012 His Nightmare [Part 2]

  "Listen here, LU GAO!"

  Nee Chen’s voice rang through the night like a whip, sharp and demanding.

  The brat flinched, his sniffling coming to an abrupt stop. His big, teary eyes looked up at Nee Chen in shock.

  Finally.

  Nee Chen sighed and softened his tone. "Little Gao, you’re still young… Fine. Think about it this way. You have at least a decade before you can even think about becoming a cultivator. And even then, it’s not guaranteed. Becoming a cultivator is a matter of chance. You can’t just wish for it and make it happen."

  Lu Gao opened his mouth to argue.

  "I—"

  "O-k-a-y?" Nee Chen cut him off, enunciating each syllable with a firm stare.

  "I don’t know if—"

  "O-K-A-Y?" This time, Nee Chen’s tone left no room for debate.

  Lu Gao shrank under his gaze and meekly nodded.

  Satisfied, Nee Chen let out a breath. "Good. Now, why did you come here, exactly?"

  Lu Gao wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Uuummm... because Mom would just smack me if she heard me crying like this."

  "...I see."

  Nee Chen nodded in understanding. He should’ve guessed. Lu Gao’s mother was a strict woman, and like most people in One Well Village, she didn’t tolerate nonsense—especially when it came to cultivators.

  The village had an ingrained fear and disdain for the cultivation world. Unlike other places where people admired or envied those who pursued power, One Well Village preferred to remain unnoticed.

  "Go home now. You’re annoying me. It’s fucking midnight, brat..."

  Lu Gao pouted but obeyed. As he trudged away, Nee Chen shut the door and dropped onto his bed.

  But sleep did not come.

  Even after the brat had left, Nee Chen lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He tossed and turned, but the fatigue wouldn’t drag him under. His mind was restless, tangled in thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp.

  By the time the first light of dawn broke through his window, he gave up on sleep entirely.

  With a groan, Nee Chen got up and stretched. His muscles ached from the lack of rest, but there was work to be done.

  He stepped outside, breathing in the crisp morning air. The first thing he did was clean up the leftover wood scraps from the previous night. He alternated between his hut and his farm, using the waste as fertilizer for his crops.

  The hours passed in a blur of repetitive labor. He tilled the soil, sowed new seeds, and ensured his crops were well-maintained. Then, when he was done with that, he returned to his woodcarving.

  Back and forth, he worked tirelessly until the sun dipped below the horizon.

  By the time he finally decided to rest, his body felt heavy, exhaustion settling deep into his bones.

  "Ugh… today was too tiring. I think I overdid it last night," he muttered to himself.

  Collapsing onto his bed, Nee Chen closed his eyes, eager for sleep to claim him.

  Tonight, he dreamt of a different life.

  In his dream, he was married to Xiang Ya, the most beautiful girl in the village. She was in their home, cooking him food, her smile warm and loving.

  It was everything he had ever wanted.

  "Xiang Ya," he murmured, reaching for her. "I love you."

  She turned to him with a soft smile. "Me too."

  For a moment, everything was perfect.

  Then, the dream twisted into a nightmare.

  The sky darkened. Clouds loomed overhead, suffocating the light.

  A sword appeared—out of nowhere, out of nothing—and pierced Xiang Ya’s chest.

  Her smile disappeared, replaced by wide, unblinking eyes. Blood bloomed from the wound, staining her dress, dripping onto the floor.

  Nee Chen couldn’t move.

  He wanted to scream, to reach out, to stop this from happening—

  But he was frozen.

  Then, he saw them.

  Corpses.

  His fellow villagers, the people he had known all his life, lay lifeless on the ground. Their blood ran like a river, pooling together in a gruesome tide.

  Death swallowed the village.

  And then—nothing.

  Nee Chen gasped awake.

  His back was drenched in sweat. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath ragged and uneven.

  He rubbed his face with shaking hands.

  It was just a dream.

  But why did it feel so real?

  An ominous feeling settled in his gut.

  Nee Chen moved with urgency, his feet carrying him through the quiet village. The early morning mist clung low to the ground, thick and unmoving, while the sun remained hidden behind the clouds. The village was still asleep, unaware of the foreboding weight pressing on Nee Chen's chest.

  He had to speak with the elder.

  Reaching the elder’s house, he lifted his hand and rapped on the wooden door.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Silence.

  It made sense. The village was still asleep. But Nee Chen couldn't calm the unease gnawing at his thoughts. He knocked again, louder this time.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  A moment passed before the door creaked open.

