"Are you ready to die, Chengzhu?" asked a dark, cold voice belonging to a man in black, who slowly climbed the steps to the throne.
"I can hardly wait!" Chengzhu answered him, a thieving grin playing around his lips. Chengzhu, king of ghosts, ruler of Duifang, nightmare of the immortals and cause of all evil in the world.
The man, in his bright red robe and the pale ghost mark on his forehead, sat on his throne. Outwardly, he would have been estimated to be in his early thirties. He was tall, muscular and of such flawless beauty that you would have thought a young god had descended.
If it weren't for that devilish, mischievous grin that destroyed any illusion of a saint in an instant. His velvety black hair flowed freely over his blood-red robe, the bluish veins shimmered beneath his pale skin and his scarlet eyes rested on the young man at his feet.
He fanned himself lazily with a fan on which was painted the image of a stormy night with a blood moon and a field full of red spider lilies. An old habit, because Duifang was anything but warm.
His seat, made of pitch-black obsidian, which rose from the ground like a crystal with sharp edges and points, had an uncomfortable seat that even the red silk cushions could not make more comfortable.
Completely unprotected, he stood between the high cliffs that separated him by only a few meters. Behind him was nothing but the spray of the mighty sea, from which no one had ever emerged. Surrounded by jagged, night-black rock and in front of him a host of bloodthirsty creatures who all wanted just one thing; to kill.
No, the throne of the Ghost King was not a warm, sheltered place. It was an open trap.
Beneath the throne, carved deep into the black rock, lay his palace. Cold, damp and a place where nightmares were born.
Weijie, as the young man called himself, who was almost a child on the outside and approached him, smiled coldly.
His dark hair was braided into elaborate plaits, glittering with silvery jewelry. His black robe swayed with every step and his fingers clasped an old, chunky ring with a pearl the size of a grape.
He had fine features, high cheekbones, full lips and a pale complexion that made the red make-up around his eyes glow with dangerous intensity. Weijie stopped, one fist clasped behind his back, and braced himself inwardly. His gaze fell on the still steaming cup of tea that was uncovered next to the throne.
Chengzhu's gaze did not follow him, he looked at him cheerfully, almost amused, as if he was looking forward to what was about to happen. He leaned back, crossed his legs and folded his fan.
Weijie took a deep breath; today he would become king. His otherwise pitch-black eyes took on a scarlet glow and Chengzhu gave him a disparaging look.
"Do you need more time?" he asked defiantly. Weijie gritted her teeth. If the old man wanted to bite the dust so badly, he would grant him his wish.
At his signal, the square filled up with black-cloaked figures within seconds. Daggers, arrows and thorny whips flew towards the man in red. One of his black-cloaked puppets used a poisonous smoke grenade. Weijie narrowed her eyes.
"You'll have to earn your throne yourself!" laughed Chengzhu, his dark, velvety voice stroking Weijie's skin. He heard the thud of hollow bodies, no moans, no groans and no cries of pain, for his puppets felt none of these things.
He took a step back as a cold, murderous aura rushed towards him. Cold as a blade, Chengzhu's spiritual energy shot out.
Weijie dodged the hand that would have pierced his chest and intercepted the second blow. The force that was released swept across the black, cracked floor and knocked over the tea set. Blackish-brown liquid and bloated tea leaves scattered across the floor.
Weijie wrinkled his nose. The poison he had been administering to Chengzhu for months had reached such a high concentration that he could smell it all the way here. His gaze slid back. Into the red, insane eyes of the Ghost King.
His movements were fast and strong, but that would only unleash the poison in his body faster.
Chengzhu took advantage of the inattentive moment and swept Weijie off his feet. He landed on his back with a loud groan. Weijie felt his bones break and blood fill his lungs.
He wrapped both legs around the arm of the ghost king, who pinned him to the ground, and turned to the side. He flung the man in red away from him and got to his feet again.
After a few breaths, his fractures had reattached themselves and he spat the excess blood onto the ground. He twisted his ring and seconds later dozens more hooded figures landed on the platform.
Chengzhu had righted himself in one motion. He unfolded his fan and with a fluid motion he let it glide once in a high arc around the throne, cutting off the heads of six of the figures.
Again, hollow bodies slumped dully to the ground. The others felt no fear, no timidity, and leapt towards the man in red at the same moment their comrades fell to the ground.
The fan returned to Chengzhu's hand, just in time for him to ram it down the throat of the next person who reached him.
The figure didn't even try to gasp for breath, it collapsed and made room for the next one. But all these puppets, no matter how much effort Weijie had put into them, stood no chance against the king of spirits. Soon the ground was littered with hooded figures, clotted blood and an unspeakable stench.
Weijie dodged another attack and the fan cut a long gash across his cheek. He could feel the warm blood running down his neck. Before he wiped it off, he noticed something about Chengzhu's posture. He swayed.
Immediately, Weijie's hand shot forward and a huge charge of spiritual power shot through his palm into Chengzhu's chest like the wave of a tsunami.
The Spirit King groaned, unable to hold back the torrent of blood that was pooling in his throat. He wiped Weijie's hand away, twisted his arm and struck.
