Within the span of two decades, every corner of the practitioners' circle had come to know the names of Cuo Qing Yi and Mo Xiao by heart.
The first name belongs to a demonic practitioner, who everyone had agreed to be a foreign star region's spy; whereas the second name belongs to the magic treasure of the former, a white flute that was decorated with a crimson tassel.
Vengeance, greed, or in rare cases, a sense of righteousness—regardless of which reason, the entirety of the practitioners' circle was actively on the hunt for Cuo Qing Yi.
And about 120 years after Cuo Qing Yi and Mo Xiao's name became well-known—
"Surnamed Cuo, hand over your dog life so that my son may rest in peace!"
"For killing more than a hundred of my sect's disciples, I'll have your head today!"
"My entire family was killed by you! I'll send you to hell!"
"Cuo Qing Yi, hand over Mo Xiao!"
"Today is the day you die, you foreign star region's spy!"
Members of practitioner households, high-ranking elders of renowned sects, the backgrounds of the enemies varied; but the commonality between them is their mutual hatred towards Cuo Qing Yi—who is currently surrounded by blood and corpses, while having his back facing a cliff.
As for what is beneath the cliff, it goes without saying that it is a bottomless abyss.
"…"
In the face of numerous enemies, who all wished for him to die, and to claim the flute in his hand for themselves, Cuo Qing Yi straightens his back with a fatigue-ridden expression on his face.
Dressed in a torn set of bloodstained white robes, and covered in laceration wounds, he heaves a sigh.
Being chased after, and killing those who dared to chase him for so many years—Cuo Qing Yi had long become accustomed to this sort of lifestyle, where the entirety of the world was his enemy.
"…"
Looking back, it's unknown as to when it had happened, but at some point, during those 120-odd years, his origin story of being a rural village young man, who was robbed of the chance to become a civil servant—that had seemingly become a past that had never existed, forever buried beneath the mountainous amount of slander and false crimes that talked about him being the devil's incarnation.
(…To be thinking of the past now of all times—I guess, this is it then?)
Ever since he had left the charred village, the taste of everything that he ate—whether it was the cheapest steamed bun, or the most exquisite natural treasure of Heaven and Earth, all of them just tasted like blood.
And regardless of how much he cleansed himself, the pungent scent of iron—they seemingly couldn't ever be washed off.
Accompanying the scent of blood, the faces of those that he had killed—both young and old, women and men, their faces, they would constantly appear in his sleep, cursing at him for his deeds.
"…"
Glaring at the enemies in front of him, Cuo Qing Yi thought—
(You all… What right do you all have to ask me to die? What right do any of you have to take my life? What makes those ghosts believe that they have any right to appear in my dreams, and to curse at me—when it was them who made the first move to attack me? Labeling me with false crimes, aren't all those just an excuse to hunt me down, and to make yourselves look like heroes? How hypocritical…)
Rotating his cultivation base, and burning his life energy, Cuo Qing Yi shouts—
"Fuck off!"
*Boom!!!!!!!!!* following the swing of the white flute, a flood of dark mist pours forth, causing the practitioners in front of Cuo Qing Yi to widen their eyes, and back away with an expression of dread.
"Ugh!"
"Aaaahhh!"
Those who were unfortunate enough to not be able to get away on time—similarly to flowers, they bloomed into a haze of blood, increasing the pungent scent of iron that is already looming over the air.
"Hack...…"
Spewing out a mouthful of blood, Cuo Qing Yi unsteadily takes a step back, while continuing to glare at the remaining enemies with eyes that are somewhat lifeless.
"This bastard, he still has life energy left to burn?"
"At this point, he should be done."
Glaring at Cuo Qing Yi with a hint of wariness that is overshadowed by their greed, the sea of bodies—formed of over 3,000 practitioners remarked as such, pushing for someone other than themselves to step forward.
"…"
Lowering the flute, Cuo Qing Yi can't help but chuckle, as he gazes at the magic treasure with a subtle smile.
"You… You've accompanied me for more than a hundred years now. At this point, you've probably already developed a conscience, have you not?"
*…!!!* as a humming sound emanates from the white flute, Cuo Qing Yi's smile widens slightly, while thinking—
(This life… It was much more difficult than all the previous lives from before. I didn't have anyone by my side. But now…)
Raising his left hand, Cuo Qing Yi presses his index finger onto the white flute.
As the flute continues to hum, while trembling, amber-colored runes of unknown origin are inscribed onto its surface.
(Maybe… This is a bit too selfish of me.)
Just as Cuo Qing Yi presses the flute near his lips, the practitioners, believing that the former is about to play the instrument, shout—
"Stop him!"
"Forward!"
Paying no heed to the incoming practitioners, Cuo Qing Yi whispers—
"Thank you… For your company…"
Leaping backwards, Cuo Qing Yi falls towards the bottom of the cliff, while tossing the flute into the skies.
"Farewell…"
*…!!!* as the flute's humming changed in pitch, it sounded akin to a desperate cry.