Feng Shui - Capítulo 45
After receiving Lanya's consent, he immediately started the car and drove towards the seaside.
This is a brick and wood structure house, every inch of its exterior painted snow-white. On the beach where the water and sky meet, it looks like a white cloud floating in the air from a distance.
The owner of the house sat by the sea-facing window, slowly sipping what was truly a bloody Mali. Blood mixed with the liquor slowly flowed into his thin lips, and his body immediately emitted a joyful cry.
This is the weakness and strength of the flesh; no amount of willpower can completely control it, always leading it into the abyss of desire.
He must have felt such disgust when he first drank this stuff. As a human, he simply couldn't accept it, but that man had the means to override the will of others.
Volume Two, Chapter Sixty of the Father's Last Words
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He drank it while pinching his nose.
Even now, his body still remembers that nauseous feeling. But it only happened once; after that, he never felt pain again. He gained eternal life but lost human feelings, but what he lost at the same time was far more than that.
The doorbell rang. He put down his wine glass, got up and opened the door. Feng Nian'en walked in.
“I thought you wouldn’t come back.” He said, handing over a glass of Bloody Mali.
Feng Nian'en's expression changed, her fingers stiffly took it, a trace of pain flashed in her eyes, but she still drank it all down in one gulp.
"I also thought I wouldn't need to come anymore." He looked at the empty wine glass in his hand, his voice tinged with a sigh.
"The gambler who leaves the table is the winner."
Feng Nian'en gave a bitter smile: "I've already lost. Now I'm just trying not to lose too badly."
Lan Ya raised an eyebrow, indicating her confusion.
"With Viter joining the fray, do you think I still have a chance to win?"
Lan Ya's expression changed, and he hurriedly said, "Impossible!" If he wanted to, that man could have crushed the Zhang family long ago. He had said things like, "What's the fun in being the only one standing?" He liked having rivals, even if those rivals were ones he had cultivated, even if they were easy to defeat. Watching his enemies struggle and fight back was his greatest pleasure; he would never eliminate all obstacles.
Feng Nian'en glanced at him: "He told me himself."
Lan Ya stared at him, her body trembling slightly. Suddenly, he turned around and said in a forcedly calm voice, "You should leave."
Feng Nian'en remained silent for a moment, then turned and walked towards the door.
"You shouldn't have told me." The soft voice was filled with anger. "I'm so disappointed that you've become like this."
"I'm sorry." Feng Nian'en said softly, pushed open the door, and walked out quickly.
With a click, the door locked, and the room fell silent once more. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks drifted in through the window, plunging the entire room into a somber atmosphere.
Prostitutes are heartless, actors are ruthless. Those who stand on stage long enough lose sight of reality. The moment the gong sounds, he cries, he sings, he dances, he complains—forever devoted, forever indifferent. He can smile genuinely at anyone, because it's just another act, because he can turn cold and heartless at any moment.
The whipping he endured from a young age taught him that he must immediately immerse himself in any role he is assigned to, and similarly, he cannot linger on any role, because that would affect his ability to immerse himself in the next one.
But how long has he been playing this role? Seventy years. His only audience has long since grown tired of it, so why does he still cling to it? Is he really that reluctant to let go?
No, he's been playing the same role for seventy years and he's long since tired of it. But the gong keeps beating, and he has no choice but to keep acting.
Eternal life—he must have felt a secret thrill when he first learned of it. Lightning speed, immense strength, a superior status—overnight he possessed everything. Satisfaction, for the first time in over twenty years, he felt content.
He felt no guilt. It was a time of war and chaos, and death was the most normal thing in the world. Besides, those humans were nothing more than animals to him, used to satisfy their needs.
At that time, he was probably grateful to him. Even though his attitude was always so rude, giving the impression of being teased, he still admired him so much, unconsciously imitating his expressions and actions, unconsciously agreeing with his views on things. He even unconsciously believed that vampires were the superior breed, truly the darlings of heaven.
