Mother's Gift of Flesh and Blood, Father's Nurturing of the Body; Suicide to Return to Heaven, Repaying the Grace of Nurturing (3)

Ning Zha looked at Yu Kun.

There was no fear in those eyes, no pleading.

Only hatred.

Pure, scalding hatred.

"Old dragon!"

He stood in a pool of blood, the rain washing over his wounds, blood streaming across the ground.

His voice was weak, but his tone remained stubborn.

"You want to take this life of mine."

"Fine."

"But before that, I have one thing to say." Ning Zha stared at him, enunciating every word.

Yu Kun raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?" Yu Kun watched him with interest. "Are you afraid, looking to beg for mercy?"

Ning Zha shook his head, his voice ringing out, filled with hatred!

"I regret it."

"I regret not skinning your grandson alive."

"Not tearing out his tendons."

"Not making him taste—what it means to wish for death!"

BOOM—

Another thunderclap exploded!

Ning Zha's voice mingled with the thunder, every word striking like a heavy hammer into the ears of everyone present.

Yu Kun's expression turned grim to the extreme.

"Insolent!"

Yu Kun roared, his seven soul rings erupting in unison, the pressure of his soul power crashing down like rolling thunder.

The bluestone slabs shattered.

The curtain of rain was torn open by the shockwave.

The bystanders closest to them collapsed to their knees, their legs giving way. The captain of the city guard retreated seven or eight steps, his back slamming against a wall, his face deathly pale.

The members of the Seven Treasures Glazed Sect's collateral branch changed color, several elderly elders stumbling backward.

But Ning Zha did not move.

"You audacious, rebellious thing!" Veins bulged on Yu Kun's forehead. "Do you truly think I wouldn't dare kill you in public?!"

Lightning almost swallowed him whole. The standing water on the ground hissed and steamed under the scorching electric arcs, rising into a white mist.

His killing intent was no longer concealed.

He had only been going through the motions anyway.

He hadn't come here today to listen to a seven-year-old child talk tough.

He had come to establish authority. To let everyone know—the price of offending the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan.

"Do you think that after cutting off a few pieces of flesh and spouting a few harsh words, you can walk away unscathed?"

Yu Kun took a step forward, the bluestone beneath his feet shattering in response, cracks spreading like a spiderweb.

"Today, I will send you on your way!"

However—

Ning Zha suddenly laughed.

It was not a bitter laugh, nor a cold sneer.

It was a roar of laughter.

The seven-year-old child, covered in blood, stood in the torrential rain and laughed at the sky.

He laughed openly, desolately, and with a heart full of fury.

The laughter echoed down the long street, piercing through the rain, piercing through the thunder, clear and bright—not at all like the sound of a dying man.

"Hahahahaha—"

The lightning snakes in Yu Kun's palm faltered slightly.

Not out of caution.

But out of confusion.

What was a dying piece of trash laughing at?

Ning Zha finished laughing, silenced himself, and tilted his head to look at Yu Kun.

His eyes were startlingly bright.

"Old dragon, you want my life."

He raised his mangled arm, slowly pressing the short sword—the one his mother had commissioned, now slick with his own blood—against his throat.

As the blade touched the skin of his neck, a thin line of blood immediately began to seep from the edge.

"But you yourself—"

"I fear you cannot take it."

A final trace of a smile lingered on Ning Zha's lips.

"My life belongs only to me. I give it to whom I please. If I am unwilling, no one can take it away."

"And now, it can only be returned by my own hand—to the heavens and the earth!"

Yu Kun's pupils constricted sharply.

"You dare—!"

Before the words had even faded.

A bolt of purple lightning tore through the dark clouds in the sky, illuminating the entire long street.

Beneath the thunderous light, Ning Zha flicked his wrist.

The blade swept across.

A line of blood bloomed slowly from left to right across his fair, slender neck.

The blood did not spray out.

It surged.

Like a river bursting its banks, it flowed down his collarbone, chest, and robes, merging into the pool of blood at his feet.

"No—!"

Yin Suzhi's scream was drowned out by a crack of thunder.

Ning Zha's body fell backward.

The short sword slipped from his hand, bouncing twice on the bluestone pavement with a crisp metallic ring.

Clang—clatter—

Thud.

He lay flat on his back, eyes still open, collapsed in his own pool of blood.

Rain fell into his pupils, blurring his vision. The sky was dark, clouds churning, lightning tearing the firmament into shreds.

He saw flashes of images.

Past lives, this present life.

