Scent of Desire: The Lustful Path

"That will be 40 Yuan, Miss."

The young man at the counter spoke with a polite smile, his tone warm as he glanced up at the woman in front of him. She appeared to be in her late twenties, dressed neatly in a casual outfit. Her eyes lingered on him just a moment too long, and as she reached for her purse, a subtle blush spread across her cheeks.

He had seen this look countless times before—the way women glanced at him, their eyes filled with interest, admiration, even something deeper. It was a look he had grown accustomed to over the years, though it never felt entirely comfortable.

The woman handed over the money, still smiling, and the young man took it, his fingers brushing hers briefly.

"Thank you, Miss. Have a nice day," he said, his smile unwavering, though it felt like a mask.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice light, but her gaze lingered a bit too long on him as she turned and walked out of the store.

As the door swung closed behind her, the young man's smile faltered, the warmth leaving his expression entirely. He replaced the facade with a cold look, his jaw tightening as he looked toward the empty shop.

He knew what that woman wanted. He had known since he was a child, when he first started getting attention for his looks. Over the years, the attention had only grown, and while some of it came with compliments and admiration, much of it came with a darker undercurrent.

His striking features, his tall frame, his chiseled jaw—he couldn't deny that he was handsome. It was something he had learned early on, when older women began to flirt with him, and even some of his peers seemed to harbor secret glances that made him uncomfortable.

What bothered him the most, however, was the jealousy. He had seen it in the eyes of boyfriends, husbands, and even friends. Some tried to be subtle about it, others not so much. 

A few had even resorted to threats, insults, and pushing him to his limits. It was these encounters that forced him to learn how to defend himself, how to stay aware of his surroundings and stand his ground when the tension became too thick.

But today... Everything will change.

The night had fallen silent, the usual hum of the city subdued beneath the weight of the dark. The young man, weary from a long shift at the convenience store, walked down the empty street toward his small, lonely apartment. 

The air was cool, and his footsteps echoed off the pavement as he trudged along, lost in his thoughts. Suddenly he heard hurried footsteps from behind him as he felt like something was running towards him, thinking this he tried to look back. 

But before he could, he suddenly register a sharp pain, the cold metal of a knife sank deep into his stomach, its blade twisting as the stranger struck him from behind. The young man gasped, his body frozen in shock as the wound spread, blood seeping through his clothes.

He staggered, his legs weakening as the world around him seemed to blur. He tried to call out, to fight back, but his breath was shallow, his body failing him. He collapsed to the ground, the cold pavement biting into his skin as his vision began to fade.

Through his fading consciousness, he heard the voice of his assailant, rough and full of venom.

"Go to hell, you orphan motherfucker," the man spat. "Trying to attract my girl with your looks, huh? Now go and die."

The words hit him harder than the knife. He understood now, the source of the rage. Jealousy. A petty, baseless jealousy, a twisted desire to control. 

All because his beauty, something he had never asked for, had caught the attention of someone else's girl. And now, here he was—dying for something as trivial as his appearance.

As his body went cold and his breathing slowed, he could no longer fight the inevitable. The life that had once been so full of unwanted attention now felt like a distant memory. His thoughts began to blur, his body growing heavier with each passing second.

His eyes closed, the world around him slipping away, leaving only the soft hum of the wind and the distant city lights as his final witnesses. And in that last moment, he couldn't help but wonder: Was this how he would be remembered?

His final breath escaped in a faint whisper as the darkness overtook him.

As the soft melodies of morning birds echoed through the quiet room, Lin Fang slowly opened his eyes, only to be met with an unfamiliar sensation. A weight pressed against his chest, and as he shifted his gaze, he saw his mother lying there, her face resting against him, her tear marks still visible on her delicate features. 

The sight stirred something deep within him, a mixture of tenderness and pain, but before he could fully process it, something inside him snapped, and a sudden surge of memories flooded his mind.

He tried to focus, but the images came too fast—too vivid—like a torrent crashing against a dam. Before he could make sense of what was happening, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his head. 

It was as if his skull was being split open, but he fought to keep quiet, gritting his teeth to stifle the groan that threatened to escape. His mother, still asleep, couldn't know. He wouldn't wake her.

The memories continued to rush in, relentless, overpowering. They weren't his own. The face in these memories, though familiar, was not the one he saw in the mirror. It was a version of him—someone who shared his name, his face—but came from an entirely different world. A world of mortals, a place where peace and power coexisted in a fragile balance. A world that was very different from the one he had known.

Through these memories, Lin Fang witnessed the life of this other self. He saw the heartache of growing up without a mother, who had died giving birth to him. 

He felt the pain of losing his father, a man who had worked tirelessly to provide for him, only to be taken away by illness. He felt the loneliness that gnawed at his soul, the absence of anyone who truly understood his struggles. 

And he saw the distrust that plagued his friends and colleagues, because of his looks—something he never asked for—had become his curse.

The women, the admiring gazes, the attention he received—none of it was ever welcome by him even when they force themselves on him. But even worse was the jealousy of those around him, especially the men who couldn't bear to see him admired, their insecurities festered by his mere presence. And in the end, it was that very jealousy that led to his downfall.

As the flood of memories continued, something inside Lin Fang clicked, as if a puzzle piece had finally fallen into place. His eyes—his very essence—shifted. For a brief moment, they glowed a deep, dark brown before returning to their usual black. But after that change, something was different about him. 

The look in his eyes was colder, sharper, and more calculating. The innocence, the righteousness that had once defined him seemed to evaporate, replaced by something far more complex, far more dangerous. The air around him thickened with a new presence, an aura that was not the same as before. He though remains same in appearance but still doesn't look the same person he was just some moments ago.

And as though that wasn't enough, a surge of new information rushed into him—knowledge he had never known, yet now felt as if it was meant for him. It was the kind of information that made him realize something fundamental had shifted inside him. 

The old Lin Fang, the naive and trusting one, was gone. He had been replaced with something new—something born from both the past and the future.