Tang Chen lowered his head to look at his great-grandson.
He looked ordinary enough, though his eyes were quite bright.
But the way those eyes darted about was exactly like Tang Lie back in the day: honest on the outside, a belly full of schemes beneath.
"Tang San," Tang Chen began, his voice level. "Do you know whose books you stole?"
Tang San's pupils contracted. He lowered his head without a word.
"An eight-and-a-half-year-old child's," Tang Chen answered for him, his tone carrying the chill of someone whose fury had passed its peak and settled into calm. "You climbed over his wall in the middle of the night and entered his room, stepped into his trap, got hit by his hidden weapon, and even took a drug-laced silver needle in the backside. Do you know what you went back and did after that needle struck you?"
Later, Jiang Lan had given him a rough account of what had happened. After hearing it, he had been deeply disappointed in this great-grandson.
Poor talent was nothing. Poor character was the real problem.
Tang San's face went deathly pale.
He never wanted to think about that incident again for as long as he lived.
"Go on." Tang Chen looked at Tang Hao. "I'll keep your attempt to waylay and rob that child on the ledger for now. Whatever else you have to say, say it all."
Tang Hao remained silent for a long while, his shoulders trembling slightly as he fought an agonizing battle within himself.
"Grandfather, Spirit Hall... killed my wife."
Tang Chen did not move, but the temperature in the cell seemed to drop a degree.
"Her name was Ah Yin." Tang Hao's voice came in broken fragments. "The Blue Silver Emperor, a hundred-thousand-year soul beast who had taken human form.