  Xiang Ya stood there.

  For a second, Nee Chen forgot why he was even here.

  Dark hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a face too beautiful for a simple village like this. Her lips—soft, supple—parted slightly in surprise. Her skin, fair and smooth, was illuminated by the dim morning light.

  And then—

  "Boobs."

  Ahem.

  He choked on air, his thoughts betraying him.

  Xiang Ya blinked.

  "...?"

  "...!"

  Nee Chen swallowed hard.

  Cough! Xiang Ya cleared her throat, snapping both of them out of the awkward silence. "Brother Chen, why did you come?"

  "I—"

  Before he could say another word—

  "WAAAAAAAAA~ WAAAaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaaa~!"

  A loud, familiar cry tore through the village's morning stillness. Nee Chen turned his head and saw Lu Gao running toward him, his face red and streaked with tears.

  The brat stumbled to a halt in front of him, gasping for breath between sobs.

  "C-Cultivator! B-Brother Chen, my mom... waaAaaAa… hik… hik…!"

  Nee Chen’s frown deepened. Something was wrong.

  Lu Gao was hyperventilating, his small hands trembling. Nee Chen knelt and placed a steady hand on the boy’s back, rubbing slow circles to calm him.

  "What happened?" Xiang Ya asked, concern evident in her voice.

  But Lu Gao was struggling to speak through his sobs.

  Then—

  The answer came to them.

  Three men stumbled toward them, their bodies covered in deep, bloody wounds.

  Nee Chen's stomach lurched.

  These were men he saw every day. They worked the fields with him, shared drinks after a long day, laughed at the same jokes. But now, they were barely standing, their faces twisted in agony.

  One of them gasped, his voice raw with desperation—

  "Demonic cultivator!"

  "Run!"

  "He killed all of—"

  SLAASH!

  Blood splattered through the air.

  A blade sliced through one of the men’s backs, splitting him open before he could finish his sentence. His body collapsed, lifeless.

  Behind them stood a robed figure, his sword still dripping with fresh blood.

  The air grew cold.

  "They ran quite fast..." The man mused, flicking his sword to shake off the excess blood. His gaze swept over the three villagers he had cut down, then turned toward the rest of them with an amused smirk. "Greetings, mortals. I am Zha Dong. Revere me!"

  Nee Chen couldn’t move.

  His mind screamed at him to do something—anything—but his body refused to obey.

  Lu Gao had already fainted from sheer terror.

  Xiang Ya stood rigid beside him, her breath shallow, her face drained of color.

  The village was no longer at peace.

  ***

  **

  *

  Lu Gao still remembered the chirping of the crickets. It had been a peaceful night. A night just like any other.

  He had been playing at the village’s periphery, waving his wooden sword through the air, lost in a fantasy where he was a powerful cultivator. In his mind, he cut down invisible enemies, soared through the skies, and became someone the whole village admired.

  But that fantasy shattered in an instant.

  He saw it.

  A figure in dark robes. A real cultivator.

  A blade flashing under the moonlight.

  His mother—standing there, searching for him, worry in her eyes—was cut down in a single stroke.

  The sword slashed through her stomach, parting flesh and muscle as if they were paper. Blood spilled onto the damp earth. Her insides—pink, red, and glistening—tumbled out in a grotesque heap. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, thick and suffocating.

  "M-mo-mom..." Lu Gao whispered. His voice was barely audible, drowned out by the pounding of his own heart.

  His legs trembled.

  His mind froze.

  A scream built in his throat but never came out.

  Lu Gao had always been a curious boy, eager to learn. His inquisitive nature had taken him to many places in the village, including the butcher’s shop. He remembered the first time he had seen an animal being slaughtered. The smell of blood had made his stomach turn, but that wasn’t what had stuck with him.

  It was the sound.

  The squealing.

  The desperate, high-pitched cry of a pig as its throat was slit.

  Now, he heard that sound again.

  But it wasn't a pig this time.

  "K-kyaaa~"

  That was the last thing his mother ever said.

  Lu Gao's breath hitched.

  This was his fault.

  If he hadn’t snuck out to play—

  If he had stayed home like he was supposed to—

  Would his mother still be alive?

  "N-no..." His lips quivered. Tears blurred his vision.

  Then he ran.

  His small legs carried him through the village, past the homes of neighbors and friends. But the massacre followed him.

  From behind, he heard the screams.

  "Who is this?!"

  "Ah! He has a knife!"

  "That's a fucking sword!"

  "Please, not my child!"