Firelight. Crying. Petals. The back of an old man falling. The blood from his mother's kowtowing. The sole of his father's shoe pressing against his spine.

Then, there was nothing left.

The torrential rain beat against Ning Zha's corpse.

It washed over that face, pale to the point of being bloodless, and washed over the undying crimson mark between his brows.

The pool of blood spread in the rain, a shocking red, like a flower blooming on the stone floor.

The scene was deathly silent.

A profound stillness.

The sound of the rain seemed to grow distant in that moment.

All noise was drained away, leaving only the dull thud of raindrops striking the pool of blood.

Patter.

Patter.

Patter.

Boom—!

Another bolt of lightning pierced the dark clouds, striking straight down. The thunderbolt was like a giant axe cleaving the heavens, tearing a gash in the oppressive dome of the sky.

The light flared brilliantly.

Then, it vanished in an instant.

Flash after flash, it illuminated the faces of the crowd, flickering between light and shadow.

The disciples of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan looked at one another. Some still wore cold sneers, while others instinctively looked away.

The elders of the Seven Treasures Glazed Sect's collateral branches wore complex expressions, yet no one stepped forward. Some turned their heads slightly, others lowered their eyes. It was not grief, but relief.

The source of the trouble had ended itself.

The days ahead would be easier.

The onlookers—some had reddened eyes, some clenched their fists, and others silently turned their faces away.

More people simply sighed.

Sighs of regret.

Sentiments of sorrow.

Then, they all returned to their homes.

Such is the way of this world. Spectators are always just spectators.

"Zha'er—"

Yin Suzhi crawled frantically toward him, her knees scraping against the shattered stone slabs, leaving two trails of blood.

She threw herself beside Ning Zha, her hands trembling as she cradled his small face.

The face was cold.

The blood was still warm.

"Zha'er! Zha'er, wake up! Look at Mother! Look at Mother—"

Her voice shifted from a shriek to a sob, then from a sob to silent, convulsive heaving.

"My child—my poor child—"

Yin Suzhi pulled Ning Zha's head into her embrace, her entire body trembling violently.

She tried to press down on the wound at his throat, but the blood kept gushing through her fingers, impossible to stem.

"No—no—"

Tears and rain mingled, dripping onto Ning Zha's bloodless face.

Looking at the child who no longer drew breath, her eyes suddenly rolled back.

Her body went limp.

She fainted.

She collapsed beside Ning Zha, mother and son lying together in the same pool of blood.

Ning Jin and Ning Mu stood where they were, their faces full of terror, their bodies rigid.

Ning Jing stood a few paces away, his lips moving, but not a single word could escape.

His hand remained in the position from when he had shoved Yin Suzhi, suspended in mid-air, unable to pull back.

The expression on his face was impossible to define—was it shock, regret, or bewilderment?

Perhaps it was none of these.

Perhaps it was all of them.

Yu Kun stood his ground, his face ashen, his chest heaving violently.

He had imagined many outcomes.

Kneeling to beg for mercy, weeping bitterly, or being dragged to the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan to face their judgment.

But he had never imagined this.

A seven-year-old child, cutting flesh and stripping bone to sever ties before his very eyes, then drawing a blade across his own throat.

Clean and decisive.

He had left him not a shred of dignity.

You want my life?

I'll take it myself.

You will get nothing.

Yu Kun's fists tightened, his chest rising and falling sharply. He stared at the small body on the ground for a long time before finally letting out a cold snort.

"Hmph. Since it has come to this, let this matter be settled here."

He turned and walked away.

More than a dozen disciples followed closely behind, their footsteps hurried; not one of them looked back.

They walked quickly, as if trying to flee from something.

The thunder continued to roll.

The rain continued to fall.

The crowd began to disperse slowly.

The captain of the city guard let out a long breath, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He waved his hand in silence, leading his men to withdraw the cordon. As he passed the Ning family, he paused for a moment and opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing.

The elders of the Seven Treasures Glazed Sect's collateral branches also began to scatter.

A few of the older ones sighed, their footsteps hurried.

No one stayed behind to help collect the bodies.

No one spared them a second glance.

The footsteps faded into the distance, and the long street gradually emptied.

In the curtain of rain, only the mother and son remained, collapsed in a pool of blood.

No one noticed that on the very edge of the crowd, two figures in black robes had been standing under the eaves from the beginning.

Rainwater slid off the edges of their hoods, obscuring most of their faces. Though their features were hidden, the bodies beneath the black robes were as straight as pines, exceptionally burly.

A faint voice drifted from the lips of one of the black-robed figures.

"What a fierce and unyielding lad."