Volume Two, Chapter Sixty-One: Father's Last Words
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Yes, he liked being a vampire. He always thought he did, especially when he stood on high ground amidst the chaos of battle, looking down on the shattered battlefield, as if God were looking down on the mundane masses. But one evening, as he awoke from his sleep to a still-young face in the mirror, a chill ran down his spine.
So, he was already dead.
He opened his mouth, but what came out was a sharp voice—fear—fear—of ruining his beautiful face—of youth—easily—gone…
His voice was still as clear and crisp as ever, his tone as mournful as ever, and his expression as devoted as ever. In a daze, he even had a strange feeling: the decades in between were nothing but a dream, a bizarre fantasy, and he was still the actor standing on the high stage.
He was almost convinced, but then the man appeared in the mirror. The rich fragrance was instantly replaced by a chilling coolness; the stage vanished, hope shattered; he had never hated anyone so deeply.
He didn't move, just stared quietly into the mirror, but the hateful gaze in the mirror was so obvious that even he himself doubted that the hatred of a life could be so intense.
“It’s too late now.” He looked in the mirror again, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t see that wicked smile on that charming face.
He finally realized that, of the two, he was the better actor.
What followed was a period of madness, thankfully it was a crazy time. His actions were drowned out by the blind commotion of the crowd.
It was at this moment that he heard the legend—the tears of a virgin.
Even now, he still wonders how he could have believed such an absurd thing back then. Perhaps it was because there was no other way.
Why turn back into a human? How can the dead be brought back to life?
He kept pondering similar questions, but unlike Feng Nian'en later, he didn't rush to implement them.
But that day still came.
At that time, because his behavior finally attracted the attention of the secret police, Prince Ellie forcibly sent him to the United States.
He went to the other side of the world without resistance, never expecting to take on another role there.
He could no longer clearly remember what the girl looked like, only her exaggerated laughter, like a broken silver bell, crisp yet slightly grating.
There weren't many Chinese people in that town, but he noticed her simply because her gaze always followed him, the gaze of a girl infatuated with him.
He had no reason to let the opportunity slip by. But she wasn't a virgin.
Perhaps the legend was true, but he didn't try again.
Regretful? Perhaps. However, since that hot and noisy night, he has only had one audience left. They act and watch each other, and as long as they believe, why care about the truth? He always believed that this was their consensus, until recently he realized that he was wrong.
That man's performance wasn't meant for him. I was merely an interlude in a long, drawn-out drama.
An interlude? He chuckled softly, turned around, picked up the microphone, and expertly dialed a string of numbers.
Even if it's just an interlude, it has to be a lively one. There are gongs, drums, flutes, and erhus, and the mournful singing tunes can't be without accompaniment.
"Everything I have is from you, my dear elder. Consider this my way of repaying you as your junior." He chuckled softly, a playful smile curving his thin lips...
Volume Two, Chapter Sixty-Two of Father's Last Words
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I guess I can't come here anymore.
Feng Nian'en looked at the snow-white house and a bitter smile appeared on his lips. He didn't know if Lan Ya would take any action, but he was certain that he had lost the kindness of this vampire to him.
See, I'm not that fool anymore, miss. I've even learned to manipulate and sow discord.
He turned the key and drove the car around. The sea breeze blew in through the window, and the air he inhaled carried a salty, fishy smell.
“Every human being has a weakness; once you find it, they are someone you can exploit.”
Ruoya, the vampire who is currently teaching him in place of Cangya, once said this to him. She may have told him this to teach him how to deal with clients, but now he is using it on Lanya.
"I'm sorry." He sighed inwardly. "Miss is also my Achilles' heel; I must keep this promise."
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"Bang—Bang!"
The bright glass coffee table fell to the hard floor, the wine glasses shattered into pieces, and the bright red liquid quickly spread across the floor.
"When are you going to stop playing around?!" Almost out of control, Long Xinsheng glared at the man in front of him. Even though he knew it was useless, he couldn't help but vent his anger.
"Until the end of time." His pale golden eyes didn't even blink.
