The Blue Lotus : Hellscroll

Hao Enlai had entered a strange mood as soon as he woke up. As he approached Ren Jiang's estate, he couldn't help but think about his beautiful birds. While he wasn't that keen on keeping any beasts, he had a certain fondness for these birds.

Their feathers are whiter than snow, their nature, an embodiment of purity. To think that something so untainted by this realm could survive so boldly. Their wings look so delicate and yet when they spread it broadly with pride, they inspire nothing but strength.

The carriage rolls in front of the villa, its architecture influenced by the baroque style of Portuguese villas. The door opens and Hao Enlai steps out of the carriage.

Yuki.

That's what they call them in the underworld. Their curved beak reminiscent of the frost's hue. Their eyes hold the softness of blue. They are truly one of a kind. Hao Enlai has dedicated decades of his life tending after these gentle creatures. Two years ago, he had acquired another baby bird, making the count twelve.

Each one had cost him a grand fortune and a limb. But sitting with them transported him to his carefree childhood in the cold hell. Yuki is his family.

A servant escorted him to the family room. A familiar room to Hao Enlai which entertains only trustworthy people around the first prince.

As he walks down the same old halls his mind drifts away to this morning. Something was wrong. He cannot pin what it is but when he opened the birds' room, their joyful twittering had turned scatty. Where there used to be a harmony, a discord had ruined their song. Their eyes which held a rare liveliness, now looked frazzled.

He wanted to understand what they were going through. What happened over night? What were they feeling?

That understanding came quickly when he entered the exclusive family room and saw an unexpected face. Hao Enlai didn't expect Ren Jiang to invite Yutao in this private room. 

Something must have rattled their calm too.

Yutao throws a curt nod to Hao Enlai, who takes a seat across them. A servant pours him tea while the other two talk frivolities.

Seemingly weary of their dry conversation, Yutao dives straight to the point. "Your highness, should we talk more about your proposition?"

Ren Jiang glanced at Hao Enlai—the architect behind the plan. The prince's unease was apparent. He had never negotiated with anyone quite like Yutao. His existence, along with his other two companions, was so unique that Ren Jiang had trouble understanding their social standing. 

But he was sure of one thing, that this eldest son of hell now stood at the number one position.

Ren Jiang eases into a grin. "First of all, I would like to express the pride I feel when I look at you. Hao Enlai was the one who selected you as my representative for the Kaigan Pit."

Yutao masked his reaction with a tight, practiced smile, turning to Hao Enlai. "That's... interesting."

Hao Enlai merely sips away his tea.

"We saw potential in you from the very beginning," Ren Jiang continued. "So, it pleases me to see how far you've come."

Yutao could easily detect the deep-seated arrogance in his words. It was in no means misplaced. To squeeze even a word of praise from this prince was a herculean task —and here he was, showered with it.

But he still didn't appreciate it. This guy who ruined his afterlife and destroyed his path to reincarnation was now taking credit behind his survival.

Revealing the truth would be suicide.

"I couldn't have done it without your encouragement," Yutao replied, wrapping the truth neatly.

Ren Jiang's taut shoulders loosen. He leaned deeper into the plush cushions of the couch, appearing pleased with this young talent in front of him. "My father returns after centuries," he said, voice slow and deliberate. "He had left without leaving any instructions."

He sighs, resting an elbow on the armrest, fingers idly drumming against his jaw. "It was back when the mortal world began drowning in war. Human souls were littering the Sanzu River like worthless trash."

Hao Enlai cast a glance at Yutao. He, too, had once been one of them—his death was just as fleeting as theirs. But Yutao's expression remained unchanged, unaffected by this crude way of describing his old comrades. As if he was never one of them.

Hao Enlai's confidence in his plan grew.

Ren Jiang carelessly continues. "The administration was collapsing; the ten courts were filled to the brim by these sinners. Our demons were busy working for decades without even a day off."

He clicks his tongue. "Humans were killing each other faster than we could reincarnate."

He leaned forward now, eyes gleaming with something unreadable—mockery or memory, it was hard to tell.

"But my father—ah, he was a proper lord. Even as the whole damn bureaucracy screamed, he insisted on following every painstaking formality."

"No matter how tedious they became."

"Even when his own ministers begged him to cut corners, the lord wouldn't budge."

"Why? Because he is the lord. The great king of justice. There was no way that this god could allow discrepancies on his own volition. What kind of god would he remain then?"

Yutao surmised, So he ran away.

Ren Jiang sighs again. "He declared to leave for solitary cultivation. He believed that by gaining more physical power, he would learn to run his realm more efficiently." 

"But time did not pause when father left us. In fact, things had gotten a lot worse."

"Me and my brothers, did our best to run this realm. Then the catastrophes hit."

