Inside the hall paved with netherworld stone, the pale purple Truth-Telling Soup slid down Tang Hao's throat into his stomach. In the space of a single breath, his savage, twisted gaze lost focus and turned vacant, like a puppet whose soul had been torn away. Only his hollow eyes remained, staring blankly ahead.
The spectral Yin Messenger released his grip on Tang Hao's chin and silently stepped aside. The hem of his black official robes swept across the floor, stirring faint ripples of netherworld power.
The hall fell utterly silent. Only the other Fallen Ones' stifled breathing mingled with the faint sizzling glow of the runes flashing on the Judgment Platform. The air felt heavy enough to wring water from it—everyone knew that what came out of Tang Hao's mouth next would be sins even he had deliberately buried.
Meanwhile, two Yin Messengers held Tang Xiao down on a stone stool, his entire body as taut as a fully drawn bowstring.
Watching his younger brother's vacant expression, he dug his nails deep into his palms. Blood dripped between his fingers, but he felt nothing.
Ever since arriving at the Underworld, he had clung to one last shred of hope, believing Tang Hao's feelings for Ah Yin were genuine. Yet he had witnessed the effects of the Truth-Telling Soup himself. That bowl of pale purple medicine could tear every disguise to shreds, leaving no room to conceal even half a lie.
"My father, Tang Wei, secretly plotted against a fellow disciple competing for the position of Sect Master of the Clear Sky Sect. He crippled the man's martial soul and staged the scene to look like an accident. Afterward, I pissed on that cold corpse..."
A moment later, Tang Hao slowly spoke. His voice rasped like rusty iron scraping together, yet