Flying Yellow Mountain, Peaceful Way Abbey.
Quan Yong had been on his way to make his routine inspection of the Patriarch Hall, but his steps slowed midway.
Something suddenly stirred faintly in his heart, as though he had sensed something.
He paused, then stepped into the Patriarch Hall as before. Instead of offering incense and paying his respects as usual, however, he went around the incense table and entered the side chamber where the Fate Jades were enshrined.
On a wooden rack to one side, Jia Hua's Fate Jade had broken into two halves at some unknown point.
Quan Yong stood before the rack. The habitual calm on his face seemed to have had a layer gently peeled away.
That mild, soft veneer of a kindly old man cracked inch by inch, revealing another face beneath. Eyes like those of a vicious ghost stared fixedly at the broken jade, their corners twitching slightly.
"How dare he—how dare he!"
Zilu's voice sprang out almost at that same instant, shrill and gleeful. "Master, have you played the loving senior brother so often that you've even fooled yourself? Whether Martial Uncle lives or dies, isn't it all the same to you?"
Quan Yong whipped his head around, as though someone had jabbed a bone he never exposed to others, and snapped, "Shut your mouth!"
Far from restraining himself at that rebuke, Zilu sounded as though he had received some magnificent reward. His voice grew still more excited, rising several pitches with an almost deranged hatred. "You want me to shut my mouth? But you've forgotten—I'm already dead. From the moment you devoured me, my voice could never stop again. You'll never silence me. I'll be a ripple in your state of mind forever."
As Quan Yong listened to that voice, the anger churning