Song Qingshu had known something was wrong the moment he heard the change in her tone. Besides, having watched so many melodramatic TV shows in his previous life, he was naturally wary of such clichés. He reached out and caught her sword between his fingers again, avoiding injury through carelessness.
"Nan Xian, you've misunderstood." Worried that she might do something rash, Song Qingshu quickly explained, "I wasn't the one who killed your father."
Yelü Nanxian had also snapped out of her earlier frenzy and realized that the matter was full of strange inconsistencies. "Fine. I'll listen to your explanation."
"Could you put the sword down first? In less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, you've stabbed at me twice already." Song Qingshu looked helplessly at the blade.
Yelü Nanxian's face reddened slightly. Embarrassed, she released the sword. Song Qingshu set it aside before beginning his explanation. "The one who died wasn't your father, but a man named Murong Jingyue."
"Murong Jingyue?" Yelü Nanxian was utterly confused. She had never even heard that name before, and she looked at him blankly.
Song Qingshu then roughly explained the connection between Murong Jingyue, himself, Zhao Min, and Bing Xue'er. He continued, "That day, Xue Yiren took him away. In the end, he led Xue Yiren to a secluded courtyard, suddenly attacked, and seriously wounded him. In his triumph, he let something slip, and that was how we discovered his identity. If you don't believe me, you can go see his corpse. I specifically had it preserved."
"This... this is truly unbelievable." Yelü Nanxian staggered back a few steps and murmured, "Is there really a skill in this world that lets someone impersonate another person so perfectly that even their relatives cannot tell the difference?"
Song Qingshu knew she