13 "You really do hate me, don't you?"

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Zong Ming had been very happy lately.
He was raising Lu, who had taken the form of an elfin cub, much like one would care for a beloved little pet. Even though keeping Long Aotian as a pet was already shocking enough, after Lu had nearly drained his magical sword and still hadn’t returned to his original state, Zong Ming was compelled to keep the elf in this kitten-like form, naturally cradling him in his arms within his room.
Zong Ming’s reasoning was simple:
Zong Ming: "In your current state, you’re very vulnerable."
Elf Cub: "Goo?"
Zong Ming: "Others might hurt you!"
The elf lowered his head, looking at his tiny little paws with a puzzled expression: "Goo goo?"
Zong Ming: "So, I have to protect you well. Yes, exactly like that!"
Having said this, as if he had found a justification that satisfied himself, he contentedly held the elf close, caressing the patch of skin on his forehead with intense affection.
That small patch of forehead was nearly polished bright from his persistent touch...
Like a tiny coin gleaming with a radiant luster, reflecting a soft warmth lingering from human fingertips.
At this point, Zong Ming seemed utterly unaware that Lu was still an alchemist, and that as an Abyssal Elf—even in cub form—he remained terrifyingly dangerous, someone no ordinary person could approach. Instead, Zong Ming’s heart brimmed with tender affection and fondness as he held the elf cub who was trying to slip away tightly in his arms.
With a swift motion, Lu slipped out like a nimble fish, making gentle “goo goo goo” sounds, his soft tendrils swaying through the air with grace and flexibility, resembling a jellyfish drifting downwards, trailing ribbon-like bindings. Silver light scattered from his body, glimmering like stars sprinkled around. The tiny elf was exquisite and beautiful, and in Zong Ming’s eyes, he possessed only lovable qualities with no trace of fearfulness.
When beside Zong Ming, the elf cub seemed truly like a harmless youngling, shedding all traces of menace. His initially flashing fangs and clustered eyeballs were carefully concealed; the venom that once dripped from his root-like tendrils had vanished overnight. Facing Zong Ming, all threats he carried simply dissolved. Even when provoked, he would just slip out from Zong Ming’s embrace and float in the air, expanding his form in an intimidating display—like a swelling jellyfish orb.
“Don’t go too far!”
The elf cub warned with a “goo goo,” expanding his body as venom pulsed through his tendrils in a fleeting flash: He was an Abyssal Elf, not a pet or a toy, and he could not tolerate being treated as such—held day and night.
The man before him seemed like someone with peculiar tastes; rather than feeling fear, he appeared utterly enchanted. Even Lu, for a fleeting moment, doubted whether his form was truly right. Abyssal elves always carried special powers in their original forms—whether conjuring illusions to trap others or whispering maddening words to control puppets—but he had never used these abilities on Zong Ming. He hadn’t even tried to manipulate him.
Yet Zong Ming acted as if truly bewitched, wanting nothing more than to nurture him all day, feeding him the best food and providing the finest care, willing even to share his prized collection, letting Lu chew and swallow it piece by piece.
It was as if—truly sincerely—he only wished to treat him well.
Heh.
Lu thought coldly, that was impossible.
He knew what he was, and how the world viewed elves: Abyssal lineage, terrifying monsters, demons to be exterminated, the scourge of the continent.
The elf race’s past deeds hung over everyone like a long, sharp blade, ready to fall at any moment. They were feared and hated, and this was neither hard to understand nor worth lamenting.
Ultimately, it boiled down to one phrase: “Those not of our kind harbor different hearts.”
Even as the last Abyssal Elf on the continent, Lu was hated with grinding teeth, subjected to bullying, torture, retaliatory attacks, and soul-wrenching betrayals. At first, he had felt brief confusion and resentment, but soon he comprehended it all:
What he encountered was not because of anything he had done, but simply because he was an Abyssal Elf.
Nothing more.
The fear and dread others felt toward him stemmed from this.
They feared the last Abyssal Elf, feared he would trample them again, feared they’d have to kneel before the elves once more, so they sought to eliminate every possibility that frightened them. When Lu understood all this, he realized his own strength. He no longer needed to fear anyone. Anyone who stood in his way was his enemy.
And enemies did not deserve to exist; they must be wiped away by him.
As everyone expected, the Abyssal Elves once again rose as masters of the continent. They regarded Lu as a mortal enemy, and he returned the sentiment in kind.
This was natural, rightful, and always had been. Lu was accustomed to the hatred and fear others bore toward him. He could read emotions clearly—even when gods disguised themselves to deceive him, their hatred and fear were laid bare before him. He observed coldly, looking down from above.
But this man before him—if he had any fear or hatred underpinning his intentions, Lu could detect it.
That should have been the case.
Yet beyond a fleeting panic at the start, Zong Ming never showed heavy fear. Lu watched coldly, always waiting for him to slip, but no matter how cold or cruel his demeanor, no matter what he did—even now in this vulnerable, innocent form, the perfect moment to strike—
A frail, helpless cub was a mirror that revealed one’s true self.
