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The intolerable chirping from the direction of the bedroom window made Zhang Haochen squinch. His mind was half-asleep, and his hands were heavy, but he vaguely wondered if he could muster up enough energy to could throw something at the window and make the noise stop. Red eyelids winced as the handsome man tossed his head to the side, trying to ignore the feathered beast. In the end, the exhaustion outweighed the urge to toss anything at it.

He was so tired. Everything hurt.

The long, black robes upon his tall frame were scrunched up beneath his back, making marks in his pale skin. His head felt strange, his body ached, he was cold and agitated, and that damned bird wouldn't shut up. After a long moment, he lifted his hand, intending to curl his elegantly long fingers and cast a simple incantation, but he learned that he could barely move them at all.

'What a gruesome feeling indeed.'

Distastefully, he opened his eyes and squinted against the bombardment of light that struck his periwinkle irises the moment he did so. The window seemed to have been hastily opened. Of course, it couldn't have been the servants. No, he'd told them not to enter the West Wing of the castle for a few days while he 'worked'. They obediently steered clear of the area, in fear of angering the man of ever-deteriorating temperament.

The golden rays that snuck through the window were bright but they offered him barely any warmth let alone comfort. Haochen scoffed to himself, and placed his forearm over his eyes, not wanting to see the window a second longer.

It was a reminder of what had happened the night before, which was actually quite a memorable event in his books. Never had he been one to become squeamish. Yet last night, he'd all but flung the window open, throwing up from his own anxiousness and the smell of coagulating iron. He'd been inhaling the stench every week for months, but it seemed that even HIS body had a limit. The bird at the window looked at Haochen nonchalantly, its off-tuned song of happiness unceasing, and it hopped about the windowsill without a care in the world.

Haochen pursed his lips and turned his head towards the window, dropping his arm. "Please, be quiet." He said, staring at the bird with frustrated eyes. The bird ignored him, oblivious to the deathly intent. In fact, it started to chirp louder, even more excitedly, and the sound echoes around the large bedroom. Very soon another fat blackbird landed on the windowsill, and as it toddled about, its huge behind swayed with the extra weight. It sang an even more annoying tune than the first bird as if a worm had gotten stuck down its throat and never dislodged. Together, they sang a ghastly song. One that was capable of turning even the most docile of men into murderers.

"Ugh!" Haochen exclaimed, shooting out of bed, fully intending on grabbing the birds by the neck and sending them down to the servants' quarters to be plucked, tortured, and stewed. However, his plans were thwarted in mere seconds when his world tipped and his legs gave out beneath him. Immediately, upon hearing the thud and finally sensing the impending doom, the birds took off, leaving Haochen in a heap of bloodied robes on the cold marble floor; groaning in pain. One would think that after months of falling down like that in the morning, he'd decide to put a cushion down.

Obviously, that wasn't the case.

As he rubbed his temple with the ball of his right palm and lowed his upper half onto the floor, his long, satin-like hair formed a pool of black beneath him.

'At least the birds are gone. Xiao Xiao, I'm exhausted. It looks like you'll have to wait a little longer.'

He let his eyes close and thought about everything that had happened. He'd only been asleep for two hours or less, so recalling the events was easy. After a minute of tired breathing, he opened his eyes and his gaze wandered dizzily to the wide space at the center of the bedroom. There, about a dozen smears of blood marred the polished marble floor. Leaves, roots, and fruits lay scattered near the smears, and diamonds and sapphires lay at the center of the array in a huge puddle of scarlet liquid. With the way the markings were so immaculately drawn, and careful positioning of everything near them, any cultivator that saw it would agree that the summoning should have worked.

And yet, there was no white-haired, violet-eyed man with the palest of skin and the darkest of lashes lying among the mess. Zhang Haochen sighed. Clearly he failed yet again to pull him out of the Underworld.

Zhang Haochen closed his eyes and turned to lay on his back. He'd done everything the books had said. When he was younger, he'd never seen the Gatekeeper summoned from the underworld, even though he'd seen the Gatekeeper himself after the summoning. He wasn't allowed to see the ritual, but he knew that he had to provide offerings for the person he wanted to be returned. That was what the books and scrolls said anyway. Every fine detail had been scrutinized. What else could possibly be missing?

He'd slit his left wrist and let the blood pool in the center of the array till he couldn't stand, and his vision began to darken. He'd offered up that man's favorite jewels. He'd found the fruit that man liked the most too. He'd even collected all the leaves, flowers, and roots that he used to sniff wherever he went, always offering them to others claiming the scent was "Blissful". So why? Why didn't the Gatekeeper of the Underworld show up to make a deal that would get him back?

He turned his head back to the array. There must have been something he was doing wrong. After all, that man wasn't even dead, per se.