Although Weijie could feel his bones bending and giving way, the attack was many times weaker than when they first started fighting. The poison finally took effect. Chengzhu's meridians were blocked and his inner power ebbed away. Although his pure physical strength was still immense, he could no longer defend himself against internal injuries caused by spiritual power.
Both of them were skilled in martial arts and so their fight evened out. Weijie intercepted Chengzhu's attacks more often and more easily and was able to land more and more hits in return. Just as he was about to split Chengzhu's skull, the latter blocked him with his fighting fan.
"Not in the face!" grumbled the almost defeated king sullenly. Just as he was about to strike back, another whip whistled around his ears.
"Master!" A young man ran to Weijie's side. He was tall, had a handsome face and bright eyes. He wore his hair tied up with jewelry made from the bones of smaller animals. He looked at Chengzhu with wide eyes.
"Zhixin, move aside!" Weijie ordered gruffly. Chengzhu had fallen to his knees. He felt a smouldering, hot current inside him. Like fire coursing through his veins. It was difficult to breathe and the blood was still curdling in his veins.
"The effects of the night herb are unfolding," Zhixin remarked excitedly. Weijie stepped forward and pushed the agitated young man aside. Chengzhu gasped and coughed up a load of blood onto his clothes and the floor.
"You poisoned me!" He didn't sound surprised or angry. Rather, he was amused by the idea. But Chengzhu was mad. The King of Ghosts, who had ruled for over eight hundred years, was a delusional lunatic, of course he would laugh in such a situation.
Chengzhu mumbled something else that Weijie couldn't understand. The man in black approached him and knelt down with one leg. He took the Ghost King's chin in his hand and lifted it gently so that Chengzhu had to look at him from the bottom up.
His black hair fell tangled over his scarlet eyes and bloodied, even face. A mischievous grin still played around his lips.
Anger surged within Weijie, even now he still believed himself to be above it all, above everything, he thought himself invincible, unpredictable and indestructible. But he, Weijie would put an end to the reign of the mad king today. Today he would ascend the throne and wipe that grin off his face once and for all.
"Master, cut off his head, rip out his heart..."
"Zhixin has the mouth!" shouted Weijie angrily. Chengzhu grinned broadly across his face.
"Stupid when subordinates start to think for themselves and have their own opinions, isn't it?" he gasped. Weijie's hand slid from his chin around the white neck of the ghost king.
"You still have far too big a mouth for someone who's dying," Weijie growled viciously.
"I'm dying?" asked Chengzhu in surprise. "I hadn't even noticed." Weijie felt the heat of the magic before Chengzhu could say or do anything.
The spirit mark flared up and Weijie's hand, which had been clutching Chengzhu's throat, exploded.
His skin tore, his muscles and flesh peeled from the bursting bones to his upper arm. With one leap, he put several meters between himself and the man in red. He cursed inwardly.
Chengzhu had straightened up again, although he looked battered and it was no longer possible to tell where his red robe ended and the blood covering his body began, he took a deep breath as if he had just had a tiresome discussion.
He was fanning himself when he noticed something on his arms. He pushed back his sleeve and his eyes widened. The blue of his veins had turned black. The burst of magic had accelerated the thickening and clotting of his blood many times over.
He could feel the air being choked off, the viscous blood in his veins coming to a standstill. He vomited up a gush of black, viscous blood, but it brought no relief. The next lump formed in his chest.
His vision blurred and he lost feeling in his arms and legs. Just as he slumped to the ground, he felt a huge thud on his chest.
Weijie had thrown him across the plateau and grabbed his throat again, using his other hand as his first arm slowly began to heal.
"You miserable bastard," Chengzhu gasped. "Have you ever won a fight without tricks?" Weijie gripped tighter. He could feel Chengzhu's larynx being crushed, the crunching of his neck vertebrae.
"Not if I wanted to win," he hissed back, the red glow of his eyes blazing.
Chengzhu hung exhaustedly from Weijie's hand, clutching his arm. Weijie lifted the other, which had slowly recomposed itself, and long, pointed fingernails extended like the claws of a predator.
"Please don't hit me in the face!" Chengzhu grumbled, but the clawed hand was already digging into his chest.
He felt his skin, muscles and bones being broken and his heart being torn apart. His hands slipped from Weijie's arm and from the darkening outline of his vision, he saw himself being lifted over the edge of the cliff.
The ground beneath his feet disappeared and for a second he floated in the air. He felt the hand pull back from him and Weijie snapped his neck before he was dropped. Down into the misty spray of the sea. Weijie watched the body for a while and observed how the red robe faded and disappeared in the wall of mist. But no matter how hard he tried, he could no longer hear the impact. He narrowed his eyes and summoned another puppet with a wave. The man sprinted forward excitedly.
"Weijiezhu?" he greeted politely.
"Announce it!" he demanded, turning his ring so that the milky mist in it curved against the glass of the pearl. The messenger bowed reverently. With beads of sweat on his forehead, he ran across the plateau and down the tens of thousands of steps through Duifang.