But here he was, dead in the backwater State of Zhao, killed by Meng Hao, an insect he had held in the palm of his hand.
Meng Hao closed his eyes for a long time. This was not the first time he had killed someone, and this time, he was not filled with emotions. He had already died.
“That day when I ran into Yan Ziguo, I should have killed him, as well as all the people with him.” Determination filled his eyes. He had now experienced the result of his indecisiveness back then, when he had the chance to kill Yan Ziguo.
“I don’t want to die a second time.” He lifted his right hand and made a beckoning gesture. Ding Xin’s bag of holding flew over. Then he flicked his sleeve and a Flame Python appeared. It consumed Ding Xin’s body and head, turning them into ash.
Meng Hao turned and walked away.
It was evening, and as he walked off into the distance, snow began to fall from the sky. It covered him, his footprints, and the reek of blood. The snow accompanied him as he walked further and further away.
“I am the snow during winter. If I get too close to summer, then… summer will melt me. That is not the world of snow, nor is it my world.” Meng Hao disappeared into the distance. He looked like a scholar, but deep down, he was as cold as snow