Ji Hantian's "Death" News, Wuchen and Qingwan's Hearts Differ

The flames finally died down, leaving only the scent of scorched wood drifting in the wind. I stood on the stone steps in front of the main hall, ash clinging to my shoes like a thin layer of frost.

People from the manor began to arrive one after another, their footsteps chaotic, their shouts rising and falling. Someone carried out a body wrapped in white cloth and placed it on a long table outside the mourning hall. Yan Jiuxiao stood not far away, his black robes still on, his gaze sweeping over the mangled corpse before landing on me.

I didn't move.

Deep within my mind, a silent ripple slowly spread—Origin has accumulated ten strands, the Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation can be condensed.

It had arrived.

Three years of hiding, enduring humiliation, suppressing my cultivation every time, bowing my head at every turn—all of it had transformed into a solemn, ethereal ring in my Sea of Consciousness. It wasn't a Golden Core formed by a cultivation technique, nor a Dao Seal bestowed by heaven and earth. It was the foundation for slaying heaven, painstakingly gathered from strands of calamity qi, remnant daos, and fragments of battle intent. It lay dormant deep within my Divine Soul, without outward brilliance, yet it had quietly taken shape.

I lowered my head slightly, concealing the golden glint that flashed in my eyes.

The crowd gathered around, several Elders dressed in mourning clothes kneeling before the spirit tablet, weeping. Ji Hantian was "dead," killed in last night's chaotic infighting. His body was torn to shreds, his chest caved in, his limbs twisted, his face unrecognizable. But I knew, that wasn't him.

The real Ji Hantian's divine consciousness had been severed from its aberrant changes by the Demonic Blood backlash long ago. Though not completely annihilated, he was not far from death. This corpse was merely a substitute, a fig leaf hastily found by the family to quell the unrest.

I walked forward slowly, deliberately stumbling, and leaned on a pillar, coughing twice. Several gazes immediately fell upon me, some with pity, others with disdain. Good, they still considered me useless.

Yan Jiuxiao approached, the soles of his boots grinding over the ash on the ground, making a faint sound. He stopped before me, his voice low, "My condolences."

I looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "The City Lord himself comes to clean up the mess. You must have worked hard."

He didn't reply, merely staring into my eyes for a moment before turning to leave. Before departing, he left a parting remark: "What needs to be investigated will eventually be investigated."

I knew he was probing.

He also knew I was waiting.

But I feared nothing now. The Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation had taken its nascent form. All I needed was to endure a little longer, to hold back a little more, and when the true moment came, a single strike would shatter mountains and rivers.

I walked through the crowd, heading towards the corridor outside the mourning hall. Mourners came and went incessantly, but one person stood still.

Ye Qingwan.

She wore a plain, light-colored dress, draped in a Black Cloak, her hair tips tinged with a faint red, swaying gently in the wind. She didn't enter, merely standing at the entrance of the mourning hall, her gaze fixed on a wisp of smoke rising above the coffin, as if sniffing something.

I approached her.

Hidden in my sleeve was a paper white flower I had folded three days ago, which I had kept close to me. I hadn't told anyone, nor did I intend for it to appear at anyone's grave. But now, I wanted to give it to her.

"Miss Ye, who are you mourning?" I handed her the flower, my movements slow, as if casually asking about the weather.

She turned her head to look at me, took the flower, and with a slight press of her fingertips, the petals fell one by one, scattering at her feet.

"Mourning that fool whose heart was blinded by greed," she sneered.

I spread my hands. "Sad? He's been trying to kill me for three years. Now that he's closed his eyes, should I thank him?"

She didn't answer and turned to leave, but then stopped. "You're not surprised at all."

"What's there to be surprised about?" I leaned against the pillar, my tone lazy. "If he didn't die, was I supposed to wait for him to try and kill me again?"

She turned back to stare at me, her eyes glowing faintly gold. "But he shouldn't have died so easily."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"In last night's battle, although he was gravely injured, his foundation was not destroyed." Her voice lowered. "Moreover... there's a medicinal scent in the air. It's not incense for the soul or powder for the deceased, but the smell of 'Reverse Meridian Powder.' This kind of medicine can slow the dissipation of life force, making a faked death appear real."

My heart trembled slightly.

She had actually noticed.

But my expression remained unchanged. "So? You think he's faking his death?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "But I know that some people are more dangerous dead than alive."

The wind lifted the hem of her clothes, also stirring the broken flower petals on the ground. I looked at her and suddenly felt she was clearer-headed than ever before.

"Then what do you plan to do?" I asked.

"What needs to be done will be done," she said lightly. "Just like what you did last night."

I smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do." She looked directly at me. "You've understood from the very beginning. You're not a survivor, you're the one orchestrating this."

I neither denied nor admitted it.

Bell chimes rang in the distance, and chanting began inside the mourning hall. Servants carried out paper money and sprinkled it into the air. Gray and white paper flakes flew like snow, landing on our shoulders.

I suddenly remembered something and raised my wrist, letting my sleeve slide down slightly. A faint golden pattern was visible on my wrist, like a brand.

Her gaze sharpened, then shifted away.

I knew she had seen it.

The trace of the Pseudo-Primordial Body was beginning to leak out. This was a sign of the Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation's condensation, and also the first mark of transformation given by the System. Soon, these patterns would spread across my entire body, until one day I would fully awaken.

But she couldn't know.

Not yet, at least.

I retracted my hand and adjusted my sleeve. "You believe those rumors too? That I'm harboring something inside me?"

She was silent for a moment. "I don't believe rumors, but I believe in feelings."

"You feel something is wrong with me?"

"You seem less and less like yourself," she said softly. "But I can't pinpoint what's changed."

I chuckled lightly. "People always change. Three years ago, I was a proud prodigy. Three years later, I'm a crippled young master. What about after that? Maybe I'll soar to the heavens one day."

She stared at me, her gaze complex. "If you truly can fly, don't forget to look back."

"Why?"

"Because some people are always waiting for you to turn around."

After she finished speaking, she turned and left.

I stood in place, watching her figure disappear through the corner gate.

The wind stopped, and the paper money no longer drifted. In front of the mourning hall, only an empty coffin remained, along with a group of actors weeping their hearts out.

I raised my hand, my fingertips gently brushing over the golden patterns on my wrist. It was growing hot, as if something was awakening within my bloodline.

The Heaven-Slaying Dao Foundation was complete; only a catalyst was needed.

And that catalyst wouldn't be far off.

Yan Jiuxiao took two guards with him and remained in the manor to patrol. I knew they were here to watch me. It didn't matter; let them watch, let them investigate. As long as I didn't make a move, the System wouldn't be exposed.

I slowly walked back to the end of the corridor, leaning against a pillar, gazing at the pitch-black coffin.

Ji Hantian wasn't lying inside.

The real him might have been secretly transferred, or perhaps he was hiding in some dark room, barely clinging to life. But he would definitely return, with even crazier obsessions and more ruthless methods.

I wasn't in a hurry.

I could wait.

Night deepened, and the lights in the manor lit up one by one. A servant carrying a lantern passed by, illuminating my shadow standing under the corridor.

The shadow was long, plastered to the ground, unmoving.

Like a tombstone.

I raised my hand, palm facing up.

A wisp of extremely fine golden light flowed between my fingers, vanishing in an instant.