His fingers steepled, and he leans forward slowly, gaze narrowing on Yutao. "The ghouls breached the mortal realm to hunt humans. And this realm, physically started cracking apart."

Ren Jiang inquisitively looks at Yutao. "Didn't that happen right around the time of your return?"

Yutao acts out his best clueless face for him. He tilted his head slightly, brows furrowed just enough to appear puzzled.

A nerve twitched on Ren Jiang's forehead. He swallowed his irritation and continued.

"Hell didn't collapse without its king. We adapted. We endured. We rebuilt under our command."

He spoke slowly now, letting each word weigh down the silence. "My father's return doesn't erase what I've done. It doesn't undo the order I carved out of chaos."

He paused, letting the implication hang.

Sure, he is the king but who is the true ruler now?

His smile answered for him with overconfident certainty – me.

I am the new ruler.

"We are entering a brand-new era," he says brightly, the words ringing just a little too loud.

Ren Jiang's smile doesn't fade, but his tone turns silkier, more serpentine. "As of now, you're Zhang Xiyu's right-hand man. But tell me—what position will Zhang Xiyu hold once my father returns?"

Across from him, Yutao stiffens. His back straightens, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. His expression is unreadable, though the quiet hardening of his gaze does not go unnoticed.

Ren Jiang notes that he has ruffled a few feathers and pushes on. "Think about it," he says, leaning forward slightly, voice low and coaxing. "The man's built himself quite a name, I'll give him that. But what official power does he hold? Nothing's written in stone. And you, with your talents... should you really be tethering yourself to someone whose future is—let's be honest—murky at best?"

He lets the silence breathe; lets it hang there long enough to press against the walls.

"I say this only as a friend," he continues, placing a hand delicately against his chest, feigning sincerity. "I'm offering you a safe future. A seat with weight."

"An official position… in the Fifth Court."

"The Court of Lord Enma."

Yutao's calm gaze falters under the weight of the proposition. His brow creases slightly. For a moment, the words linger behind his lips, struggling to take shape.

"This... sounds absurd," he finally says, the disbelief not entirely masked.

He draws a quiet breath, composing himself. "I have been working with Zhang Xiyu for more than two centuries. Will you not question my loyalty if I sell it to you?" Yutao knew not to hold back his thorny words from these demons. The men here sipping on delicate tea, can only act cultured. Inherently, they all hid their malice and shared barbaric bloodlust.

Smooth niceties can only take you so far. Ren Jiang also understood this language. "Yutao, I won't lie. I do not put my trust on your loyalty towards me. I put my trust on your judgement. You have made steady and wise decisions all your afterlife."

"I trust that you know what is better for you."

"I do hope, one day, your trust would move towards me. But for now, I offer you something simpler—an opportunity to build a reliable relationship with this realm, before the ground shifts beneath your feet."

Yutao blinks, caught off guard—both by the offer and the candour. The crack shows, however faint. His carefully held composure wavers, just slightly.

Hao Enlai finds his reaction pleasing to the eyes. This grand general of the undead was no different from any other minister. They all desired unshakeable power. No matter how dignified they appear, all of them were made from the same cloth. The fabric of profit.

He felt satisfied to prove this truth once again. The heavens mindlessly boast about morality but in the end only power feeds the deep-seated hunger in you.

So, what will you choose General?

Yutao breaks out of his daze, meeting Ren Jiang's eyes with new found determination.

"Follow an old ghost or join the highest-ranking court in hell?"

The grasslands lay quiet, their cracked surface slowly drinking in the inky rain. Once, a village stood here—its people strange, their ways stranger still. For a time, they lived undisturbed. Then came the war. The laughter faded. The land changed.

All for survival.

Zhang Xiyu stood at the crest of the hill, watching. Below, the dead plain shimmered under the storm, as if trying to remember what it once was. The rain fell hard, washing over everything—everything except him.

It curved around his figure, never quite touching him. His robe remained dry. Unblemished. This enlivening water didn't belong to him. A dry spell keeping him away from it.

He senses someone standing beneath the alcove behind him.

"You're back" Yutao says. His voice carries easily, untouched by the curtain of rain between them.

Zhang Xiyu turns. His gaze moves over Yutao, steady and silent, searching for anything out of place. No wounds. No blood. Nothing that didn't belong.

"I take it things went well," he says at last.

"Follow an old ghost or join the highest-ranking court in hell?"

He could feel their spiritual pressure building—Ren Jiang and Hao Enlai, both brimming with quiet threat. He would either betray his dearest friend today or vanish without a grave. If only they knew that their tension was wasted. He had already made his choice.

Yutao's eyes remain as clear as his voice. "Yes."

"It went well."

