The candle flame leaped against the wall, casting half a twisted face into view.
Ji Hantian sat in a blackwood chair at the center of the secret chamber, his left hand clenched tightly around a jade talisman until his knuckles turned white. The ashes in the iron basin before him had not yet cooled. Wisps of lingering smoke curled upward like snakes with their throats pinched by invisible hands. The letter had already burned away, leaving only a charred corner stuck to the bottom of the basin, where the stroke of the character "blood" could vaguely be seen.
He stared at that last ember and suddenly laughed.
The laughter was low and heavy, as though it had been squeezed out of the earth. He raised his right hand and spread open his palm, revealing a short dagger. Its blade was pitch-black, clearly steeped in demonic aura. Three tiny words, as fine as needlepoints, were carved into its hilt—"Ji Wuchen."
He had carved that name himself, using a poisoned engraving blade. Every stroke had carried his hatred.
"You want to investigate me?" he muttered hoarsely. "Then I'll let you investigate to your heart's content."
Footsteps came from outside the door, extremely soft, yet they did not escape his ears. Without betraying anything, he slipped the dagger into his sleeve, leaving only an imperceptible tear, its edge slightly lifted along the cuff.
"My lord, everything has been arranged," the person outside said in a low voice. "The warehouse guards have been replaced with our people. We move at the third quarter of the Hai hour. Once the fire starts, scatter ashes in the eastern corner."
"Mm." Ji Hantian answered, rose to his feet, and walked to the bronze mirror by the wall. Its surface was mottled, reflecting the veins twitching across half his face. He reached out and stroked his left arm. A Blood Crystal was embedded there, faintly burning hot at that moment, as though something were writhing beneath his skin.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his gaze had turned blood-red.
"When the flames rise, 'find' this dagger. Remember, let the old steward see it first."
"Yes."
After that person withdrew, the secret chamber returned to silence. Ji Hantian did not sit down. Instead, he stood before the window with his hands behind his back. Outside, the rain was gradually easing. A crack opened in the clouds, leaking a ray of deathly pale moonlight that fell right at his feet.
He lowered his head to look at that light, then suddenly lifted his foot and ground it down hard.
The night deepened.
In the small courtyard of the western wing, I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, my eyes half-closed. The wind had stopped and the rain had ended outside. Water dripped intermittently from the eaves onto the stone steps, like some sort of countdown.
The strand of Heaven-Slaying Origin in my palm circulated slowly, warmer than before. Seven strands and eight-tenths—just a sliver away from touching the threshold of the Dao Foundation. The system operated soundlessly, absorbing Battle Intent Fragments drifting from afar—fragments emanating from Afu.
I knew he was suffering.
Half an hour earlier, the Law Enforcement Team had burst into the woodshed and dragged him away. I had not moved. I could not move. The system's rules were cold and clear: unless it was a life-or-death crisis, do not intervene. Afu was not me. No matter how deeply he suffered, it was not enough to trigger that strike that would bring backlash upon heaven and earth.
But I could feel it.
Every lash that fell felt as though it were whipping my divine sense. Those emotions of fury, humiliation, and unwillingness turned into threads of battle intent, surging into my meridians through some hidden connection. The Heaven-Slaying Origin condensed faster because of it, nearly breaking through its critical point.
I gritted my teeth and suppressed the surging power within me.
I could not act.
At least, not yet.
The packet of medicinal powder was still in my sleeve. Its paper wrapping was damp, but the powder had not dissolved. My fingertips gently rubbed it as I recalled Ye Qingwan's departing figure, rainwater sliding down the brim of her hat and wetting the stone steps.
She had not left this packet of powder for self-defense.
She had left it to remind me that someone was watching.
When green flames rose in the warehouse, I opened my eyes.
Those flames were unlike ordinary fire. They carried a chill, sinister aura. They burned without a sound, yet swiftly devoured entire rows of shelves. The guards could not put them out in time and could only watch helplessly as medicinal herbs, pill formulas, and Spiritual Artifact registers turned to ash.
Amid the chaos, an old steward rummaged through the ruins for anything remaining, then suddenly stopped.
He bent down and picked up half a charred dagger. Though the hilt was damaged, the three words upon it remained clearly visible—Ji Wuchen.
The crowd immediately erupted in an uproar.
"Was it really him?"
"No wonder he's been going to the warehouse so often lately..."
"That crippled Young Master actually dared commit such a heinous act!"
The news spread like wildfire. In less than the time it took to burn an incense stick, the entire inner court of the Ji Clan was abuzz with discussion. Some said I had colluded with outside enemies and intended to seize power amid the chaos. Others said I had long been possessed by the demonic path, pretending to be useless for three years only to lie in wait.
I sat in the room, listening to the uproar outside without moving.
The window was half-open, moonlight slanting in and drawing a silver line across the floor. I stared at that light until it was covered by a shadow.
The door was kicked open with a bang.
Three Law Enforcement Team members stormed in. The leader was a burly man with a face full of flesh, iron chains in his hand.
"Ji Wuchen!" he barked. "The warehouse caught fire, and the weapon bears your name. You are suspected of betraying the clan. Come with us to the Hall of Punishment!"
I did not rise.
I merely slowly lifted my head, my gaze falling on his shoulder.
In that instant, he inexplicably shuddered and took half a step back.
"What?" I spoke calmly. "You don't even have a warrant, yet you dare arrest someone?"
"A warrant?" another man sneered. "The evidence has practically burned itself out of the ashes, and you're still pretending! Afu has already confessed. He said you ordered him to set the fire!"
My gaze tightened slightly.
Afu... had confessed?
Impossible.
Unless he had been beaten until his mind was no longer clear.
I lowered my eyes, concealing the flash of golden light within them.
"Fine," I said. "I'll go."
They froze for a moment, not expecting me to be so compliant.
I slowly stood, straightened my sleeves, and tucked the packet of medicinal powder back into my inner pocket. As I walked out, I glanced back at the earthenware jar in the corner of the room—where Afu usually hid his dry rations. It was empty now.
He had never gotten to eat that meal.
The Hall of Punishment was brightly lit.
Afu was suspended from an iron rack, bare-chested, his shoulders and back covered in bloody welts. His head hung low, his breathing weak, as though he might stop at any moment.
I was brought before the hall. The captain of the Law Enforcement Team had yet to arrive, while several guards surrounded me with hostile looks.
No one noticed that my fingertips were lightly tapping the ground.
With every touch, a thread of extremely faint origin seeped underground and spread along the foundation of the building. This was a technique I had learned after the ancestral hall—using the Remnant Dao's resonance to establish a hidden connection. As long as Afu remained in the Hall of Punishment, his pain would continue to provide me with Battle Intent Fragments.
Seven strands and nine-tenths.
Just a little more.
"Cough..." Afu suddenly raised his head. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, yet he still forced out a smile. "Young Master... you came..."
I looked at him without speaking.
He knew I could not save him. Yet he still smiled.
"That dagger... I really never saw it..." he panted, his voice hoarse. "You have to live... don't avenge me... endure it..."
Before he could finish, a whip cracked down and cut off his voice.
I remained standing there, like a stone statue.
But the Heaven-Slaying Origin within me had already begun to boil.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside.
A servant-looking man stumbled into the hall, clutching a wooden box, his face deathly pale. "R-report, my lord! Something... something happened near the secret chamber! Ji Hantian... he... he slit his wrist!"
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