My lips thinned into a line, and I sighed. Honestly, I couldn't give a fuck. This whole mess had no relation to me whatsoever and only to Ryujin. Sure, I technically was Wu Ryujin now. I occupied his body and held his memories and all, but I technically also wasn't. I held full control, and having someone's memories meant nothing. Yeah, go make sense of me. The elderly woman fidgeted and glanced at me once or twice.
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I had a habit of internally unleashing a symphony of colorful words, my favorite go-to stress relief strategy, and it worked spectacularly most of the time.
If I ran, I'd be dead, If I participated in whatever the fuck they decide, I'd be dead, given that I am no longer a Cultivator, If I don't participate, I'm pretty sure the one winning would send me out on some "glorious mission," and I'd die given its difficulty. Everywhere, death hung over me, and only one path stretched before me—only one path that I could follow.