In the presence of such fragile life, some would drop their masks and expose the worst, most ruthless side of themselves. And if there was any malice, Lu would perceive it instantly—and tear that enemy apart.
But Zong Ming did nothing of the sort. He acted as if he knew nothing, as if all restraints were lifted... and began to treat him without reserve.
It was as if—
Previously, when Lu appeared in that form, Zong Ming had been cautious, indirect in his kindness, painstakingly careful not to arouse suspicion or rejection, wearing a mask of indifference as if knowing Lu’s deep suspicion and complex heart.
But now, facing the elf cub, Zong Ming could no longer suppress his feelings; he seemed to shed all pretense and turned the entire estate upside down to please him.
Lu sought to uncover Zong Ming’s malice and hatred, but all he saw was a man who exhausted every effort to care for him. This overflowing kindness felt like a heavy slap to the face.
He was neither angry nor resentful.

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He just... didn’t know how to respond.
“Don’t be mad anymore.” The one who baffled him coughed lightly. Zong Ming seemed to realize he had gone too far these past days and hurriedly said, “I just really want to hold you.”
Watching the elf cub still floating in the air, recalling his threatening display a moment ago, Zong Ming reconsidered and decided to change course: “Since you don’t like it, I won’t hold you anymore.”
Zong Ming glanced at him, then smiled. The coldness on his face softened, and the smile that always played on his lips seemed to release his true nature, his eyes crinkling in genuine cheerfulness. The previously proud and arrogant young master seemed like a mere mask.
Knowing the elf cub would soon forget everything that happened these past days, Zong Ming no longer showed that side before him. Even his profile softened, revealing a small fang; the handsome, blue-haired man blinked his clear golden eyes. For a moment, his warmth and radiance were almost overwhelming—a ray of sunlight piercing through darkness, boldly dispelling the surrounding chill, imprinting itself on the gloom. Though unintended, it troubled the elf.
“I just think you’re cute.” Zong Ming mumbled quietly, then laughed again. “But I only dare take advantage of this chance because of your current form. If you regain your original form and memory—”
Zong Ming gave him a sidelong glance, then turned away with a look of disdain: “I wouldn’t dare get close to you then.”
Zong Ming knew well what he had done these past days. If Lu were rational, he would never dare approach the powerful Long Aotian; he’d be turned into a puppet or torn apart alive.
Lu, who overheard every word due to his keen hearing, thought to himself: …
What made Zong Ming so certain he wouldn’t remember what was happening now?
A string seemed to stretch taut inside his mind, grinding his teeth, stirring an indescribable feeling.
“Though, come to think of it, it’s strange.” The man who stirred Lu’s emotions turned to look at him closely. “I’m so good to you—rescuing you from the cage, feeding and caring for you—and yet you’re cold to me. Now in this form, you still don’t like me.”
Zong Ming’s golden eyes landed on the elf, and he poked him playfully:
“You’re really annoying.” He paused, then said, “With such a bad temper, how do you not know to be grateful?”
The elf cub, floating in the air, was poked. His tendrils, curled like tree roots beneath him, suddenly stirred as if understanding the words.
Those emerald eyes fixed on Zong Ming, flickering with a cold, frightening emotion. This man... had just said he liked him, and now called him annoying.
…Who exactly had taken him captive from the Mistwood Forest, bound him in chains, and reduced him to this state?
Even if it wasn’t Zong Ming, knowing this yet expecting Lu to forgive and repay him was wishful thinking.
As if sensing Lu’s thoughts, Zong Ming added, “But it was my father who brought you back from the Mistwood Forest.”
The blue-haired man sighed: “No matter what, it was his doing. It’s normal for you not to like me.”
Lu’s green eyes looked at him, but held no resentment, no satisfaction, no disgust.
Only a calm so eerie it sent chills down one’s spine, so deep that even hatred could not stir the black asphalt-like swamp within him—because the prime minister didn’t even deserve Lu’s hatred.
But that didn’t mean Lu would let the prime minister off.
For vengeance, brutality, and cruelty were the Abyssal Elf’s nature.
“To be honest,” Zong Ming said again, “I always worry you’ll take revenge on me.”
A chasm and barrier, clear yet ignored by both, lay between them. Zong Ming spoke calmly, and as Lu watched his expression—almost looking down—he seemed somewhat dazed, lost in thought.
If Lu hadn’t taken this form now, Zong Ming would probably never have confessed this in his presence.
“Though it’s normal if you do seek revenge. But, I’m really afraid of dying.” Zong Ming sighed softly, his golden eyes settling on the little elf cub as if locking eyes or simply gazing.
“If I’ve done so much, and you still hate me, want to kill me—what should I do?”
This sentence stabbed into Lu like a cold sharp thorn. Though not physically harmful, it caused a brief sting: As he had suspected, Zong Ming’s kindness, his goodwill, all of it was meant to ensure Lu would spare him, cease hatred later.
Like someone who knew they’d done wrong trying to make amends for forgiveness, his kindness was calculated, purposeful, aimed at this goal alone.
But—
Lu was just an alchemist—while Zong Ming was a sword saint.
He was not worthy, nor should he allow Zong Ming to grovel so.
