The firelight finally died out, leaving only the scent of charred wood drifting in the wind. I stood on the stone steps before the main hall, ash clinging to my shoes like a thin layer of frost.
People from the residence arrived one after another, their footsteps chaotic and their cries rising and falling. Someone carried out a corpse wrapped in white cloth and laid it on a long table outside the Spirit Hall. Yan Jiuxiao stood some distance away, still wearing his black robes. His gaze swept over the mangled body before settling on me.
I did not move.
Deep within my mind, a silent ripple slowly spread—Origin had accumulated ten strands; the Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation could be condensed.
It had come.
Three years of scraping by, swallowing humiliation and concealing my edge—every suppression of my cultivation, every retreat and bowed head—had at this moment become a heavy, illusory ring within my Sea of Consciousness. It was neither a Golden Core formed through a Cultivation Technique nor a Dao seal bestowed by heaven and earth, but a Heaven-Slaying foundation gathered bit by bit from Calamity Qi, Remnant Dao, and Battle Intent Fragments. It lay still in the depths of my Divine Soul, without displaying any radiance, yet it had quietly taken shape.
I lowered my head slightly, concealing the flash of golden patterns in my eyes.
The crowd gathered around. Several elders, dressed in mourning hemp and white, knelt before the bier and wailed bitterly. Ji Hantian was "dead," killed in last night's melee when the combatants turned on one another. His body had been torn beyond recognition, his chest caved in and limbs twisted, even his face difficult to identify. But I knew that was not him.
The real Ji Hantian had already had the aberration in his consciousness cut off by me when the Demonic Blood backlashed. Though he had not completely perished, he was not far from death. This corpse was merely a substitute, a fig leaf the Lineage had hastily found to quell the unrest.
I slowly stepped forward, deliberately staggering once and bracing myself against a corridor pillar as I coughed twice. Several gazes immediately fell upon me, some pitying, others contemptuous. Good. They still thought I was a cripple.
Yan Jiuxiao walked over, his boot soles grinding across the ash with a faint sound. He stopped before me and said in a low voice, "My condolences."
I looked up at him, tugging my lips into a faint smile. "The City Lord came personally to clean up the mess. Thanks for the effort."
He did not reply. He merely stared into my eyes for a moment before turning away. Before leaving, he said, "What needs to be investigated will eventually be uncovered."
I knew he was probing me.
He also knew I was waiting.
But now, I feared nothing. The Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation had taken its initial form. As long as I suppressed it a little longer, endured a little longer, when the day came for me to truly strike, one blow would shatter mountains and rivers.
I passed through the crowd and headed toward the corridor outside the Spirit Hall. Worshippers came in an endless stream, yet one person stood still.
Ye Qingwan.
She wore a plain-colored dress beneath a Black Cloak. The ends of her hair were tinged with a faint red, swaying softly in the wind. She did not enter. She merely stood at the entrance of the Spirit Hall, her gaze fixed on a wisp of blue smoke above the coffin as though she were smelling something.
I approached her.
Hidden in my sleeve was a white paper flower I had folded three days ago and kept close to my body ever since. I had told no one about it, nor had I intended for it to appear before anyone's grave. But now, I wanted to offer it to her.
"Who is Miss Ye mourning?" I held out the flower, moving slowly, as if I were merely asking about the weather.
She glanced sideways at me and accepted it. With a slight press of her fingers, the petals fell one by one, scattering at her feet.
"Mourning that fool whose heart was blinded by lard," she sneered.
I spread my hands. "Heartbroken? He wanted to kill me for three years. Now that he has closed his eyes, am I supposed to thank him?"
She did not answer. She turned to leave, then stopped again. "You do not seem surprised at all."
"What is there to be surprised about?" I leaned against the corridor pillar, my tone lazy. "If he did not die, was I supposed to wait for him to come back and harm me again?"
She turned and stared at me, a faint golden light glimmering in her eyes. "But he should not have died so easily."
I raised a brow. "Oh?"
"Though he was severely injured in last night's battle, his foundation was not ruined." Her voice dropped. "And besides... there was the scent of medicine in the air. Not soul-calming incense, nor corpse-preserving powder, but the scent of Reverse Meridian Powder. This medicine can slow the loss of vitality and make a false death seem real."
My heart gave a slight jolt.
She had actually noticed.
Yet my expression remained unchanged. "So? You think he faked his death?"
"I do not know." She shook her head. "But I do know that some people are more dangerous dead than alive."
The wind swept up the hem of her clothes and stirred the broken petals on the ground. Looking at her, I suddenly felt that she was clearer-headed than ever.
"What do you plan to do, then?" I asked.
"What must be done will be done," she said calmly. "Just like what you did last night."
I smiled. "I do not understand what you mean."
"You do." She looked straight at me. "You understood from beginning to end. You are not a survivor. You are the one laying out the board."
I neither denied it nor admitted it.
A bell rang in the distance, and chanting began within the Spirit Hall. Servants emerged carrying spirit money and scattered it into the air. Gray-white scraps fluttered like snow, landing upon our shoulders.
I suddenly remembered something. Raising my wrist, I let my sleeve slip down half an inch. A faint golden pattern appeared and vanished on my wrist, like a branded mark.
Her gaze tightened before she looked away.
I knew she had seen it.
The traces of the Pseudo-Primordial Body had begun to seep outward. This was a sign that the Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation was condensing, as well as the first mark of transformation granted by the system. Before long, those patterns would crawl over my entire body until, one day, they fully awakened.
But she could not know.
At least, not yet.
I lowered my hand and straightened my sleeve. "Do you believe those rumors too? That I am nurturing something inside my body?"
She was silent for a moment. "I do not believe rumors, but I believe feelings."
"You feel there is something wrong with me?"
"I feel that you are becoming less and less like yourself," she said softly. "But I cannot say what has changed."
I gave a soft laugh. "People always change. Three years ago, I was heaven's favored son. Three years later, I am the Young Master with ruined bones. What about after that? Maybe one day, I will soar into the sky."
She stared at me, her eyes complicated. "If you truly can fly, do not forget to look back."
"Why?"
"Because some people have been waiting for you to look back."
After saying that, she turned and left.
I remained where I was, watching her back disappear through the side gate.
The wind stopped, and the spirit money no longer drifted. Before the Spirit Hall, only an empty coffin remained, along with a group of actors crying themselves hoarse.
I raised my hand, my fingertips lightly brushing the golden pattern on my wrist. It was hot, as though something were awakening within my bloodline.
The Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation had formed. It lacked only an opportunity.
And that opportunity was not far away.
Yan Jiuxiao took two guards with him and left them behind in the residence to patrol. I knew they had been left to watch me. It did not matter. Let them watch. Let them investigate. As long as I did not act, the system would not be exposed.
I slowly returned to the end of the corridor, leaned against a pillar, and gazed at that black coffin.
The one lying inside was not Ji Hantian.
The real him might already have been secretly moved elsewhere, or might be hiding in some dark chamber, clinging desperately to life. But he would definitely return, carrying a more frenzied obsession and crueler methods.
I was not in a hurry.
I could wait.
Night gradually deepened, and lights throughout the residence lit up one after another. A young servant passed by carrying a lantern, illuminating my shadow beneath the corridor.
The shadow was long, pressed to the ground, utterly motionless.
Like a monument.
I raised my hand, palm upward.
An extremely fine strand of golden light flowed between my fingers, vanishing in an instant.
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