In a dimly lit room thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and alcohol, a woman sat regally on a high-backed chair. Her dark robe flowed around her like shadows, concealing her form save for the sharp glint of her eyes, which peered out from the narrow space between her hood and veil. Across from her sat a young man dressed in dark cultivator robes, his hair as black as the night sky. There was a certain magnetic charm about him, something in the way his red eyes gleamed that often caused her to lose herself in their depths.

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

The woman snapped out of her daze, realizing she had been staring. "No rest for the wicked?" she replied, her tone light but probing.

“Have you known me to ever turn down a request I found interesting? Especially when it involves eyes that can see through the secrets of heaven and earth,” he said, biting into an apple with a nonchalance that belied the gravity of his words.

"Indeed, it's rare," she agreed, her gaze narrowing as she studied him. "All you do is work a job and return, only to work another."

Years had passed, yet she still couldn’t decipher him. Many cultivators crossed her path—those driven by greed, others by power, some by bloodlust—but he was different. He had no discernible pattern, no clear motive. He simply chose jobs that piqued his interest, making him a true enigma. Today, she decided to confront him directly.

"Just what is it that you want?”

A sly, confident smirk curved his lips as he met her gaze. “That’s quite forward, miss.”

“Like you care about being forward,” she retorted, her voice laced with sass and sarcasm.

Realizing she was serious, his smirk softened into something more contemplative. “If I just came out and told you, there would be no suspense left. And even if I did tell you, you'd just laugh it off.”

“Are you a soothsayer now?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“If I were a soothsayer, I wouldn’t be scrounging for resources like this.” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly as if considering his next words.

“Then how can you be so sure I’d laugh?” she pressed.

He nodded slowly, as if reaching a decision. “Alright, since you’re so curious. The reason I do what I do is because I want to find God.”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He had strung out the conversation just to end it with a joke. She sighed, feeling defeated.

“You really didn’t laugh,” he observed, a touch of surprise in his voice. “Well done. When I tell people that one, they usually can’t resist.”

She shook her head, deciding not to pursue the topic further. “Are you certain about this job? You don’t usually take assassination missions.”

A fleeting look of surprise crossed his eyes before his expression darkened with resignation. “Did you think I’d be constrained by something as subjective as morals?”

“No, it’s just unusual, that’s all. Is killing her really something you’d be open to? She is a child, after all.”

The man sighed deeply, a hint of weariness in his tone. “I thought you were smarter than that. Everyone who’s ever known me knows I do what I must. Not to mention she’s a seventy-year-old woman—hardly a child.”

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The woman shook her head slowly, her expression conflicted. “A cultivator that age is still a child, you know that much.”

His gaze turned cold, his voice laced with a cynical edge. “An Ethereal Core cultivator like her—have you considered how many people had to die for her to reach that level? Not to mention the contractor is her own grandfather. That’s quite immoral by the standards of those orthodox doves, isn’t it? I’m practically doing her a favor by freeing her from their hypocrisy.”

She looked troubled but continued to argue, “But what about the orthodoxy that slays beasts to cultivate?”

The man rubbed his forehead, his patience thinning. “The beasts they hunt aren’t mere livestock. They cultivate, they have families, they think, so they are. In the same way humans are enraged when a beast eats one of their own, they feel the same.”

“So what? Are there no innocent people?” she challenged.

His grip tightened around the apple, crushing it unintentionally. “Of course there are innocent people,” he replied, his voice tinged with bitterness as memories of the past flickered in his mind. “However, there are no innocent cultivators.”

He stood up slowly, the finality in his movement clear. “From Body Refiners to Dao Lords, the gains from cultivation are unnatural. The higher you rise, the greater the price—blood sacrifices, killing sentient spirit plants, harvesting corpses for pills. They’re all the same.”

As he turned to leave, she called out after him, “If you hate cultivators so much, why are you one? Why have you chosen this path?”

He stopped but did not turn around. “I never claimed to hate cultivators. The only thing I’ve said is that I have no qualms with killing them. I am no saint, but I’m also no bloodthirsty freak. I do what I must because it aligns with my will, and for that, I owe no one any apologies.”

He opened the door, revealing a vial of colorless poison in his hand. Before stepping out, he added, “Just in case you’re confused, I don’t think someone’s immoral for attacking me, but I will kill them regardless—not because I want to uphold something imaginary like morals, but because it interferes with my will. And in this world, where everything you see is external to yourself, the only thing that holds any value is your own will. I hope you take some time to think about that.”

The door closed behind him with a quiet finality, leaving the woman alone in the dimly lit room. She rested her elbows on the table, staring at the closed door with a deep sigh. “Fifty years, and I still don’t know anything,” she murmured to herself. “Demonic Crow, just who are you... Do you even know who you are?”

…

Elsewhere, in a void beyond comprehension, a blazing shadow knelt in reverent supplication before an empty throne—a throne lined with the very fabric of existence.

“Holder of Eternity, of the Supreme. Exalted Sage of the Endless, grant this lowly one an audience,” the shadow intoned, its voice filled with both reverence and fear.

The void trembled as a nebulous, ethereal presence materialized, assuming the form of a misty, enigmatic being before the blazing shadow.

“The time... it approaches,” the misty existence spoke, its voice like the whisper of the cosmos itself.

“My Lord, I have organized it as you instructed,” the blazing shadow replied, bowing its head even lower.

The void trembled again as the misty existence opened its eyes—deep, golden orbs that reflected the knowledge of time immemorial.

“None of the Caelum Juravi must be wasted. None may escape, none may live, and none may learn. Bring forth the Gu demon once more, so that the world may thrive, so that life may prosper.”

The blazing shadow’s heart raced at the command. “It shall be done, as it was done before and as it will be done for eternity.” With those words, the shadow vanished, unable to bear the overwhelming presence any longer.

The golden eyes turned upward, peering into the vast, empty void, their brilliance a stark contrast to the endless darkness. In a cold, quiet voice, they spoke, carrying the weight of centuries of imprisonment.

“Destined slaves, do you slumber still?”

The void remained silent, as expected. The golden eyes now reflected an insidious anger, a hunger for freedom. “How many eons must I be imprisoned?”

The void trembled violently at the question, as if on the verge of tearing apart, threatening to reveal something even more terrifying lurking beneath.

The golden eyes closed once more, their light fading as they phased out of existence.

“Is this what it means to know?”

The words spiraled through time and space, the anguish and pain of an insatiable curiosity now immortalized in the echoes.

“Is this the recompense of my curiosity?”

And then, just as suddenly as they had erupted, the echoes faded away completely, leaving the void silent and empty once more.