The Rejected Disciple, Successor to The Demonic Path

Some time before the horrifying events...

Rong Tian backed into the corner of his room until his spine struck the cold wall. There was nowhere else to go. His breath came in ragged bursts, while his heart pounded against his ribs like a drum beaten by someone who did not care whether the player survived.

Four tall, broad-shouldered figures stood before the door they had forced open without permission. Black cloth covered their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed, and there was nothing human in those eyes.

Rong Tian knew that this might be the last night of his life.

++++

Biratama City slowly sank into the silence of night. Streets that had been crowded at noon were now empty, lit only by dim lanterns swaying in the wind, their weak glow unable to reach the corners that seemed determined to remain hidden.

The footsteps of night patrolmen echoed in the distance, steady and indifferent to whatever was happening behind closed doors.

Tang, tang, tang. The sound of the night watch clapper rang through the streets, announcing the beginning of a long night.

In a narrow room behind the grand residence of Zhao Ming, Vice Minister of Imperial Rites and Culture of the Bai Feng Empire, Rong Tian had been awake long before the four figures arrived. The room was small, its walls thin, and its only window faced a blank rear wall without even the slightest opening.

He lay on a worn straw mat with his eyes open, staring at the wooden ceiling where termites had already eaten into one corner. He had remained like that for three hours. He did not sleep. He did not cry. He only thought, though none of his thoughts led to a conclusion he was willing to accept.

That day, the results of the imperial examination had been announced, and Rong Tian’s name was not on the list.

“Three years,” he thought, the words echoing silently inside his mind. “I spent three years preparing for this. Teacher Hui Yan said I was more than capable. Zhao Hua believed in me. I believed in myself.”

He closed his eyes for a moment.

“But my name was not on that board. I read it twenty times.”

As the son of the vice minister’s carriage driver, Rong Tian had lived better than most boys of similar status. Since the age of eight, he had attended lessons in literature and music alongside Zhao Hua, the daughter of Vice Minister Zhao Ming, thanks to teachers kind enough not to drive him from the study hall.

At first, their bond had been nothing more than the friendship of two children sharing the same desk. Over time, however, something grew between them, something without an official name but unmistakably felt by them both.

Rong Tian had once promised Zhao Hua that he would pass the imperial examination, become an imperial official, and ask for her hand in a way that would not bring shame upon anyone.

“And now I cannot keep that promise,” Rong Tian thought. For the first time since noon, something warm and unpleasant touched the corners of his eyes. “How can I face her after this? How can I look into her eyes?”

In the distance, a night patrolman’s voice broke through the quiet.

“Lock your doors tightly! Do not give thieves an opening! Check the kitchen fires once more!”

Rong Tian sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the cold earthen floor when a knock shattered the silence.

Knock, knock, knock.

His heart lurched. “Zhao Hua?” he thought, and a faint spark of hope appeared before he could smother it himself.

He had deliberately avoided Zhao Hua all day after learning he had failed the examination. Nothing was more painful than being looked upon with pity by the person you loved.

The door creaked open.

The words died in Rong Tian’s throat.

Four large men blocked his entire view. They were dressed in black from head to toe, their faces concealed, their eyes fixed on him in a way that made Rong Tian’s legs refuse to move.

“W-Who are you?” His voice trembled more than he intended, though he fought not to sound like someone who had already surrendered.

He stepped back once. Then again. His back struck the wall.

There was no escape.

“You entered someone’s room without permission,” Rong Tian continued. Although his voice shook, he forced his gaze to remain steady. “This is a crime. The night patrol is outside. Are you not afraid of being reported?”

“Who are we?” one of them replied in a hoarse, flat voice, ignoring every question as though Rong Tian’s words did not deserve an answer. “You will find out after we take you from the vice minister’s residence.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Rong Tian said, his voice growing firmer. “If you have business with me, speak properly. Who sent you?”

The man standing at the front did not answer. He merely gave a slight nod to the right.

Before Rong Tian could process that small motion, something struck the side of his neck from an angle he had not seen.

Darkness swallowed him.

The four men moved swiftly and with practiced precision. None of them spoke. None of them wasted time. They dragged Rong Tian’s unconscious body through the narrow corridors of the vice minister’s residence with a knowledge of its layout far too detailed for strangers.

They knew every corner, every blind spot in the patrol routes, and every place the guards rarely watched. This was not an impulsive act. It had been planned in advance.

At the rear of the residence, a horse carriage was already waiting. Two horses stood before it in complete silence, trained not to make a sound on nights like this. Rong Tian’s body was thrown inside with measured movements.

The carriage headed west, leaving the vice minister’s residence without a trace.

The rhythm of hooves split the night, carrying Rong Tian away from the only life he had ever known.

The next morning, the vice minister’s residence was thrown into chaos. Rong Tian was declared missing, and speculation spread from mouth to mouth.

“That boy must not have been able to bear the humiliation,” an older servant told her companion in the kitchen. Her tone carried the faint satisfaction of someone who had long disliked a carriage driver’s son who was too clever for his place. “He failed the examination and still dreamed of marrying Miss Zhao Hua.”

“What a pity,” the other servant replied, though her voice held little pity. “But that is what happens when someone beneath his station dreams too high.”

No one knew what had truly happened.

Some time later...

Rong Tian woke as sunlight struck his eyes through a crack in the moving carriage wall.

“My head hurts.” He shut his eyes briefly and tried to gather his scattered memories, like coins dropped across a stone floor and rolling in every direction.

To be continued.