Long Xinsheng twitched the corners of his mouth, laughing in extreme anger: "It seems I'll have to disappoint you, sir. I'm still human, and I can't accompany you to the ends of the earth. To avoid wasting each other's time, it's best to end it here." After saying that, he surprisingly went up and hugged Xu Zuo, which was unusual for him.
"This is the first time you've taken the initiative. I'm flattered." The deep laugh carried a warm undertone.
Long Xinsheng quickly left, but his body was tightly bound by an arm.
"I don't like games that end as soon as they begin." While holding the hair, he quickly reached out and pulled out half of the silver hair before Long Xinsheng could do anything.
“I never imagined your feelings for me were so deep.” Holding the strand of hair, Suzuka laughed, “You’ve even started stealing my hair like a woman. Why did you do this? I told you to move in a long time ago, so you could see me all the time.”
Long Xinsheng gritted his teeth, kicked out with his left foot, and spun around to widen the distance between the two.
This time, Suzaku didn't stop him; he just looked at him with amusement, his left hand still fiddling with the half-strand of hair.
"I'll ask you one last time, are you truly not going to give up?"
What do you think?
Long Xinsheng nodded, suppressing his raging anger, and said in a forcedly calm voice, "It's regrettable that our friendship with the Ellie lineage has to end here. I hope you'll stop now, or don't blame me for being ruthless." No one could stop him! No one could disrupt his plans! Even if it meant mutual destruction, he would make that man pay the price!
Suzaku still looked at him with that lazy, mocking smile, completely ignoring his warning.
Long Xinsheng watched him cautiously, slowly backing away until he reached the door, then quickly opened it and rushed out.
“I’m waiting for your next move, boy.” Just as he fled the house, the teasing voice suddenly rang out. He moved even faster, rushing downstairs in a few leaps and into the garage. The black Hyundai sped out at an astonishing speed. Only after the car had merged into traffic and he was certain that no one was following him did he pull half a silver hair covered in saliva from his mouth. “You forced me to do this.”
Volume Two, Chapter Sixty-Three: Father's Last Words
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The door closed automatically. He twirled his silver hair between his fingers. The smile on his lips had vanished sometime during the night, but his languid expression seemed to have become an integral part of him, always etched on his face.
Am I really being foolish, my boy? Can't you even tell if it's a joke? Or have you become timid this time? This isn't like you; you were fearless four hundred years ago. But it doesn't matter, we have plenty of time this time.
Four hundred years… The thought of that number sent a shiver down Xu Zuo’s spine. No, it should be 392 years. Yes, 392 years. He still remembered that the town hall, which Henry IV had ordered to be built, was finally completed. That should have been the second year of Louis XIII’s reign.
That year, he was twenty-eight, still Count Gulan de von Nicola. He was lucky enough that, although he was only an illegitimate child with Egyptian blood, he naturally inherited everything because the man who gave him life had no other children.
Even without immense wealth, his looks were enough to attract dozens of women, especially since those well-fed and idle noblewomen lived solely with the goal of finding a strong and handsome man. He roamed freely among the women, slipping from one woman's embrace to another's bed, and no matter how pure and innocent she was, she could never resist his slight smile.
Women love him to death, but men hate him to death.
He was skilled in every activity of aristocratic youth: horseback riding, archery, falconry, and hound hunting. The entire upper class of Paris welcomed him.
But he eventually grew tired of this kind of life. Everything was too easy. Women came too easily, competitions were won too easily, and things that are too easily obtained are never cherished. So one mistress after another was abandoned by him, and one rival after another was mocked by him.
Those days that he found annoying were filled with other people's tears, pleas, and angry curses.
Then, he met her.
It was a bright, sunny morning when even the dew on the leaves was tinged with gold. He rarely got up early, and drawn by the laughter, he went to the balcony only to realize that this was not his own home.
But who cares? If that woman dared to let him stay overnight, she must be absolutely sure of what was going on. If something went wrong, the worst that could happen was a duel.
Several girls sat on the lush green grass, but he had never been interested in unmarried virgins. His consistent theory was that apples taste best when they're red.