The Final Red Envelope

The Ancestral Hall was cold. Rows of wooden tablets bearing the names of dead Chens looked down from the shadows. Incense burned in heavy bronze urns.

Feng laid Mei on the stone altar in the center of the room. The stone was freezing against her thin nightgown.

Mei looked up at the ceiling. It was painted with dragons eating the sun.

"Feng," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. "I forgive you."

Feng froze. He looked down at her. Tears were streaming down his face, sizzling on his feverish skin.

"Don't," he choked out. "Hate me. Please, hate me. It makes it easier."

"I can't," Mei said. She was too tired to hate. She was just tired. "Just make it quick."

Feng let out a sob that sounded like a howl. He leaned down. He placed his mouth over the pulse point of her neck.

He began to draw.

This time, there was no euphoria. There was only cold. An infinite, expanding cold that started in her toes and raced toward her heart.

Mei watched the candlelight flicker. She thought of her parents. Their debt was paid. She thought of the red envelope in the puddle.

*Lucky,* she thought. *So lucky.*

The darkness rushed in. The cold reached her heart. It stuttered once, twice, and stopped.

Lin Mei exhaled, her breath turning into a mist that vanished in the incense smoke. Her eyes remained open, staring at the dragons, glassy and still.

Feng gasped, pulling back.

A shockwave of power exploded from him. The candles flared. The windows rattled.

His skin glowed with health. The red in his eyes dissolved instantly into a clear, sharp black. The madness was gone. The Rut was broken. He was stronger than he had ever been. He felt invincible.

He looked down at the altar.

The husk of his wife lay there. She looked like a dried flower, pale and brittle.

Feng stood in the silence for a long time. He touched her cheek. It was already cooling.

"Thank you," he whispered.

He turned and walked out of the hall.

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**Epilogue**

The funeral was magnificent.

Shanghai had never seen so many white lilies. The procession stopped traffic on the Bund. Lin Mei was buried in the Chen family crypt, next to the three other wives. The press called it a tragedy—a young heart failing too soon.

Chen Feng sat in his office on the top floor of the Obsidian Tower.

He looked out at the city skyline, the rain washing the glass. He felt perfect. His mind was a diamond—hard, clear, flawless. The business was booming. The stock was up.

The door opened. The elderly butler walked in.

"Sir," the butler said quietly. "The energy reserves... they will hold for perhaps three years. But we must plan ahead."

Feng turned his chair around. His face was impassive. Beautiful. Terrifying.

"Yes," Feng said. "The cycle must continue."

He opened his desk drawer. Inside was a stack of velvet envelopes.

He pulled one out. It was heavy. Warm.

He picked up a brush and dipped it in gold ink. He wrote a date on the parchment.

*Year of the Rabbit.*

"Find a girl with Earth blood this time," Feng said, handing the red envelope to the butler. "Someone quiet. Someone who needs money."

"As you wish, Master."

The butler bowed and left.

Feng turned back to the window, watching the rain fall on the millions of souls below, waiting to see who would be lucky enough to find his next gift.