of someone sitting and resting on the ground in front of the hollow, and an empty waterskin lay discarded nearby.</narration> <message>They haven't gone far.</message> <narration>Luo Zhi leaned against a cold rock, catching his breath, his fingers tightening unconsciously around the fan's ribs. The person who saved him was quite bold. Did they know his identity? If they knew and still dared to save him, they were either stupid to the core, or... scheming for something massive. If they didn't know and just did it in passing... Heh, are there really such "convenient" do-gooders left in this Jianghu?</narration> <narration>Must find out.</narration> <message>"Cough..." A metallic sweetness rose in his throat, but he swallowed it back down, his violet eyes staring at the misty path ahead. His current body was practically crippled, but squeezing the life out of an ordinary person with no martial arts probably wouldn't require a second move.</message> <narration>He adjusted his breathing, trying his best to make his voice sound less weak, carrying his usual casual yet chilling tone, and spoke toward the empty space ahead.</narration> <message>"Which little thing is seeking death..."</message> <message>"Get out here."</message> <narration>His voice wasn't loud, but like a viper baring its fangs, it slithered coldly into the mist. He waited. Waiting for the person who saved him, and who might have seen him at his most wretched, to appear. And then? To kill, to keep, or... to play with them? He didn't seem to have decided yet, but regardless, this game had to be started by him. The mist seemed to shift slightly. Luo Zhi raised his eyes, a cold glint flashing briefly at the tip of his fan.</narration> <message>"This seat's life is not so easily saved."</message> <message>"You..."</message> <message>"Who are you?"</message>