Xue Beng Was Killed by Me. So What?

When Xue Ye arrived,

the first thing he saw was not Xue Xing kneeling on the ground and kowtowing,

nor was it Dugu Bo, filthy and begging for mercy,

but Xue Beng lying on the cold stone slabs.

His son.

His bright yellow brocade robe had been soaked through with blood, and the four sword holes piercing his limbs had stopped bleeding—

the blood had already drained away.

The five claw marks on his face had hardened into dark red scars. His eyes were shut, and his lips were pale.

The sword hole through his chest was a black, hollow void, like an eyeless socket.

Xue Ye stopped in his tracks.

His eyes bulged with rage as he stood frozen in place like an icebound statue.

Every sound around him—

Xue Xing's kowtowing, Dugu Bo's pleas for mercy, the wind howling through the corridor—

vanished at that instant.

He could hear nothing but the sound of his own heart being torn apart.

Then he charged forward, his white imperial robes dragging behind him in a blurred afterimage.

The Nine-Dragon Crown tilted to one side from his frantic sprint.

He threw himself before Xue Beng and, with trembling hands, pulled the cold body into his arms.

Cold.

Far too cold.

That was not the temperature a living person should have.

It was the chill of stone slabs dampened by night dew, the cold air rising from a dry well in winter.

He pressed his fingers to Xue Beng's wrist. There was no pulse.

He pressed his palm to Xue Beng's chest. There was no heartbeat.

He pressed his face against Xue Beng's icy forehead. There was no breath.

Dead.

His son, the Fourth Prince of the Heaven Dou Empire, one of his only two remaining sons—

was dead.

Xue Ye's eyes were about to split apart, bloodshot veins filling his sockets as his whole body shook violently.

The veins on the arms holding Xue Beng bulged, and the muscles beneath his imperial robes spasmed from overwhelming fury.

The three chief education board members arrived behind him as well. Meng Shenji, Bai Baoshan, and Zhi Lin all sucked in sharp breaths at Xue Beng's miserable state, their aged faces filled with shock.

This youth had actually caused such a disaster, killing Xue Beng—here at

Heaven Dou Royal Academy, before the Poison Douluo and Xue Xing, piercing the Fourth Prince of the Heaven Dou Empire through the heart with a single sword.

Xue Ye slowly laid Xue Beng's body down, moving as gently as though he feared waking him.

He turned around, his bloodshot eyes staring coldly at Fang Fan.

The majesty of an emperor, mixed with the grief of losing his son, erupted from him. Even the dust in the air fell in trembling drifts beneath that pressure.

But before his rage could erupt, an even colder, more domineering, more tyrannical gaze shot toward him from the side.

Du Busi stood with his arms folded, his bell-sized eyes fixed coldly on Xue Ye.

There was no excess emotion in his dark green pupils, only an utterly despairing calm scrutiny—

as though he were examining a stray dog foolish enough to bare its teeth at a lion.

Xue Ye shuddered beneath that gaze.

The anger rising from the depths of his heart was like cold water poured over red-hot iron.

With a hiss, it turned into a frigid white mist.

Even the Poison Douluo had been crushed to his knees. This man was likely a Peak Douluo—

above level ninety-six, an existence capable of using pure pressure to force a level ninety-one Titled Douluo to bend at the waist.

So long as this old man in green had no reservations,

everyone present, including Xue Ye and the three chief education board members,

including every teacher and student here, would die. The emperor of the Heaven Dou Empire was merely a slightly more distinguished corpse before a Peak Douluo.

His heart hurt.

It was the pain of flesh and blood being severed, the pain of white-haired parents sending off their black-haired child,

the pain of watching his son lie cold upon the ground while being unable even to avenge him.

But he understood the stakes.

Xue Beng had abducted a civilian girl first, insulted them first, and threatened to wipe out their entire family first—

while the other party had merely fought back from beginning to end.

He clenched his teeth until they shattered, swallowing all his hatred into his stomach, into an abyss no one but him could see.

"I killed Xue Beng. So what?"

Fang Fan glanced at Zhu Zhuqing and gave her a look.

Zhu Zhuqing immediately pulled out the stopper of the wine flask and brought its mouth to his lips, amber liquor slipping into his mouth.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he let out a satisfied sigh.

Then he tilted his head toward Xue Ye, that lazy curve still lingering at the corner of his eyes.

[ Ding! Zhu Zhuqing fed you a mouthful of wine. Drunkenness +10! ]

"Nothing! Nothing at all!"

Xue Ye suddenly smiled. The face that had been twisted by the pain of losing his son just moments ago

now wore a strange, stiff smile, the muscles at the corners of his mouth still twitching slightly.

He waved his hands repeatedly, his tone almost excessively warm.

"Please continue! Please continue!"

Fang Fan raised an eyebrow slightly, somewhat surprised.

He had thought Xue Ye would fly into a rage—

after all, his son had died, and Fang Fan had humiliated the entire imperial family before so many people.

He had even prepared to have Du Busi act again.

Yet Xue Ye had swallowed all his hatred and even smiled at him.

To be able to yield and endure to this extent, he was quite a character.

"Then how should I deal with Xue Xing and Dugu Bo?"

Fang Fan turned to Zhu Zhuqing and raised his chin slightly.

"You decide."

Zhu Zhuqing pointed at herself.

"Huh? Me?"

Her deep eyes blinked, and a rare hint of helplessness appeared on her face.

"I don't know how to deal with them."

She was good at fighting, and skilled at feeding him wine,

but deciding the fate of a prince and a Titled Douluo was beyond her experience.

"Deal with them however you want."

After saying that, Fang Fan tilted his head and leaned back against her fragrant shoulder.

A clear, faint fragrance lingered at his nose, while softness and warmth pressed against his cheek.

He closed his eyes comfortably, his breathing gradually becoming steady and deep.

Just like that, amid the battlefield's scattered wreckage, before a prince and a Titled Douluo kneeling on the ground,

he peacefully drifted into a drunken sleep.

Meng Shenji, Bai Baoshan, and Zhi Lin looked at one another, their aged faces bearing identical expressions—shock, confusion, and disbelief.

Xue Ye had charged over so aggressively.

They had thought there would be thunderous fury, that the supreme ruler of the Heaven Dou Empire would erupt in rage

and order troops to tear Fang Fan to pieces, or at the very least utter a few threats about never sharing the same sky.

But what happened?

His Majesty the Emperor smiled at the man who had killed his son, and that smile looked worse than crying.

Ning Rongrong stood to the side, slightly stunned as well.

Xue Ye was actually this cowardly?

She had grown up in the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect and had often watched her father deal with the Heaven Dou imperial family.

In her memory, though Xue Ye was old, he was by no means a weak man.

Now, she suddenly understood the true reason her father could become Xue Qinghe's teacher—

the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect had the Sword Douluo and Bone Douluo guarding it.