One morning, while Chao xing and I were practicing side by side, a man appeared out of nowhere and leaned in to whisper something in Chao Xing's ear. Whatever he said seemed urgent—Xiaoxing's eyes widened with alarm. Without a word to me, he followed the man and vanished. I thought the rest of the day would be free, but I hadn't expected it to be that free. Two days passed, yet there was no sign of Xiaoxing. Not even Uncle Igo's familiar praise or presence filled the silence he left behind.
c On the third day, Choa xing finally returned, his mood eerily calm, as if nothing had happened. But something about him was different—unsettling in its stillness.
"Where is Uncle Aiguo?" I asked as we walked toward the chamber.
"He will not return," Choa xing said quietly, sitting in the chair that once belonged to Uncle Aiguo.
I blinked, trying to brush off the heaviness in his voice. "Why?"
"He was involved in a rebellion against the Emperor. He is to be executed tomorrow." His tone was steady, almost indifferent.
My heart lurched. What? The question screamed within me, but I couldn't voice it. Instead, I simply turned to leave.
"If you step outside tomorrow, even to visit father I'll kill you ..." he said, his voice like cold steel.
"Why won't you go? He's your father," I asked, summoning all the courage I had.
"It's a win-win," he replied. "He was always too busy with court affairs to be there when I needed him. So I will not be there when he needs me most."
He is a psycho—a total psycho. How could he remain absent from his father's execution? Worse, how could he threaten me to do the same?
I fled from his presence. It felt suffocating, vile. The air around him reeked of something I could no longer bear.
The next morning, lying in bed, I wrestled with my thoughts—should I dare to sneak out and see Uncle Igo one last time? After what felt like endless inner debate, I made up my mind. I dressed quickly, strapping on my sword, heart thudding with every motion. As I opened the door, the chill of dawn met my skin—but so did something else.
Chao xing figure imposing, an iron sword resting in his left hand. I looked up, startled.
"I knew you'd try to sneak out," he said, his voice sharp and unforgiving.
I froze. His black eyes—usually unreadable—now brimmed with fury, darker than ever.
"Didn't I tell you not to step outside?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the silence.
I instinctively stepped back, fear rising in my throat. But he advanced. I turned to run, but he was faster. His blade sliced through the air with violent precision, hunting me down like a predator after prey.
He caught me.
The cold, biting tip of his sword pressed against the hollow of my neck.
"You filthy brat," he hissed. "You don't deserve to be trained."
In that moment, he looked unrecognizable—deranged. A madman consumed by something darker than rage. A psycho beyond saving.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, trembling, as tears slid down my cheeks. I shut my eyes tight, bracing for what would come next.
But then—something shifted.
When I opened my eyes, an old man stood beside Chao Xing...silent and sudden, like a ghost the wind had carried in. Chao xing hadn't even noticed him. And then—bang—he shoved him hard.
I felt it.
The sword tore across my skin, slicing from my neck to my chest. Pain bloomed like fire, and the world blurred in crimson.
------