Unaware of how his words affected Lu, Zong Ming didn’t observe his current expression. He had merely found a channel to speak, venting some worries and helplessness.
He didn’t want to die. Of course he didn’t.
But at the same time, he wanted Lu to be happy.
This was not contradictory.
Zong Ming exhaled: “But even so, I want to make you happy.”
His tone was calm, yet Lu’s body stiffened slightly. The elf cub’s root-like tendrils bent sharply, venom surging at the tips, nearly oozing vivid poison.
…How could anyone say that?
Zong Ming stroked his chin and added, “If you still want to kill me, I have no choice.”
“Might as well take advantage of you being weak now... and take revenge.”
Zong Ming’s eyes rolled. Lu remained cold toward him; the man could feel the tension, but even if upset, dared not show it.
He could only curse silently, unable to do anything else. Over time, Zong Ming feared he was running himself in circles. Now the protagonist was ignorant and powerless, just like a little kitten.
If not now, then when to take revenge?

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Here it comes.
Lu thought calmly: What would he do? He heard Zong Ming’s muttering but made no rebuttal, simply waiting for the moment the man would drop his mask and reveal his true intentions. Floating in the air, he watched Zong Ming narrow his eyes and appraise him, pondering how to strike. As Lu expected, once Zong Ming made his move, he wouldn’t need to maintain this form any longer.
Would it be like the “Prime Minister’s Son” of the last generation—tormenting him, gouging out his eyes?
Or like a lackey of the Temple of Light, brainwashing him into a puppet to extract elf secrets and plunder treasures from the elven ruins?
Zong Ming slowly approached, his aura drawing near. Lu waited silently. Yet, even now, the man bore no hint of malice.
…Had his abilities malfunctioned again?
The elf cub lifted his face, and suddenly Zong Ming reached out and grabbed him, smiling.
Then, the man’s hand began to tickle him.
Lu: “...”
Zong Ming: “Ignoring me, huh!” The man’s hand grasped the elf cub’s body, tickling his tiny wrists and sensitive neck—places the elf never allowed to be touched. “Eating my collection!”
At first playing, Zong Ming’s tone grew a little annoyed: “I told you not to eat the last magical sword, yet you sneaked into my room to nibble it!”
Lu: He didn’t; he wasn’t.
The elf cub’s most sensitive spots were touched, and his body struggled uncontrollably. No one had ever dared treat him this way, not even when he was weakest. For a moment, Lu wondered if he was hallucinating; his entire body almost burst apart, frozen in place yet stimulated, expanding like a jellyfish into a glowing silver orb.
Zong Ming only played with him, and seeing this, couldn’t help but find him adorable, even if it was due to the frantic, twitching tendrils and near-panic. His hand paused, anger fading. In truth, Lu hadn’t harmed him, and all his worries and fear of death were baseless panic.
Though initially cold, Lu showed no other emotions, nor any sign of harm. Zong Ming looked at the large Abyssal orb before him, at those wide-open eyes, and felt his heart soften.
He withdrew his hand and said, “Alright, since you’re so cute, I won’t tease you anymore.”
Cute.
For a moment, the spirit of Long Aotian—the supreme deity, Abyssal lineage—felt like he’d been struck by lightning, his mind roaring with a sudden impulse.
Kill him.
Kill him now.
“So cute, I want to kiss you…”
But the next second, Zong Ming muttered again, his gaze settling on the patch of forehead he often stroked, like kissing a cherished cat. At the peak of his affection, he wanted to do something to satisfy the urge swelling within him.
But Lu was not a pet.
He was not a pet, nor would he ever be one.
The man’s eyes flickered with hesitation, as if struggling with something.
The elf cub paused, sensing the warmth radiating from Zong Ming—a sunlit touch like a tiny steam puff from alchemical tools, neither burning nor painful.
It was warm and comforting, pressing against his palm and slowly spreading, seeping into his marrow as if to warm his body itself.
Yet Lu was unaccustomed to this warmth and always tried to avoid it.
Now, Zong Ming slowly approached, his face drawing near, his breath almost brushing Lu’s skin.
Lu should have recoiled as before, yet perhaps caught by Zong Ming’s grasp, he could not move.
Zong Ming nearly kissed the forehead, but Lu’s gaze met his steadily. The man sighed and released him.
He did not want Lu to hate him more.
As a Long Aotian, no matter what, he wouldn’t welcome the closeness of another man, especially not an enemy with whom relations were strained.
Zong Ming rubbed his brow. After the playful episode and seeing Lu’s attitude, he resolved not to treat him so again.
That warmth almost settled on Lu, who did not retreat, but sensing the man’s unwelcomeness, the steam warmth withdrew.
“Forget it, with your cold nature, I won’t bother anymore.”
At that moment, Lu’s taut tendrils drooped softly, only to stiffen again in irritation the next second.
Why was this guy always so unlikable?
“You must be hungry by now.” Zong Ming instructed the servants to prepare dinner, unaware of the look the elf cub cast behind him.
Just as Zong Ming was about to take Lu to eat, an uninvited group disturbed the estate’s calm.
The people from the Temple of Light had arrived.