Hu Shaomeng died with a strange smile on his face. Jiang Chen fished a recording stone from his breast pocket, along with a finely crafted little purse.
Inside the purse were five ten-thousand-yuan stones, all but one in pristine condition. Converted to ordinary hundred-yuan stones, that was a haul of four hundred and fifty Dao Essence Stones.
Jiang Chen pocketed them and was about to toss the purse aside when he caught sight of a character embroidered in the lower right corner—slender in form, fine in stroke, unmistakably the script of the State of Qi.
Living in Qi meant learning its script. Jiang Chen recognized the character: "su."
"Su" meant white.
The "su" in Zhu Suyao's name.
After a moment's thought, he tucked the purse away as well.
He certainly wouldn't overlook the mirror in the carriage. The fact that Hu Shaomeng could conjure such realistic illusions—illusions far beyond his actual power—had to be connected to the mirror he'd been hiding in.
In truth, had Hu You not pointed out Hu Shaomeng's hiding spot, killing him would have been far more troublesome.
Once Hu Shaomeng realized that Jiang Chen was genuinely determined to kill him and too cautious to be ambushed, he'd already decided to abandon everything of the Hu family. That was why he'd quietly urged the carriage forward, hoping to seize the chance to flee.
But Jiang Chen's decisive sword strike forced him to reveal himself.
Because he was hiding within the mirror's world—when the mirror shattered, he would shatter with it.
Leaping out of the mirror's surface was a last resort, but it also meant the little mirror survived.
Judging by appearance alone, there was nothing remarkable about it. But no one would ignore it.
Jiang Chen believed this mirror was his greatest prize, though its true uses would require further study.
Entering the Hu family courtyard, Jiang Chen intended to fulfill his promise of delivering the Treasure Light Art.
After revealing the location of Hu Shaomeng's true body, Hu You seemed to have drained his last shred of strength.
Jiang Chen killed Hu Shaomeng just outside the gate.
But Hu You didn't even bother to look.
His first wife had been dead for many years. The woman who came after—though never officially named—had long since become the harmonious companion of his heart.
And yet she had been killed by his own son.
Because of what he'd done to his first wife all those years ago, Hu You had never been able to hold his head high. A father who lived like a grandson in front of his own son.
All of this was his own doing. He accepted that. But...
He couldn't help thinking: what fault did the woman he loved have?
She had followed him all these years without name or status. They were clearly in love, yet had to live like adulterers, sneaking around in shame!
She had endured such humiliation, such forbearance.
And yet she was still insulted by his own son—called a whore, a harlot, to her face.
In the end, he'd even struck her dead with his own hand.
From beginning to end, in Hu Shaomeng's eyes, what exactly had he been as a father?
He himself had killed his first wife.
His own son had killed his second wife!
And in the end, he had personally pointed the way to his enemy, leading him to kill his own son.
This kind of familial tragedy had turned Hu You into a living "corpse."
He still breathed, still clung to existence, but life no longer held any meaning or joy.
It wasn't until Jiang Chen's boots appeared before him that Hu You finally opened his mouth.
He opened it twice, empty, before a hoarse voice finally emerged: "Shaomeng is dead?"
Jiang Chen looked at the old man whose heart had already died. "He has something for you to see."
Hu You had once been a transcendent cultivator, but now his Dao heart had collapsed, and his lifetime of cultivation had completely dissipated. He was worse than an ordinary old man.
He lifted his head with trembling hands: "Wh...at?"
Jiang Chen channeled Dao essence into the recording stone, and a scene materialized in midair—
A woman past her prime, though still elegant despite the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.
Jiang Chen didn't recognize her, but from the sudden ripple in Hu You's gaze, he could guess who she was.
She was naked.
Wrapped around another man like a serpent.
The man was a stranger, but he was certainly not Hu You.
From the recording stone came the man's slightly labored voice: "It's been so long—you're not actually in love with that old fool, are you?"
"Are you crazy or am I crazy?" the woman's voice. "How could I love that fat, ugly old thing? Hurry up and let me go back. I've been disgusted for so many years—when will this finally end?"
"Soon... soon. Once Young Master Xi..."
In the scene, seated in a chair by the bed with a smile on his face, Hu Shaomeng had been watching the whole time.
It seemed that thanks to the concealment of his illusion, the couple on the bed had never noticed him.
At those words, Hu Shaomeng delivered a single palm strike, and they died together in the bed.
Their conversation ended there.
That was more than enough.
The woman Hu You had loved—the woman he'd considered his wife—was a piece placed by Xi Zichu.
The two most promising young cultivators in the Jiacheng region had competed and schemed against each other for years, each wary of the other.
Just as Hu Shaomeng had planted agents throughout Jiacheng, Xi Zichu had gone a step further, inserting someone right beside Hu You's pillow.
In the scene, Hu Shaomeng finally turned to face the recording stone with a smile: "Heard clearly? Seen clearly? If not, you can watch it a few more times."
He smiled brightly, so brightly that tears streamed down his face: "You'll definitely love this gift, my dear old father."
The light screen vanished.
Hu You's entire aged face crumpled, wrinkles tangling together like a knotted ball of thread—no expression a human being could be expected to make.
Extreme pain and remorse clashed.
His old eyes could no longer produce tears; instead, drops of blood welled up, forming a continuous line.
Whether he wept for her or for himself, no one could say.
And Jiang Chen, who had silently witnessed the entire scene, found his heart caught in an indescribable tangle.
He finally understood what Hu Shaomeng's strange smile before death had meant.
He didn't want Hu You to die. He wanted Hu You to live a fate worse than death.
The night his mother froze to death in the snow had determined his entire life.
He could never again believe in human affection.
A lifetime spent tormenting Hu You—and tormenting himself.
And this recording stone, which he had done everything in his power to ensure Hu You saw before his own death—
That was Hu Shaomeng's final revenge.
...
Jiang Chen put away the recording stone and turned to leave.
Behind him came a dull thud.
No need to look back. He knew Hu You had slammed his head against the wall.
He could have stopped it, but he didn't.
Everyone had their own choices.
And besides—who could say that living was better than dying?
...
Partings between life and death were not confined to the Hu family.
The bitterness of this world was never the exclusive burden of any one person.
"The hardest thing in all eternity is but to die."
This saying applied to those who still held affection for the world.
Since ancient times, to combat the fear of "death," living beings had developed many methods.
Some severed emotion and destroyed nature, eradicating fear at its root.
Some cultivated affairs "after death" while still alive.
Regardless of what those methods truly were, in their outward manifestation—
For some, death was truly not a terrifying thing at all.
...
It was a grand and magnificent palace, carved with jade and decorated with emerald, its lamp pillars alight for eternity.
Precious orbs served as sun and moon, luminous pearls as stars.
This was an underground palace.
The ventilation shafts had been cleverly hidden; without the architectural plans, they would be nearly impossible to find.
The great hall was empty.
Upon the enormous dragon throne sat a man of aloof bearing, his face expressionless.
He seemed to have been sitting there for a very long time, and he might sit there forever.
When he had once lived in Maple City, he had a name.
His name was Wang Yuan.