The Sol Family ancestral residence lay deep within the mountain range where spiritual energy was most concentrated in the First Ring. A vast mourning hall had already been prepared, its atmosphere solemn and oppressive.
Sol Mingyuan, Sol Xiaofeng's father, lay in his coffin at the center of the mourning hall. The coffin itself was of normal quality, and only a sparse handful of clan members stood vigil nearby—mostly unsuccessful members of collateral branches, their faces bearing the sorrow of rabbits grieving for dead foxes and a dazed uncertainty toward the future.
The main branch and the other prominent collateral branches had merely sent a few insignificant representatives to offer condolences.
Jiang Wuji, in the guise of Sol Xiaofeng, rushed into the mourning hall covered in dust, haggard and gaunt. He threw himself before his father's coffin, his forehead crashing heavily against the icy floor tiles with a dull thud.
He did not burst into loud sobs. His shoulders merely shook violently, while his stifled whimpers echoed through the empty mourning hall, sounding especially desolate.
"Mingyuan... ah..." An elder from a collateral branch sighed and patted his back.
"What's the use of crying? What were you doing all this time?" A shrill, cutting voice came from nearby. It belonged to a steward from the main branch who handled miscellaneous affairs, his contempt utterly undisguised. "Your father risked his life in one last gamble—wasn't it all to win you, his worthless son, a future? And what came of it?"
"You spent every day fooling around in the Third Ring. After more than twenty years of studying arrays, you still couldn't even set up a basic Spirit Gathering Array properly! Useless trash! You've disgraced Uncle Mingyuan beyond measure! Now that the pillar holding up the house has collapsed, let's see how your branch