The setting sun cast its lingering glow.
Above a stretch of ruins.
Su Yi stood there alone, silent and wordless.
The ruins stretched as far as the eye could see, collapsed buildings scattered everywhere, steeped in desolation and bleakness.
Traces of a great battle remained here. Mangled corpses lay scattered amid the rubble, and long-dried fresh blood was splashed across the ruins like chaotic crimson ink smeared without restraint.
This was the Shen Family!
In Shen Mu's memories, this had been a blessed place amid famous mountains, with towering halls and pavilions, magnificent splendor, and over ten thousand clan members living here.
It also bore all the beautiful memories of Shen Mu's childhood and youth.
Scene after scene surfaced in Su Yi's mind.
His mother's kindness, his father's sternness, the attentive care of his clansmen, the earnest teachings of his elders...
Yet now, all of it had become scorched earth!
Who knew how many of those clansmen had been killed or wounded!
A piercing pain surged through Su Yi's entire body.
This belonged to Shen Mu's emotions, filled with remorse and hatred.
Su Yi took out a jug of wine and silently drank a mouthful.
Among the past-life Dao legacies he had fused thus far, Shen Mu—whose state of mind had crumbled after being harmed by a woman, leading to his death—was undoubtedly the most pathetic.
Yet there was no denying that whether it was Wang Ye, the Temple Master, or Su Xuanjun himself, none of them could compare to Shen Mu in talent or comprehension.
The reason Shen Mu had suffered such a disastrous defeat at the hands of a woman, when all was said and done, was that his nature had been too pure.
He had never weathered wind and rain, and thus knew nothing of the treachery