As the clouds slowly cleared and he walked over the cliffs, the soft blue gradually turned into an orange-red glow that made it seem as if the sky was on fire.
He stopped and watched the spectacle. From dark blue to turquoise, flaming red and intense pink, the clouds arched over the glow of the setting sun. The wind played with his hair and puffed out his robe. He looked down at himself.
"Oh my goodness, I almost forgot," he laughed and began to search.
In the beginning, when his plan to leave the throne was taking shape, he had put some things up here as a precaution. There were many ways to enter and leave Duifang, some dangerous, some murderous.
But escaping over the cliffs, he was sure, was something only a madman would do. And so he cradled his things in safety.
He found the stone covering the deep hollow and rolled it aside with some effort.
Panting, he leaned on the rock. He was not used to such weakness and briefly wondered if it was too soon to leave Duifang. But after a moment's consideration, he shrugged his shoulders.
Staying here and being recognized was more dangerous than the world outside the Obsidian Rocks. Weijie would not be fooled again. Even though they were both badly injured, Chengzhu had held back in battle and the poison from the nightweed was still affecting him.
So, sighing, he grabbed his bag and spread his things out on the sharp-edged rock. He covered most of his face and the ghost mark on his forehead with make-up. But his clothes would inevitably give him away.
He took off his red official dress and put on a turquoise robe. He tugged and pulled at every nook and cranny until it fitted properly. When he was satisfied with himself, he simply kicked the remains of his clothes over the edge of the cliff and watched with a blissful smile as the sun was completely swallowed up by the horizon.
If anyone could have seen him like this, so happy and free, no one would have guessed that he was the fallen king of the spirit realm. The cause of all evil. The villain of countless horror stories and destroyer of the world. Zhi Cheng clicked his tongue.
"Let's see where it takes me!" he shouted joyfully and dropped down on the other side of the cliff.
The world outside was nothing like the Ghost Valley. The air smelled clear and spicy. The rustling of small rodents, the calls of owls and the creeping paws of predators could be heard everywhere.
The grass rustled at his feet and the pale light of the moon illuminated the path in front of him. Zhi Cheng walked at a leisurely pace. With his hands clasped behind his back, he held on to the last of his belongings. The fan with the image of an ominous night and the metal fittings on the side.
A babble of voices caught his attention. Not far from the shore of a lake, he could see a group of men. They looked hulking, their clothes worn, and the closer he got, the more clearly he could smell the scent of blood.
"What a fucking chicken shit!" one of them grumbled, rubbing his crude weapon clean with a dirty piece of cloth.
"It's your own fault, you son of a bitch, if you throw your blade against the rocks instead of into your enemies," someone bellowed.
"How was I supposed to know the bitch was that fast?" the first hissed back.
"She wasn't fast, you're just too stupid!" someone replied.
"That's why you're with us, you simpleton, what else can you do but hack your blade into flesh?" laughed another.
Zhi Cheng watched the vulgar, dirty men for a while. The dark, foul aura wafted close around her, eating into her rotten flesh bit by bit. Not much longer and they would be driven to a painful death by the black energy they generated and become ghosts.
Oh, how many times, how many countless times he had seen this happen. And then they came crawling back to Duifang, their tails pinched in remorse, because there was no more room for them here in the mortal world.
A murderous smile spread across his face, making his scarlet eyes sparkle. Maybe he should give Weijie a little coronation gift? He stepped forward. He still had his hands clasped behind his back, and no one took any notice of him until he stepped in front of the meagre campfire.
"Gentlemen!" he greeted, coughing awkwardly. How mean not to give him a glance. The men jumped and scattered. They hadn't even sensed the presence of the newcomer. The biggest and dirtiest of them grinned broadly, which could only mean that he was a weak mortal.
"What do you want here, you painted monkey?" he snarled and stood up in front of Zhi Cheng. The others snorted and gave each other hungry looks. There was no mistaking the greed in their eyes. Not only for money and the high-quality clothes Zhi Cheng was wearing, but also for his body. He shook with disgust.
"Giving you a helping hand," he finally replied. The leader pulled up his snot and spat at his feet.
"I'm about to lay hands on you, you snoot," he cackled.
Zhi Cheng wrinkled his nose. He was used to this vulgar tone, but he didn't think much of it. He himself was of royal blood, a certain degree of decency and manners had to be maintained.
He did not raise his eyes, which rested coldly on the dented and scratched weapon the man was holding in front of his nose.
Wasn't it a good deed to rid the world of this scum? His mood lifted instantly, it was what you call killing two birds with one stone. He could let off steam to his heart's content and do something good. He resolved to be a benefactor from now on, at least until his mood and state of mind changed again.
The coarse man took a swing, but didn't get far. In disbelief, he realized that the finely dressed beauty had grabbed his wrist with one hand and intercepted his blow.
Zhi Cheng still hadn't raised his eyes. An old habit. With minimal effort, he pushed down the sabre and the dirty hand that wielded it.
Quick as an arrow, his other hand shot out and he struck the scoundrel's Adam's apple with the metal-covered wood of his fan. The latter let out a gurgling, gasping sound before collapsing.
His eyes bulged out and in panic he grabbed his throat, which was swelling faster and faster. He could no longer breathe. As he sank to the ground, gasping for breath, he clawed at the man's turquoise robe, who was still standing there unmoved.
It was only when the leader of the marauders looked up imploringly that their eyes met. He shuddered. The fine man's gaze was icy cold and calculated. There was not a spark of warmth or remorse in it. A gentle smile played around his lips as Zhi Cheng watched the thief breathe his last breath of life. Then he whirled around like a child who had just discovered something new.
"Who wants to go next?" he asked expectantly. The other men took a moment, but then pulled themselves together and rushed at him. Their movements were rough and uncoordinated. They were not martial artists, just crude butchers who knew nothing better to do with their lives.
Zhi Cheng chose the dirty, physical way to strike them down so that his black magic would not leave a mark on their souls and Weijie could reveal that he was not as dead as he had hoped.
Nevertheless, the game lasted less than half an hour. When the last of them sank to his knees, holding his slit throat while the dark blood seeped out of it like a small fountain, not even half the night had passed.
Zhi Cheng gathered his robe and sat down on one of the tree stumps rumbling in front of the fire, turning the rabbit roasting in the fire. It was coal-black and smelled disgusting.
"Lucky I don't need food," he remarked and carelessly dropped the black thing on the ground.
Instead, he took something from a jug of wine that he found in one of the crates that were piled up everywhere.
He let his gaze wander over the stolen possessions. There must be a well-traveled trade route nearby. Since he couldn't make out any wagons or horses anywhere, the thieves must have carried their loot this far.
A trade route inevitably led to a town sooner or later. He licked the wine from his lips and smiled as he pocketed everything he considered valuable.