Zhang Xiyu doesn't respond. He remains still, his gaze distant, thoughts unreadable. Then, slowly, he tilts his head back, face lifted toward the sky. Only when the rain begins to slide over his forehead and down his nape, does he realize the dry spell has broken.

The water is cold. Strangely comforting.

Zhang Xiyu stands alone in the rain, his tall figure a silhouette against the barren land. The downpour seems to soak into him, making him look even more solitary, more fragile. Yutao couldn't bear the sight. He quickly averts his gaze. "Come inside already" he says, his voice rougher than he intended.

Zhang Xiyu glances at him. "I don't feel like it."

Annoyance flashes across Yutao's face. His stare hardens. "Do you want me to drag you in?"

Zhang Xiyu merely smiles infuriatingly. Yutao sighs, defeated. Without another word, he steps into the rain and tugs Zhang Xiyu inside by the sleeve. He doesn't bother with the dry spell either.

An iron door, marred by countless talismans, stood before him. Red ink bled into patches of growing rust, merging with the corroded chains and locks that sealed it shut. Finding this place had been a nightmare—layer upon layer of dungeons, concealment arrays, and forbidden wards, each designed to repel and destroy.

But in the end, none of it would've mattered. He wouldn't be standing here if the power inside hadn't allowed it.

Even now, the door remained a curse—a puzzle soaked in malice, daring him to break its code. 

He steps closer to the door, the air thick with vile anticipation. From his sleeve, he pulls a knife, its edge glinting coldly. Without hesitation, he drives it into his left palm, a brutal thrust, pushing deeper and deeper. Blood erupts from the wound, spilling in torrents, but he doesn't flinch.

Expressionless, he discards the knife and shifts his right hand into the gaping wound, fingers probing the torn flesh. His fingers move with practiced precision, searching, finding.

There. The ulnar artery.

Found it.

With a sharp pull, it tears free like a severed wire—slick, throbbing, alive. Blood streams down his wrists. The man piously winds the artery around the thick lock as if it were any other talisman.

He chants softly, lips barely moving.

The artery begins to glow—a deep, unnatural red—as his whisper reaches its final word.

"Kai!" With a snap, the lock gives way, the door shifting to life. It shudders open, eager to drink in the blood, the ground beneath it gleaming once more, the sacrifice erasing all traces of the ritual. 

As the door creaks open, dense darkness spills out from within.

The man pauses at the threshold.

Strange, he thinks.

He glances down at his hand—blood still seeping, the torn flesh refusing to knit. My palm isn't healing.

He clicks his tongue, carelessly wrapping his handkerchief around the hole in his palm. How troublesome.

Dismissing the thought, he steps inside. The heavy door swings shut behind him with a thud.

"Huǒ," he commands.

The darkness stirred. Obediently, flames blinked to life in the torches lining the walls, casting long, flickering shadows across the stone. A deep voice resonated from somewhere far within the hall.

"Come."

He followed the voice, footsteps soft against the stone, until he reached an unexpected barrier: a strange mural, covering an entire wall. The wall blocks his path—thin, like a partition, yet impossible to ignore. It is covered in abstract shapes, colours muddled and shifting, as if painted in motion. He reaches out and touches it. 

The texture was soft, almost sickly—cotton, woven from strands of human hair. The mural's meaning eluded him, its forms too distorted to understand. Yet, despite its confusion, it exuded a familiar, sinister energy.

He reaches within, drawing on the abundance of yin energy in the air, hoping to heal the gaping wound in his palm. But before he could harness it, the voice from before cut through the air, full of fury.

"You dare steal my qi."

The man freezes, his fingers still hovering over the wall. His gaze turns, heavy with disdain, toward the source of the voice. "This wound is your fault, Father. You heal it."

The voice answered with a low, rolling laugh.

"It will not heal through normal means. It heals only when I return—completely."

The man sighs—a long, drawn-out sound, full of frustration and resignation.

"Ren Jiang tried to kill Zhang Xiyu. He thought trapping him in a third-class array would be enough to finish the job." The man's voice dripped with mockery.

"How did he fare?"

"He's fine," the man replied, lowering himself to sit cross-legged in front of the mural. "The Heavens were closing in on the party, so I gave him a helping hand."

"He must be suspicious. Be careful."

"I will. No one suspects the drunken failure to be playing politics."

He stared at the mural, its faint light flickering across his face. He couldn't stop looking—something in it kept pulling him in.

"That young ghost keeps your brothers on their toes. I have faith in him."

"Aren't you afraid that the Lotus raises him to kill you?" the man asks, voice low.

A stiff silence spreads between them. But the man remains undeterred.

"Why?" he pressed. "Why do you have faith in him?"

From behind the curtain, Lord Enma's gaze landed on his loyal son, soft but full of meaning. For once, he spoke not as a king—but as a father.

