1 Back In Time

When Qing He was alive, there was always someone who hated him. It could be his cousin to his own disciple. 'Walking sh*t' was a nickname that Chen Rong, another cultivator that worked with him in his younger days, usually called him by.

Qing He was a quiet fellow. Never knew or wanted to defend himself from the nasty names people gave him. The names barely bothered him.

Of course, he didn't like it—no one would anyways.

His disciple was different, much different. Qing He and his disciple, Zhao Yang, didn't get along well. They were like a cat and a dog that was forced to live together.

Despite hating, well not really, his shizun; Zhao Yang respected Qing He dearly. Respect was one thing that people treasured most, if not power.

The poor disrespected Qing He had seen and experienced many things while being alive. Death, crying, pain—he had seen it all. But seen is different from felt. After going through his state of depression, not once had he ever felt what others felt.

His family wasn't from a wealthy one, rather it was extremely poor. It was then when Qing He had shown his exceedingly well talents when he began to become recognized. His family, however, stayed the same.

While Qing He was studying and learning, his mother fell ill. Soon after she died, he got the news. Qing He shed tears then, but after his father passed, it was the final moment he shed a single tear. But it wasn't the last time he would feel love.

Qing He, after years of grieving, fell for a girl. She was called, Li Xue. They became a couple, a lovely one in fact. But anyone knows that Qing He attracts bad luck. Years after they became official, Li Xue died from a disease that killed many. Qing He's heart shattered into millions of pieces that he couldn't repair.

It was then he had realized, emotion was a fragile thing.

He became an awful person. He became his shizun's nightmare. There was no warmth in his tone, only leaving space for coldness. When he spoke, it sounded harsh.

For him, watching the pure innocent souls of people crumbling down in pain or sorrow was his new enjoyment. The more emotion someone showed, the more pleasurable it was for Qing He. Now he had no respect, not even from his loyal disciple. Qing He became a powerful cultivator that has no respect from anyone, only fear remained in their hearts.

Zhao Yang, done with his evil doings, went up against him. The battle of the pair was one that would last until one of them dies.

Clangs from the swords hitting each other could be heard from miles away. Many people, from the sidelines, watched the intense battle happen. Zhao Yang, with his determination, told all to not engage with the battle. It was his own battle against Qing He.

The battle lasted days without end until one final day, Qing He died from exhaustion. The world that fell into despair was finally free from the wretched Qing He that terrified them all.

Zhao Yang was crowned a hero.

Qing He jerked open his eyes with force, breathing raggedly. His forehead was wet with cold sweat, probably from the horrible memory. He had this unsettling feeling that prickled all over his skin.

He was on a bed, his pillow soaked wet that was probably from the sweat and tears he squeezed out of his eyes while being asleep.

Blinking for a minute or so, Qing He tried to recall his memories:

He was being dragged by someone he doesn't know. It was dark and cold. Eerie silence filled the night air as he struggled to get out of the person's hardened grasp. "Qing He. I despise you. I despise you so much, yet I cannot bring myself to harm you." The man said.

Qing He finally recognized who this mysterious person was. It was his disciple, Zhao Yang. But he wasn't surprised that Zhao Yang hated him, it wasn't new information to him either way.

Even if Zhao Yang had hated him, he wouldn't be burdened or get anything out of it. In simpler words, Qing He didn't care.

"I know," he remembered saying.

"Ha, you know nothing Qing He! Nothing! You pathetic-looking person, you are nothing!" Zhao Yang sneered, letting go of his tight grasp. His disciple's hand was bloody, which stained the collar of his clothes.

Qing He thought, 'It seems like I didn't die? But I remember Zhao Yang stabbing his sword into my heart. Ah...the gods must be in my favor. I went back in time, way before I died.'

It was not necessarily a bad thing, he could change some things and maybe survive in the future. He sighed and pointed to Zhao Yang's bleeding hand, "Your hand...give me your hand."

"What?..." his disciple stuttered before cackling like a maniac, "I thought you were evil but I never knew you were this evil! You want me to chop off my own hand so I can't cultivate anymore, aren't I right?"

As if a stone dropped on Qing He's head and knocked him out, he was shocked. "What the f*ck Zhao Yang. No! YOU'RE HAND IS BLEEDING AND I'M BEING NICE! IM NOT TRYING TO CHOP OFF YOUR F*CKING HAND SO GIVE IT TO ME."

'What an absolute idiot', he grumpily muttered internally. Even if he was evil, he would never make someone chop off their own body part without reason.

"Since when were you nice?" Zhao Yang grumbled, sticking out his hand which was bleeding from the nails that accidently cut some skin. "Thank you..." was softly heard by Qing He.

He let a smile surface on his face, 'Zhao Yang is a good kid, just dumb at some moments.' Ripping off a piece of cloth from his robe, he was careful to bandage it around the injured hand. Since Qing He had some knowledge in medicine, he was able to heal the wounds on Zhao Yang's hand.

Standing up and brushing off the dirt on his white robe, he stuck out a hand for Zhao Yang to grab on. "Let's go back."

That was the only few memories he could recall before being jerked back into the present by having his name being called out. It was Chen Rong, the cousin that hated him the most. "Qing He! Now you're ignoring me? Have you been taught any manners?"

"Sorry, my apologies. I didn't hear your call, Chen Rong," he responded nicely. Clenching his teeth tightly and turning his hand into a tight fist, he maintained a smile that was easily faked. "Why are you here. There must be a reason for you to disturb me, right?"

That sentence implied that he hit a nerve at Chen Rong. "Aha, it is fine my dear cousin." Anyone hearing Chen Rong speak could tell that he was lying. Since when was Qing He a "dearest cousin" to Chen Rong? Never. The pair hated each other ever since their childhood. If you wanted them to get along, then you might as well prepare to ascend into the heavens. In simple words, they would rather die than get along with each other. Chen Rong continued speaking his lies, "I just missed you so darn much that I came to visit you."

"If you missed me, you could've sent a letter. Yet you never did. Don't you know much I longed for a letter from you?" The disgust he had when saying the sentence couldn't compare to the disgust he had when Li Xue died.

It took a while to drive Chen Rong away from his room. It took a LOT of lying and disgusting, crappy sentences. Qing He stared up at the sky through his room window.

Birds chirped, squirrels scurried, leaves rustled. It was finally peaceful in this one very special moment.