Haochen inhaled deeply, flipped himself over, and pushed himself into a sitting position, frustrated eyes boring holes into the bloodied floor before him. Despite the headrush, he forced himself to stand. With his left hand holding his head and his right stretched out in front of him, he walked towards it till he was at the center, next to the body of blood. Perhaps he'd not offered enough of it. He flicked his outstretched hand and one of the books strewn across the floor trembled for a moment, then flew into it.

At that point in time, not only had Haochen performed the ritual more times than he could remember, but he'd also run out of patience. How long would he have to wait before he could rid himself of the guilt clinging to his soul and carving out his heart with each passing hour? How many times would he have to wake up, drained of blood with still no sign of *him*? He pursed his lips looking at the pages for the umpteenth time. A vein pulsed at his temple as he felt his temper spike. That Gatekeeper of the Underworld must have been enjoying watching his turmoil. While Zhang Haochen would normally not cuss anyone out loud, or feel the desire to, he found himself constantly offering insults in his thoughts to the evil being.

'Bastard. Creepy, revolting, ugly little man-child. Bloodsucking beast spawned from dragon dung. He's probably sipping on the molten spirit of some unfortunate being, crunching on the embers of a soul sacrifice.'

Haochen's eyes froze as he thought this and his gaze drifted from the yellowed pages of the book to the offerings on the floor. He exhaled upon the sudden realization that could have saved him quite a bit of blood, and sanity if he'd figured it out months before.

The jewels, the plants, the fruit, everything was for *him*. The blood was merely to show one's utmost dedication to the ritual, but there was nothing that the *Gatekeeper* could have wanted among the offerings. Zhang Haochen snapped the book shut, flinging it onto the floor. What a useless piece of literature it was, foregoing information that was probably the most important part of the ritual.

He straightened the delicate silver chain at his neck. It was lengthy enough to tuck into his long, billowing robes, and it carried a small glass orb filled with some sort of silver and gold glittering substance. The Gatekeeper certainly wanted something like it. Only, he would not give up the one resting safely near his heart.

So, he lifted two fingers and placed them at his abdomen and held them there for a few seconds, till a tinge of light blue could be seen encircling his elegant hand. Then tentatively, he dragged his fingers upward, but he'd only reached his diaphragm when the agony became unbearable.

Haochen coughed, trying hard to maintain his composure. It was more excruciating than he'd previously thought. Perhaps those offering up their souls for fortune deserved more of his respect.

With gritted his teeth, he continued his ministrations, dragging his fingers up to his sternum, but before long he was gasping for breath. His body felt cold, as if he'd been plunged deep into a frozen lake and held down under till there was no oxygen left in his lungs. He steadied his breath, unsure of which point it had become so ragged. Haochen swallowed thickly and braced himself to drag his fingers up to his neck.

His hand began to tremble, and he let out a pained gasp. If extracting 1/32 of his soul hurt so much then he couldn't imagine what that man had gone through. The guilt of knowing the hand he played in inflicting such torture made him steel his nerves once again. The suffering was something he needed to endure because he was the one that ruined everything. He was the one who made that man suffer.

He dragged his fingers up to the base of his throat and towards his chin, stifling the urge to scream and barely suppressing the involuntary gurgling noises as something squelched its way up his esophagus. With a sharp gasp, he opened his mouth and a small, blue orb floated out. It was bright and warm as it hovered at the tips of his two fingers. Haochen's breathing was uneven as he stared at it. His legs were ready to collapse, but he stood rigidly, determined not to.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his bandaged wrist. The Gatekeeper would definitely not be able to resist a small piece of such a delicious, well-cultivated soul. After all, it was the soul of the Grandmaster: the strongest cultivator of the mortal realm.

"I know you're listening, Gatekeeper. This is what I'm offering. If you want to eat this, then come out. Stop hiding. Let's make a deal." He said, periwinkle eyes fixated on the blue orb before him.

For a minute, nothing happened. But suddenly, the light in the room became progressively darker. Outside, the warm sunshine was replaced with ugly, black clouds and harsh wind. A gush of air swirled into the room, causing the leaves on the ground to flit about.

The atmosphere became heavier, and the air became denser.

Then the window shut as if someone had closed it calmly; almost teasingly, and the room was quiet once more.

"Well, well, well, you must think I'm quite a cheap man, calling me out for such a meager dish." A young boy spoke. Haochen's body froze and slowly, he tipped his head upward.

On the ceiling, flattened leisurely against it, a child around seven years of age stared down at him with a bloodcurdlingly cynical expression and traumatizingly red irises. His black hair extended a few meters from his body, pressed down in such a way that it seemed gravity had changed its direction.

"And yet, here you are." Haochen replied.