"Back to Earth, huh? Must be Mr. Zhang's first trip in centuries. He's in for a shock—humans have changed a lot."
Hao Enlai takes a heavy swig from his gold tumbler. "Time's endless for us, so most of us gave up trying to change ages ago."
"It's exhausting."
"Yeah! Old is gold, baby!"
"Kind of endless…" Yutao mouthed the words under his breath, still hidden behind the column.
If things go smoothly, he wouldn't need to step in. In an hour or so, he'd be in bed, desperately trying to scrub this night from his mind.
If things go smoothly….
Zhang Xiyu does not waste his time on perfunctory banter. He walks towards the crack, his pale hand emerging from the drape of his black sleeve, asking Ren Jiang for the transmission stone. Ren Jiang warily places the stone in his palm and moves back, giving him space.
Zhang Xiyu clasps the stone lightly in front of him, a concentrated ray of energy bursts through the stone and into the crack of the space-time fabric. Liu Xue, who was nearest to the portal, feels the reckless energy slightly graze him.
"Is he not afraid that this unnecessary contact with the stone would shake his focus?"
"Shake it?" A demon hisses. "Did you not see the power in that conscience thread? He's going to get us fucked. We are all getting sooo fucked."
"If he tips off that damned Heaven, I won't let it slide!"
"Oh? And what are you going to do about it?"
"...follow the curfew, but I won't let it slide!"
Meanwhile, Zhang Xiyu had already reached another pathetic ritual. This time it was at the end of a forest. The tall trees cave in ghastly upon a large summoning circle. Unlike Liu Xue, Zhang Xiyu did not care enough for stealth and had no problem manifesting a physical body in the mortal realm. If the demons weren't scared before, they were now shitting bricks.
Yet, they couldn't stop Zhang Xiyu nor could they stop watching. The once boisterous crowd which belonged to a party, remained silent as if in a funeral procession.
In the mortal realm, Zhang Xiyu scans the dancers circling the blood-soaked pool—the very shallow pool he now stood within. In a way their summoning was indeed successful, they just hadn't realized it. And so, his arrival put no dent on their sincere enthusiasm.
Zhang Xiyu thought that this was a bit troublesome. Among these masked dancers that show no sign of stopping, he needed to find the chief summoner —and stop this pointless dance.
With a sigh, Zhang Xiyu gathers his robes and steps deliberately out of the bloody circle.
To create a pool of blood that size, how many humans and beasts had they sacrificed? Well, not enough.
To summon a real demon, this half-hearted gore was like waving a copper coin at the king's treasurer. His shoes leave wet, crimson prints as he walks towards the dazed drummer, who pounded away with manic, oblivious devotion.
"We vow to you our kin and gold, kneeling down as slaves. For your majesty we give our soul and bones on blades-"
The drummer's wretched singing ceases abruptly and the drumsticks slip down from his hands.
The dancers finally began to sense that something was wrong.
Their limbs falter, steps stagger, the rhythm crumbling mid-beat.
And then, they look up.
Gasps ripple through the crowd—not of horror, but giddiness, almost childlike delight. There, suspended ten feet in the air, is the drummer—legs kicking, eyes bulging, throat crushed by an invisible force. Below him stood a tall figure draped in opulent black robes, his presence swallowing the firelight.
He slowly turned to face them, blood-speckled shoes gleaming.
"Where's your sacrifice?" Zhang Xiyu asked. His face bore a charming smile which did not match his cold tone.
The summoners stand frozen, statues in the flickering torchlight, momentarily dazed. A ripple of dread passes through them—He was growing impatient. As one, they drop to their knees on the blood-slick floor.
"The virgins have already been offered to you, Your Highness." the man at the far-left murmurs, his voice trembling.
"But- but whatever else you take a liking to, we sacrifice!"
"We sacrifice!" The group cries in unison.