  The village erupted into chaos. Doors were flung open, confused voices rose in panic, people scrambled in the dark trying to make sense of what was happening.

  But understanding came too late.

  One by one, the screams were cut short.

  Lu Gao didn’t look back.

  He couldn’t.

  He didn’t want to see it.

  He just kept running, his tears mixing with the bloodstained air.

  ***

  **

  *

  Zha Dong moved through the village like a shadow, his sword carving through flesh with precise, almost artistic strokes. His grin stretched unnaturally wide, a manic expression of pure ecstasy as he watched the light fade from his victims’ eyes.

  One after another, villagers collapsed at his feet. Some tried to fight, wielding farming tools in a desperate bid for survival. Others attempted to flee, but they were slow—pathetically so.

  His sword sang with each cut.

  A thrust to the heart. A slash across the throat. A quick flick of his wrist to disarm and dismember.

  Then came the part he enjoyed the most.

  With practiced ease, Zha Dong extracted the bones from his victims. He worked quickly, his fingers moving with an almost obsessive care, peeling away flesh and sinew as if unwrapping a precious gift.

  The bones were beautiful. Smooth, white, and pure. He collected them with reverence, slipping them into a pouch at his waist.

  A woman crawled toward him, her hands shaking, eyes wide with horror.

  “Please… my son… spare him…” she whimpered.

  Zha Dong tilted his head, considering her for a moment.

  Then he plunged his sword into her chest.

  He pulled the blade free, watching as she crumpled to the ground, her last breath escaping in a ragged wheeze.

  “No exceptions,” he muttered, stepping over her corpse.

  The village was nearly silent now. The screams had faded, leaving only the occasional whimper or groan of the dying.

  Zha Dong licked the blood from his lips.

  There was only one place left.

  The largest house in the village. The elder’s home.

  He saved it for last.

  ***

  **

  *

  When Zha Dong arrived at his final destination, he was greeted by the sight of three survivors.

  A young woman, trembling with fear.

  A farm boy, frozen in place.

  And a child, unconscious in the dirt.

  “Well, what do we have here?” Zha Dong mused, dragging his sword along the ground. The blade scraped against the stone, leaving a sharp, grating sound in the air. “A beauty, a farm boy, and a brat…”

  He flicked his sword, splattering blood onto the dirt, and wiped the blade clean on the robes of a corpse beside him.

  The farm boy moved first. He rushed to the unconscious child, scooping up the kid and dragging him toward a pile of hay. He shoved the boy into the concealment of the dry stalks, his breathing uneven.

  Zha Dong didn’t move.

  He simply watched, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

  The farm boy was pathetic. His limbs shook. His breathing was erratic. He was completely overwhelmed, drowning in fear.

  Zha Dong let out a small chuckle.

  “Heh~ It was just killing intent, and already you’re like this?”

  Nee Chen’s body locked up. He was frozen, unable to move, unable to think.

  The demonic cultivator’s aura wrapped around him like an iron cage, suffocating, oppressive. His chest burned as if invisible hands were squeezing the air from his lungs.

  Zha Dong turned his attention to the girl.

  She was trembling. Her eyes darted toward the farm boy, but she couldn’t move either.

  “Not bad.” Zha Dong reached out, gripping Xiang Ya’s chin between his fingers. He forced her to look at him, tilting her head from side to side. “A little scrawny, but that face makes up for it.”

  Then, without hesitation, he pressed his lips against hers.

  The beauty stiffened.

  Her thoughts were unknown except to herself:

  Cold. His lips were cold.

  Disgust churned in her stomach. Her fear, for a brief moment, was overshadowed by revulsion.

  Her hands clenched into fists.

  And then—

  She bit him.

  Zha Dong jerked back, eyes flashing with shock and fury. A thin trickle of blood ran down his chin from where her teeth had sunk into his skin.

  The beauty staggered away, spitting onto the dirt, rubbing her lips frantically as if trying to scrub off the filth of his touch.

  Zha Dong watched her.

  He watched as she scraped her tongue with her fingers, her face twisted in pure disgust.

  His grin vanished.

  His amusement died.

  A dark, seething hatred took its place.

  “You slut.” His voice was low, venomous. “I show interest in you, and this is how you repay me?”

  His grip tightened around his sword. His aura pulsed, a wave of killing intent crashing over the three survivors like a suffocating storm.

  “I guess I don’t need to hold back anymore.”

  Zha Dong licked the blood from his lips, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

  “Time to collect everyone’s bones.”