Inside the dungeon.
Jing Yu leaned in a corner, his eyes vacant.
His heart was a tangled skein.
Something heavy seemed to press against his chest, leaving him unable to breathe.
"Boy, looks like you know you're in trouble!"
Zhang Dehai stood at the cell door, with Old Master Zhang and the others behind him.
"Talk! What's that man's name? Who is he? Were the two of you in this together?"
Jing Yu glanced sidelong at them, his eyes filled with contempt.
"You can't touch me."
His voice was cold as iron.
Jing Yu certainly dared not cause trouble in the Brocade-Clad Guards' headquarters, but the Brocade-Clad Guards absolutely could not touch him either.
What had truly reduced him to this state was not the fear that he might be implicated.
It was the scene from earlier.
I... didn't draw my sword...
Cultivators of every school valued one thing: "unhindered resolve."
And just now, those words had come crashing down in Jing Yu's heart.
Dust had settled on his sword heart.
He had often heard his teacher speak of it before; only now did he finally understand how it felt.
Why? Why didn't I draw my sword?
Was I afraid?
Yes, I was afraid.
A gentleman pursuing cultivation ought to take responsibility for all beneath heaven.
He should fail neither his sovereign above nor the common people below.
Yet one man's blade had been faster than his.
Without the slightest hesitation, as though that stroke had been delivered simply to kill.
Simply to purge the foul anger in his chest.
Unhindered resolve.
Jing Yu smiled bitterly and bowed his head low.
Meanwhile, Zhang Dehai was still clamoring wildly.
He wanted Jing Yu tortured, wanted him locked in prison for the rest of his life.
Yet, within four hours...
Orders came