The pause was filled with the sound of flickering flames and distant howls from the dark forest. The drummer's choking stops as he passes out. Zhang Xiyu was in no mood to hold a deadweight midair and so the drummer sharply lands on to the ground. His head bursts open and his ribs shatter, his blood inching towards the larger pool of blood. But he still wasn't dead. His breathing turns uneven and his eyes shot open. The dancers were fixated on the whimpering drummer.
The figure in the middle quivers with excitement. Her Lord could have taken his life himself but he wanted their sacrifice. It was his kindness to keep the drummer alive, and now she had to perform well for her lord.
She steps out of the group, whipping out a dagger from her waist. She kneels over the drummer and raises the dagger high up in the air. "Amon! Accept our sacrifice!"
The dagger comes down in a swift arc—and a head rolls away from her feet.
It did not belong to the drummer.
Zhang Xiyu kicks aside the chief summoner's headless corpse, which lands in a heap against the trembling drummer. Calmly, he reaches into the ether, plucks the summoner's soul, and slips it into his sleeve.
While the humans erupted into chaos, He paid them no mind. With a flicker, he disintegrates his manifestation, withdrawing his consciousness—or at least, he tries to. This whole "game" demanded immense focus. Transitioning in and out of realms wasn't simple. Amateurs often lost their sanity trying, never even brushing the edge of the mortal plane. For the higher orders, the stakes were even greater. It took razor-sharp focus just to avoid Heaven's notice.
So, when Zhang Xiyu recalled his consciousness back to Hell and found himself caught in an illusion, he understood immediately—someone wanted him dead.
Zhang Xiyu cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck. Who could it be?
Liu Xue? That's a bit too obvious given their history. And for that exact reason Zhang Xiyu knew that Liu Xue needed him alive. He'd finally gotten this close to the Blue Lotus—he wouldn't throw it away now.
Then who?
Zhang Xiyu decided to not make any huge movements and explore the illusion. If he were to use his full strength to shatter the illusion, he would no doubt be escorted out in cuffs by the angels. That left him with only one option: reach the centre of the mirage array. What he'd do once he got there… well, that would depend on his mood.
The space around him was shapeless—a blank canvas dotted with stray wildflowers. There was no up or down, no clear direction. Just white silence.
But then, as he turned, something shifted.
Suddenly, he was inside a vast house. His footsteps echoed along a long, dim hallway lined with massive portraits. Each frame was ornate, heavy, and oppressive in its grandeur.
Yet something was off.
Each painting featured two figures: a man and a woman. But their faces were blurred, identities smudged as if memory itself refused to hold onto them.
Zhang Xiyu frowned. He couldn't place them—but something told him he should.
He soon reached the end of the hallway. Only one room stood there, dimly lit, its doors yawning open as if expecting him. A floral scent hung thick in the air—sweet, seductive, and vile.
"My new gift has arrived!" a delicate voice purred from within. From the veiled bed, a body rolled to the floor.
In the blink of an eye, Zhang Xiyu was no longer standing. He is being pinned to that very bed—restrained beneath a woman.
She was completely naked, her ink-black hair cascading over her chest. Her beauty was divine, capable of swaying even the most divine god. But this face—struck a buried chord in his memory.
"Aika" he gasps.
A thin, jewelled hand slips beneath his robe. Then another. And another. Hands roamed across his chest, his abdomen, his throat. The scent of clashing perfumes engulfed him like a drowning mist.
"Serve me… all night."
A dull ache flared in his bones. He couldn't understand her words anymore—his mind was stuck, dragged back into a memory too violent to forget.
Her wet lips traced the edge of his jaw, but his eyes had gone glassy.
Maybe… I should have let her eat my soul that day.
It all came back slowly, the white villa. Acid drilling into his bones. His hand clutched tightly around a stolen dagger. The same dagger that had saved his life.
And as he remembered it, it reappeared—cold and familiar in his palm.
Do I regret stabbing her?