"One day, you'll understand," he said quietly. "The Blue Lotus isn't some mindless relic that crowns kings."

"She's like a mother to me." Lord Enma continues, a strange warmth in his tone. "Here, when I was wounded and powerless, I was not afraid. Because she is the will of this realm itself."

"She is Hell, personified."

The man's eyes widen at this revelation.

"If she wants me gone," Enma said, voice still gentle, "she will see it done. And you—my son—had best never doubt that."

A pause hung heavy in the air. Then, almost like an oath:

"He Bolin. Stand on the side of the Blue Lotus."

He Bolin's lips press tightly. Sensing his grim mood, Lord Enma continues. "As long as her intentions remain unclear, I will continue to defend my position."

"Do not worry. I am not giving up."

He Bolin's furrowed brows slowly ease. "Now what will you do about your other sons?"

A manic gleam flickers in his amber eyes. "Still planning to coddle them?"

Lord Enma remained silent. But He Bolin pressed on. "Zhang Xiyu planted Liu Xue's hair in Ren Jiang's array." A bark of laughter escaped him—unhinged, cruel.

"He sent your youngest to Heaven's Jail! And—pinned it all on the eldest!" His laughter abruptly dies, replaced by a razor-edged calm.

"Well," he mutters, eyes darkening, "that's reason enough for me to side with him."

A sadistic sneer twists his face. "I can only imagine what Liu Xue will plot next."

This place had no walls; it is just a pure white empty space. Liu Xue, more accustomed to the dismal and suffocating depths of Hell, found himself unsettled by the infinite nothingness. This place disoriented even the steadiest minds. But Liu Xue kept count.

He had been here for a month.

The trial had deemed him guilty: murdering two mortals, obliterating one soul, and crafting an unlicensed array outside the realm.

That last charge... where had that come from?

This empty space offered him plenty of time to think.

Two suspects came to mind.

It could've been that undead human scum. But would he really have the time to create a full array and plant Liu Xue's hair in it? Unlikely. If he wanted to frame him, it would've made more sense to do it in the mortal realm.

Besides… he shouldn't have even known about this so-called "game."

And wasn't it Hao Enlai who proposed this trap?

Is Hao Enlai—

A door materializes in this empty space. The door opens and an angel walks in with a key. "Prince of Hell #004, you have been bailed out."

The angel unlocks the iron halo above him, the halo no longer continuing to follow his actions. Is it Hao Enlai? Did he bail him out?

Liu Xue stepped into the reception hall and saw his bailer. There, waiting calmly, was his bailer. The brief flicker of optimism in Liu Xue's eyes vanish, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.

"…Zou Yaozu."

"Your Highness." Zou Yaozu bows respectfully.

The two of them silently ride the blue carriage to the teleportation pad. "Thank you" Liu Xue murmurs.

"It's my job" Zou Yaozu replies with quiet humility.

Liu Xue presses. "Jin Niu asked you to do this."

"Yes."

"And where is Hao Enlai?"

Zou Yaozu didn't move, but his tone betrayed a sliver of unease. "Minister Hao was last seen with the eldest prince."

"Oh?"

Liu Xue moves his grey eyes to look out of the moving carriage. Gentle sunlight blanketed the vast green gardens, flowers blooming in a thousand vibrant shades. His snow-white hair shimmered in the golden light. Zou Yaozu had an illusion that this terrible prince of death appeared very angelic. But then Liu Xue's cold, steel gaze flicked over the scenery in visible disgust.

He is far from an angel.

"Hao Enlai has betrayed me," Liu Xue hisses, low and venomous.

Zou Yaozu didn't flinch. "An immoral man like him could never be loyal to anyone."

Liu Xue's cold eyes snap to him. "Why do you say that?"

Zou Yaozu shrugs. "I've watched his entire political career, Your Highness. If not for your insistence that he was your childhood friend, neither the Prime Minister nor I would have ever allowed that man near the court."

"Hao Enlai is talented, I won't deny that."

"But the court is not short of talent." Zou Yaozu's says, eyes firm.

"Hao Enlai is nothing but a cancer that has effected the court."

Liu Xue chuckles at the bluntness. "And you wait over a millennium to say this?"

Zou Yaozu turns his gaze to the passing scenery. "This servant only speaks when the lord spares his ears for him."

The carriage stops, reaching the teleportation pad. They step onto the circular platform, standing shoulder to shoulder. The machine whirs, and a white light rises around them, enclosing them in a tube of brilliance.

The wind catches Liu Xue's long white strands as he turns to Zou Yaozu. "Minister Zou" he says quietly. "I should blame Hao Enlai for this humiliation."

Zou Yaozu looks at him, listening.

"But" Liu Xue continues, voice calm, almost serene. "my hatred for Ren Jiang… is the only thing that grows."