Yikes — Demon Slayer click and drag game!

Not Like This

He Xuan has had many chances to exact revenge on the one who stole his fortune.

The first is not long after they meet. While out surveying land to the west, Shi Qingxuan falls asleep under a pipal tree. He is like a blooming morning glory, bright and colorful one moment in the sun and withered to a mess the next. He Xuan brushes a wayward hair ribbon from his sleeping face.

It would be so easy to strangle him right then and there. This undeserving fool of a god. So poetic to die deprived of the very air he draws his power from.

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His hand lingers near Shi Qingxuan’s throat. All he’d have to do is close his fingers right under the smooth line of his jaw. It’s almost a shame to destroy something so beautiful. He grits his teeth and pulls away. Not like this, too easy, he tells himself.

The next is at a new temple being built for the windmaster. Shi Qingxuan insists it is bad luck to see a temple unfinished, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He quickly descends into the valley, pulling “earthmaster” along.

“I’ll blindfold myself and just feel around,” he suggests.

With a white sash covering sharp almond eyes, Shi Qingxuan wanders ahead. He Xuan reaches into his sleeve and feels for his hidden knife. Just his luck he is blessed with this blind lamb to slaughter.

He approaches with silent steps until he is a mere breath away, knife drawn and ready.

“Ming-xiong, what fragrance is on your clothes?” windmaster inquires and turns his head toward He Xuan.

“Merely a plant from the ocean.”

“It is divine.” A wide smile greets him, inches from his face. It sends a jolt in his chest. The knife goes back in his sleeve.

Not like this. He’ll have to wait until Shi Wudu can witness it. There’s not enough satisfaction in a secret revenge.

Such a chance presents not long after. Shi Wudu is drinking tea in his palace, an arrogant smirk on his face as he drones on about worshippers offering a thousand pressed portraits of tea to him. The best pu’er from the mortal realm, he claims. Shi Qingxuan is fussing over the teapot and hands his fan to He Xuan.

“Ming-xiong, hold this for me while I pour us some more.”

His hand trembles slightly as he takes the windmaster fan. He can feel its power humming under his fingertips. Now is the time, with the brothers off guard and Shi Qingxuan’s fan in his hands. He narrows his eyes and watches for the right moment to act. The tea is poured. The cup pushed toward him. Shi Qingxuan reaches out to take his fan back.

He hesitates in returning it, dark eyes darting to Shi Wudu.

“If you like the fan so much, I’ll have one made for you,” Shi Qingxuan teases with a laugh. The clear sound of his light voice is oddly pleasing.

He Xuan tosses the fan back. Not like this, not when the moment had no gravity and weight.

And so he waits for his chance. Spring, summer, fall, winter, spring again. Patience, he reasons with himself. Many opportunities come, but he lets them all go. He waits for Shi Qingxuan to offend him, but the windmaster is never anything but kind. He waits for the right time, the right circumstances, the right feeling.

Hundreds of years pass by.