Blood. Her blood. Splashing warm onto his face, his chest, as he drove the blade in between her plump breasts, slowly relaxed his nerves. The illusion and memory bled together—there was no longer a difference.
I regret…
In his daze, he doesn't notice the demoness over him fading away. The array discards the elements that fail to work, already assembling its next attempt. Zhang Xiyu lay there alone, breathing slowly.
I regret many things, but I don't regret stabbing her.
He did remember that incident faintly, the woman wanted to suck his soul after toying with his body. Now all that remained was the scar she left behind. A psychological wound that ached every time a demoness drew too close.
Fog crept in—thick, oppressive, swallowing the room whole.
Zhang Xiyu walks aimlessly inside the thick fog for what seemed like hours but were mere minutes. As he kept on walking, he realizes that this is not some normal fog. Since breathing was no longer a necessity for him, he had stopped doing it to block off the sweet perfumes from before.
Now, he took a small, deliberate whiff.
It was smoke. Judging by its spread there had to be a large fire behind it. Zhang Xiyu's eyes narrow, tracing its direction, and begins moving towards it—hoping it would lead him to the centre of the array.
By nature's laws, the closer one gets to fire, the thicker the smoke becomes.
But this illusion had no interest in obeying such laws.
The nearer he drew, the thinner the smoke became—until, at last, a burning house came into view. Its architecture was from a bygone era: three buildings arranged around a large courtyard; the kind of estate owned by wealthy families in China.
Zhang Xiyu's life, which had turned stagnant for quite a few centuries, didn't fail to keep with the modern trends of an apartment the size of a matchbox.
In front of that burning house he felt that he had travelled back in time, a strange nostalgia crept in.
A girl emerged from the gate; her figure smudged with soot. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, her nightclothes singed and clinging to her limbs. She limped toward him, barely acknowledging her injuries.
"A-Yu…?"
The way she addressed him spoke of deep familiarity. But the dark night obscured her identity.
"Yu Ge!" she cried suddenly, lurching forward and grabbing his shoulders. Black tears streamed down her face. "Mother, Father, everyone—they're still inside!"
"I'll call for help. You—you have to save them! Go! Hurry!"
With unnatural strength, she shoves him through the burning gate. It slams shut behind him with a deafening bang.
He moves through the inferno, stepping into the main building. Kicking open a nearby door, he finds a young boy crying into the lap of an unconscious woman.
"Mommy, get up! It's too hot! Wake up! We have to leave!"
But no matter how hard the child wailed, his mother doesn't stir. When he notices Zhang Xiyu, he throws himself at him—just like the girl had.
"Uncle! Mommy won't wake up! Where's daddy?"
Probably out drinking in some tavern...
Zhang Xiyu froze.
Where did that thought come from?
He shoved the unease aside and surveyed the room. Weak veins of array energy flickered across the surfaces, which means that the centre is…
Without a word, he leaves the crying child behind and crosses the courtyard with long, purposeful strides. Another building. Another door. He kicks it open and steps into what was unmistakably an ancestral hall.
At first glance, it looks normal. But the altar stank of demonic energy. Only a citizen of Hell would recognize it.
His physical body isn't present in this cursed place, so his sword is out of reach. Instead, he channels his energy into a glowing two-foot arrow. He has found the centre. Now he can decide what to do with it.
Suddenly, an old couple stumbles into the room, collapsing to the floor in panic
Under his inquisitive yet impatient gaze, the dishevelled old woman rises shakily and caresses his cheek. The pale skin staining with the black soot made his eyes look even colder.
"Son… let's go! Help me carry your father away from this place!"
Zhang Xiyu's expression darkens.
"First, you throw me in—now you beg me to leave? Who are you? And what is this nonsense?"
"Is this how you talk to your mother you shameless brat! This is no time for jokes- A-Yu! Xiyu!"
Mother? Zhang Xiyu's brows furrow, recalling that the boy had called him 'uncle'. And this building—why did watching it burn twist his insides with a strange, sinking feeling?
He clenches his fists, shaking it off.
