Beast

On a cold winter day, the young master from a rich family gave me half a box of cakes. He was noble and pale, well-dressed and well-fed, wrapped in a rich fox fur in this ridiculous heavy snow, and holding a heater in his hand. When he got off the carriage, he caught a glimpse of me curled up in the corner of the wall, barely breathing. So the half of the uneaten box of pastries was dumped at my feet by his servant. He looked at me from a distance with pity, like pity for a down-and-out dog. I remembered him from then on. * I was picked up by Master and thrown into the Valley of the Dead. Master said that it is better to feed a low-life beast like you, but God is God, and your life is in the palm of your hand. He handed me a pocket knife and asked me to use it to kill my companions who were walking with me. I hold it in my hand. When the warm blood splashed on my face, I thought of the box of pastries that were still warm in winter. I used this knife to kill countless people, enemy targets, senior sisters and brothers. When the knife finally touched Master's neck, he looked at me and smiled gently. I finished cleaning up his grave and left the valley. * It's hard, but not difficult. I found the young master from back then. The noble man of those days was still in a high position, handsome yet sickly. His sick body was leaning on the couch, his pale lips were coughing and vomiting blood, and the veil seemed to be blooming with beautiful flowers. He was not too surprised when he saw me appearing in his study in the middle of the night. "What do you want?" He asked me. I said, "I can work for you for three years, but after that your life belongs to me." "There are many people who want to kill me," he said. I said, "But I can kill them first for you." He said, "Can you?" I said, "I can." The young master smiled. His smile was like thin lantern paper. If you tilt it slightly, the flames would burn away the wood and pattern, leaving only the scraps of paper and ashes. After laughing, he coughed again, and the bright red flowers bloomed one after another. I watched quietly. He said yes. * I kept my promise. Three years is not a long time. When I had nothing to do, I sat on the roof and sharpened my knife. The moonlight was as bright as a blade, but my knife was sharper than it. The young master sat under the pavilion and read a book by the lamp. The light of half a lamp fell on his fair and thin bones, like fireflies at night. He seemed to know that I stole his pastries to eat. Every time, someone would prepare a second plate. But since he discovered that the second set would also be empty, a rare helpless smile appeared on his pale face. That night, he raised his eyes at me, raised his sleeves and fed me a piece. So I got out of control, and from then on I only ate pastries that passed through his hands. I ate his bed. His body is also thin, but frail and white, as beautiful as jade. The scarlet color on the jade is particularly touching, reminding me of the pastry called imperial concubine stuffing. Countless petals were mashed into pieces to make that small, delicate shape. Between the sheets, he touched my face. His hand was cold but hot, I grabbed it and took a bite, and he slapped me. But the next day, the third day, and countless nights after that, everything started over again. His eyes when he looked at me were like expensive obsidian, and like the moon falling into a pond. He called my name hoarsely. After shouting, he laughed again. * The three-year period has arrived. My term is over. The young master's long-cherished wish has also come true. On the day when the great revenge was to be avenged, he laughed until he coughed up blood. After finishing all his enemies, he looked at the row of heads hanging high on the city wall, looked back and smiled at me who was wiping the knife. "Finally," he said. "Finally." I said. The days after that went on day after day. In the spring, he and I went out in a carriage. In the summer, I took him to the mountains to enjoy the cool air. In the autumn, he leaned on the lounge chair and let me pillow his knees. He raised his hand to touch my hair, once, once. He was still frail and stunningly beautiful, but he would look down at me and smile tenderly. He called my name. A kiss fell on the top of my hair. After preparing for a long time, I finally killed him with my own hands on that beautiful winter day covered in snow. The rich fox fur is stained with blood. The heater tipped over and Gululu crashed into the wall. I put the knife in my sleeve into its sheath. His obsidian eyes looked at me distractedly, and the tears on his eyelashes were stained with snow, making them white. His blood slowly splashed onto the edge of my boots. I knelt down and watched for a while. I dug my fingers into the snow and tasted the bright red color in my mouth. It turns out it doesn't taste the same. Concept: Farmer and Snake