He woke before dawn. The scent of salt still clung to the worn wooden walls of the hut, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore served as a constant rhythm to his thoughts. Ye Wu, lying on a simple straw bed, hadn't truly slept — not from physical discomfort, but from the unrest dominating his mind.
The body was young. Small. Fragile. He estimated it to be around eight or nine years old. But it didn't belong to him. Not yet.
He closed his eyes and dove once more into his mind, searching for any trace of the body's former owner. Images, memories, sensations—anything that might offer an identity. A name. An origin. Even a single emotional scar.
Nothing.
The mind was a blank slate. White. As if the body had been cultivated solely to receive him and nothing more.
— Hmph… — he muttered coldly. — Fate is truly bold.
It was a cruel irony. He, who had spent a lifetime manipulating minds, infiltrating the feelings of others, now couldn't find even a trace of the person whose shell he now inhabited.
He stood up and walked to the stained metal mirror the old couple kept. He examined the face: dark, sunken eyes, disheveled hair, pale skin. A common child. Nothing special. But in the eyes… there was something older, something darker.
— Who were you before me…? — he whispered to the reflection.
No answer, as expected.
He decided to investigate around the village. It was a simple fishing settlement, poor and isolated, with only a few dozen inhabitants. He listened in on conversations, observed their habits, interacted carefully. Trying to extract any useful information about the body he now inhabited.
But no one seemed to remember a missing child. No forgotten name. No recent tragedy.
The old fisherman, Lao Min, claimed to have found him unconscious on the sand, as if the sea itself had spat him out. His wife, Aunt Mei, said it was "a sign from the heavens"—and since then, they'd cared for Ye Wu with near-religious devotion. Perhaps they were just lonely. Perhaps they sought redemption for some past sin. Or maybe they simply wanted to fill the void that age had brought.
He accepted it.
For now.
Back at the hut, Ye Wu sat in meditation. Closed his eyes and delved into his consciousness. There it was—the Crimson Lotus.
His most insane creation. His emotional legacy. A Gu born from the absolute manipulation of his own feelings. The first petal glowed faintly, stable. Its essence felt more alive than ever—as if it, too, had been reborn.
He reached for the second petal.
It was there.
But it wouldn't open.
No seals. No visible resistance. Nothing held it back—except a deep, instinctive certainty: it wasn't ready.
— So that's how it is… — he muttered in disgust.
He knew, at a fundamental level, that the Crimson Lotus fed on emotion—raw, powerful, unstable emotions. The more negative, the greater the surge. Rage, hatred, betrayal, despair—these fueled the Gu's essence like dry wood in a fire.
But here, in this peaceful village, there was none of that.
And more importantly: he wasn't ready.
Creating chaos, provoking tragedy, manipulating the villagers… it came naturally to Ye Wu. But now, in a child's fragile body, he wouldn't survive the consequences.
The rage bubbling inside him at this unavoidable delay was contained by reason.
— Thirteen to fifteen years… — he said, eyes narrowing.
That was the estimated time. The second petal wouldn't open before then. It didn't matter how hard he tried, how cultivated his soul was, how much experience he had.
It was as if the world itself had placed a timer on him.
— The manipulator, being manipulated… — he said, with a crooked smile. — What a delicious farce.
But he wasn't one to yield to chance. If fate wanted to toy with him, he'd play with even more patience. He would wait. Plant his seeds in silence. Observe. Study.
And then, when he was strong enough…
— When the second petal blooms… — his eyes glinted crimson for a brief moment — the world will remember that Ye Wu does not forget. He waits. And then, he destroys.
With that silent promise, he laid back on the bed, eyes open and staring at the wooden ceiling.
The Lotus remained silent.
But he could feel it.
It was hungry.
Note from the Author
English is not my first language, and I'm still learning. This fanfic is something I'm writing just for fun and personal satisfaction. I appreciate your understanding and patience with any mistakes along the way!