Chapter 120: The Bewitching Mandala
"What a fine display of five-fold blossoming," Luo Hanyai looked around at everyone present and let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "So you have all been acting this entire time. That heart must be mine; no wonder I felt such piercing agony the moment I laid eyes upon it."
"Only just realized it? It is far too late for that now. I have already seized control of everything," Man Luo looked at Luo Hanyai with a confident smirk, seemingly certain of victory.
"Man Luo, Man Luo..." Ignoring Man Luo’s arrogance and confidence, Luo Hanyai murmured to himself, "Are you... Mandara?"
Man Luo’s wicked, alluring eyes widened. She tapped her chest, parted her lips, and giggled—a sound like the most lethal poison on earth. "I am not just Mandara. I am the Black Mandara."
Luo Hanyai tapped his head in distress, then said with sudden, stony seriousness, "And yet, I feel I might still be worth saving."
"Perhaps you could have been when you first arrived here, but now..." Man Luo flicked her long, flowing sleeves in a graceful, flower-scattering motion. "Struggle all you want. Before long, you will be completely... reduced to dust and ashes!"
"Is the black box the turning point for all of this?"
"Yes, and no. It was merely the catalyst."
Luo Hanyai looked intently into Man Luo’s eyes. "May I ask two questions?"
"Why should I allow you to ask? And even if you did, do you truly believe I would answer honestly? How naive." Man Luo waved a finger dismissively, her eyes filled with cold indifference, as if observing prey that had already lost its will to live.
"I just wish to ask," Luo Hanyai lowered his gaze, unmoved by Man Luo’s mockery, and asked word by word: "First, are you a man or a woman? Second, what exactly is inside that black box?"
Man Luo did not answer. She stared at Luo Hanyai as if he were an idiot. "You don't actually believe this is like one of those television dramas, do you? Where the villain obediently answers the protagonist's final wishes, only to be effortlessly counter-killed? Should I call you clever, or merely too childish?"
"Think whatever you like. If you can take my life, do it now, and stop your incessant chatter. Who do you think you are? You are nothing more than a thought I birthed!" Luo Hanyai’s attitude shifted a full hundred and eighty degrees. He spoke like a tyrannical monarch, furiously reprimanding a lowly subject.
"Hahaha, are you so desperate to goad me into telling you?" Man Luo laughed with an eerie, unsettling cadence. She glanced sideways at the others sitting by the dining table. "They all know the truth. Why don't you ask them?"
"Man Luo, put away your pettiness. Stop trying to sow discord. The cause of everything is that black box. She is free now, but we are not. We cannot help it, and we cannot speak of it," Macarius shattered Man Luo’s schemes without hesitation, laying bare their predicament.
"It is quite simple, really. The black box contained a crystallization. Once I consumed it, I ceased to be a mere flicker of thought in your heart. I am now your split soul, and I am here to contest the ownership of your body." Man Luo walked to the table, picked up a cup of mist-tea, and drained it with a look of ecstasy. With a triumphant smile, she snatched a cup and hurled it at Luo Hanyai’s head.
In an instant, Luo Hanyai felt his control over his own body vanish. It no longer felt like his own; he could only watch helplessly as the cup struck his forehead, warm liquid trickling down his skin.
"As for whether I am a man or a woman..." Man Luo giggled, wickedly hooking her finger under Luo Hanyai’s chin, purring, "What would you like me to be? I can satisfy you in either form."
As she spoke, thick mist engulfed her. When it dissipated, a beautiful man stood in her place, dancing gracefully.
The dancer wore a tailored tailcoat, crisp dress trousers, a vibrant bright purple shirt, a white silk bowtie, and black-and-white brogues. Even without the accompaniment of lights or music, he was handsome, tall, and elegant. Every step he took seemed to dictate the rhythm; his movements were light and lively, enough to put even world-class dance superstars to shame. His footwork was flawless, exuding a sense of smug, ecstatic delight.
How could such a dancer exist, basking in the sight of another's blood with such joyous fervor?
Man Luo danced with grace, spinning lightly around Luo Hanyai. The handsome, captivating face—one that any woman might envy—wore an increasingly intimate and charming smile.
Man Luo bowed before Luo Hanyai, as if an actor taking a final curtain call before their only spectator.
"What a pity! Such a magnificent performance, and yet you are the only living soul left to appreciate it," Man Luo pouted with a playful giggle. "Now, what would you like me to be?"
Luo Hanyai looked at that charming, handsome face and felt his stomach churn. Disgust—perhaps only that word could encompass his feelings now.
Man Luo watched Luo Hanyai’s reaction with keen interest. With a feminine flourish of his right hand, he raised his left, preparing to slap Luo Hanyai across the face. "You wretched thing, are you not fond of me like this?"
Luo Hanyai remained unable to control his body. As the slap descended, Little Feng, who had been perched on his shoulder, weakly raised a finger. A blast of freezing air instantly encased Man Luo’s hand, freezing it in mid-air. "Enough, Man Luo. Stop preening and flaunting your malice."
"Little Feng, do you think things are still as they once were? Whatever that wretched mother of yours fought for, it means nothing to me now." Man Luo bellowed, striking at Little Feng’s deepest pain, holding him in utter contempt.
"You..."
"Cough, cough, cough!"
"Damn it!"
"Cough, cough, cough!"
A flush of color surged into Little Feng’s face, turning it a deep, intense crimson. His eyes, usually devoid of emotion, ignited with a raging inferno. Though he could not stop coughing, he did not appear weak; rather, he radiated a sense of crushing pressure and dread.
"Oh? You consumptive wretch, are you trying to threaten me? I shall ensure you cannot even remain a ghost for much longer." Man Luo seemed to have been suppressed by Little Feng for far too long; his resentment had built up until he longed to scatter Little Feng’s soul into oblivion.
"Cough, cough, cough!"
"Cough, cough, cough!"
Little Feng coughed violently for a moment, seemingly gathering the strength for what he was about to say. His eyes returned to a deathly stillness as he stared at Man Luo, looking at him as if he were already a corpse. "I do not care who you insult, but you should not have insulted my mother."
"Today, even if my soul is scattered to the winds, I will see you dead!"