You Think You're Worthy?

"Ah."

Bustaman stared blankly up at Ji Jue, stiff as a board, utterly bewildered.

It was like walking through the door one day and opening his arms to hug his godfather's leg, only to get slapped across the face and asked, "Is this how you used to seduce people when you were out there?"

Come on, Eldest Brother. Even settling old scores shouldn't go like this, should it?

How long had it been? Why drag all that up now?

His mind raced as he instinctively tried to work out what Ji Jue wanted. But looking into those pitch-black eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say anything that shifted the blame.

At this point, what clever lie could he possibly tell?

He had done it. That was that.

Trying to be clever would only get him killed. Coming clean was the sensible choice.

He lowered his head, knelt, and pressed his forehead to the floor. "No one else was involved. It was my own idea."

Silence.

Through the long silence, Ji Jue said nothing. Only the corner of his mouth lifted, as though he had been amused.

Then he laughed coldly.

Bustaman felt as though he had fallen into an icy abyss. He repeatedly knocked his head against the floor and pleaded, "Mister Ji, I know I was outrageously bold—"

"No. I'm just struck by something."

Ji Jue waved a hand, cutting him off, and sighed. "People often don't know themselves, Bustaman. They don't know their own limits, don't know what they're doing, don't know what they've actually done..."

He glanced at the trembling Family God on the floor, making no effort to hide his contempt.

"You think you're worthy?"

"Ah?"

Bustaman grew even more confused, though relief loosened his chest. At least this wasn't about settling old scores. But that