It must be the illusion; it was getting to him.
He had heard enough from these puppets. Truthfully, he had no recollection left of his time in the mortal world, except for a strong sense of betrayal. The citizens of hell have often treated him as an outsider. But if he had to write down his roots, he would have no choice but to write about the Kaigan Pit that birthed the current him.
A heavy bow materializes from his fingertips as he nocks a long arrow on it. He then pulls out a strand of hair from his robe and ties it to the arrow. But he never gets to launch it at the ancestral tablet. The bowstring remains taut between his fingers as he observes the strange phenomenon.
A low howl erupts from within as flames swirl in from every direction. The illusion began to crack, overrun by the invading demonic energy.
The old woman begins to fracture along with it—her form splintering like dried porcelain. And yet, her feet do not falter. She steps forward and gently embraces him from behind.
Her wrinkled hand, soft and trembling, came to rest on his head.
"A-Yu. My dearest son… you must live."
The arrow slips from his hold, landing softly below the altar.
"Leave here. And live a long, happy life."
His body turns stiff between the woman's gentle warmth which was gradually fading.
"My most precious… son"
The illusionary woman collapses completely. Leaving him cold again.
Zhang Xiyu had nothing to wait for, leaping toward a widening fissure in the scene. He tore his soul free and yanks his consciousness back into Hell.
Back in the underworld, demons milled about, muttering curses at Zhang Xiyu's incompetence. His return was long overdue—neither sign of life nor death had come from him. After completing the game, the screen went blank, leaving them to only curse that bastard.
All they could do now was wait.
Minutes tick by.
Then, without warning, Zhang Xiyu's eyes snap open.
For a heartbeat, Hell fell silent.
Then came the eruption of cheers, echoing from every corner.
"He is back! No more curfew! We are so back!"
"I am never doing this again." a demon sobs.
Zhang Xiyu first met the eyes of Liu Xue who didn't look too affected by his return. There was a sense of defeat but no surprise.
Liu Xue didn't create the array.
Before he could investigate further, a familiar figure seizes his arm and drags him away from the crowd. A cloak is thrown over him, one laced with suppressants that dulled spiritual energy.
"Let's get the fuck out of here." Yutao's voice is low and sharp with panic.
He shoves him into a waiting carriage, then leaps in after him. The horses take off immediately, putting distance between them and the smouldering remains of the party.
"Heaven has already arrived." Yutao mutters, cradling his head like it might split in two.
Zhang Xiyu sinks deeper into the plush seat, every bone in his body aching. Despite it all, a sly smile tugs at his lips.
"Didn't I send you home?"
"You—!" Yutao chokes on his words, throwing his hands up in despair.
On the other side, Hao Enlai spits on the ground, his gaze full of contempt. Above Liu Xue's head hovers a halo. It isn't nearly as angelic as it should be as it was made of cold reinforced metal.
"You are being detained for trespassing in the mortal realm and using forbidden powers that directly resulted in two deaths." an angel drones, reciting from a glowing tablet. His partner silently tightens the band of the halo.
Liu Xue's hand twitches toward his sword. He restrains himself, eyes narrowing as they landed on Hao Enlai, the director of this show.
"You are also charged with constructing an array within the time-space fabric without proper authorization." the angel added, monotone.
"An array?" Liu Xue echoes, voice flat.
"The specifics will be disclosed in court. As for the demons who assisted—punishment will follow protocol."
"The protocol mandates ten years of curfew including two dry years where alcohol supply would be stopped."
"Like father, like son! Only know how to ruin a good time!"
"I hate my life so much."
All this groaning and crying fell on deaf ears as the black carriage carrying the scheming bastards rolled far away from the chaos.
Yutao exhales and rubs his temples.
"Who the hell could have trapped you in that array—"
A job proposal flashes inside Yutao's brain. "Oh."
Zhang Xiyu's interest piques immediately. He leans forward with a slow smile, "What do you know?"