His Confession from Hell

Who am I? The one you kneel before and beg. Who am I? The Demon Lord who holds life and death in the palm of his hand. When they first met, she was still an innocent, worldly girl. Seeing him in his soul form, she smiled and asked, holding a cup, if he wanted some tea. He coldly refused. But he remembered the eyes of the first human girl he saw after waking. They shone brilliantly, clearer than the silver sickle of the moon in the sky. Later, the setting sun was as red as blood. Corpses littered the land, and everywhere he looked was crimson. She sat on a withered branch. When she saw him, she offered him a cup of wine and smiled. “The snow is falling as night draws near. Care to share a cup?” A faint red lip print gleamed on the rim of the cup, utterly alluring. This time, he did not refuse. Smiling, he took the cup and replied, “The sky is white as far as the eye can see. Why stop at a thousand cups?” After sharing wine and laughter, they crossed blades in a deadly duel. This time, they were enemies. Enemies who would live or die by each other's hand. What a proud and aloof man he was. The Ninth Prince of the Demon Realm, now its Demon Lord, mighty enough to have no equal across the three realms. Anyone would show him a measure of respect. Yet the one and only time he lowered his head to beg was for her, pleading with her to come with him to the Demon Realm. She smiled and refused. Because she was the Xuan Emperor. In her previous life, she had killed his father with her own hands, right before his eyes. Only one of them could survive. A cup of wine, a brief bond in this mortal world: whose kingdom did it claim? A zither, sleeves dancing, stained whose dream with a thousand blossoms? A sword, its cold gleam and shadow wounding whose deep affection? A game of chess, each move beyond recall, leaving whom alone in the end?