Master, This Poor Disciple Died Again Today

“Liar!”

A man charged down the center of the Heavenly Emperor’s palace. In one hand, he dragged a bloody head, eyes rolled up in its sockets. His other hand clenched a bloody sword. He glared at the Heavenly Emperor, his eyes burning with hatred.

From atop his throne, Weiheng Wu gazed down with boredom. His head rested on his fist. Even as the man charged to the foot of the throne, to the base of the plinth upon which the throne sat, he gazed impassively at him, completely unbothered.

The man threw the head down. It rolled toward Weiheng Wu, revealing a handsome face and black hair tied up in a ponytail with a single thread of gold mixed in. Yao Gong scowled up at Weiheng Wu. “You lied. You both lied to me. Everything, my memories, my past, I remember it now.” He brandished a gold piece at Weiheng Wu. “Everything I desired, I shouldn’t have given up! It’s mine, all mine, rightfully mine! You deceived me. For all this time, raising me, looking over me—but all you were doing was watching, with the intention to destroy me if I ever moved out of line!”

“Mmm, yes. I would have simply killed you. It’s that foolish disciple of mine who thought there could be another way,” Weiheng Wu said, yawning.

Yao Gong pointed at the head. “And now he’s dead.”

“Oh,” Weiheng Wu said.

“Absolutely, completely dead. I descended into the Underworld and cut his neck. I destroyed his soul. I cut off all his paths of regeneration, slaughtered his clones, and destroyed every last trace of his aura that I could find. He is dead.”

“Ah,” Weiheng Wu noted.

Yao Gong stomped his foot. “So? Are you going to sit there? Or should I slaughter you, too?”

Weiheng Wu looked at the severed head with distaste. He nudged it with his foot. “Weiheng Hui, get up.”

“He’s dead. I already told you. I’ve searched down every possible route of revival, and destroyed them all. He cannot come back to life.”

Weiheng Wu sighed. “Isn’t this enough? How long are you going to continue this charade?”

“Senile old man. How many times do I have to say it? That disciple of yours is dead. Step down from the throne of Heavenly Emperor, and give me back my righteous place,” Yao Gong snarled. He marched up toward the throne.

“Weiheng Hui. You put me on this throne. Are you going to sit there while I die?” Weiheng Wu asked.

“I already told you. He can’t—”

The head coughed awkwardly.

Yao Gong whirled. “How?”

White bloomed from the head. Gold thread burst from the stump of the neck and stitched the white together, re-forming a body.

“How? I killed you. I obliterated you. You can’t be, it’s not possible, you can’t—”

Weiheng Hui reformed. Awkwardly, he bowed, just a little. “My apologies, Elder Brother. But I’m afraid this small bug is hard to kill.”

Yao Gong charged at him. “To think I called you Master!”

Hui raised his hand. Lightning sparked from his palm. “You did. And I apologize, but you’re too dangerous to let live.”

Yao Gong’s sword cut through Hui’s center. Hui’s hand landed on Yao Gong’s head. Blood spurted. Electricity shot forth from Hui’s hand, jolting down Yao Gong’s body.

Yao Gong fell to the ground. Hui stumbled, then caught himself. Gold thread stitched the hole in his gut shut, and he stood once more.

“You should have killed him long ago,” Weiheng Wu declared.

Hui ducked his head. “I know.”

“There is such a thing as too much mercy.”

“I know.”

Hui knelt. He pressed his hand against Yao Gong’s body. Black qi ate the man’s body away, tearing it apart to nothing. In the space of a few seconds, nothing remained of Yao Gong.

Weiheng Wu sighed. He shook his head. “Even though you’ve surpassed me, I still feel like your Master, from time to time.”

Hui looked up sharply. “Master! You’ll always be my Master. Don’t be ridiculous. To surpass Master…”

Weiheng Wu shook his head.

Both of them turned. In the distance, beyond an ordinary Immortal’s eyes, the mortal realm floated in the void.

“How is he doing? Your avatar.”

“Well, very well. He’s very happy. Raising his children, growing the sect,” Hui said softly. His eyes dipped, half-closing, but a satisfied smile spread across his face. He lifted a hand to his throat, where a beautiful black-and-white celestial dragon-turtle, with scales that shimmered like the stars, sat. Zhubi looked up at Hui, nuzzling his neck in return.

Weiheng Wu grunted. “When he ascends, will you—”

“No, no. Usurp Master? It’s not possible,” Hui said, shaking his hands. He laughed lightly. “No. I think… I think this world is fine. No—it’s beautiful as it is right now. As flawed as it is, as lacking as it is, as pathetic as it is… it’s still better than anything I could do.”

Weiheng Wu laughed. He shook his head.

“Master!”

Ying Lin hurtled into the room. She hugged Hui, a romance book in one hand. “You should have told me you were visiting.”

Hui smiled. He hugged Ying Lin back, then stepped away. “I should head back. Who knows how the Underworld is faring without me.”

“Of course, of course. But don’t be a stranger. Make sure you come to visit!” Ying Lin insisted.

“You can see the me in the mortal realm whenever you like,” Hui said, shaking her head.

Ying Lin pouted. “But he’s not the true Master.”

“Yes, yes.” He chuckled quietly and patted Ying Lin’s head.

The three of them stood together, the three realms united for but a moment. Without a word, they simply remained there, not needing any words to understand one another. Then, silently, Hui and Ying Lin flew off, leaving Weiheng Wu alone in his palace once more.

Weiheng Wu adjusted his seat. Gazing out at the Immortal World, he shook his head. “That foolish disciple of mine. Can’t he go a single day without dying?”

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THE END