Chapter Eight

Hearing the question, he turned his head and looked at Cen Yan blankly: "Shi Ming? Who's that?"

Chu Rong's mind was still slightly foggy, and it took him a moment to remember that Shi Ming was the disciple who had just delivered his meal — someone who had been mentioned in the original text.

But he and Shi Ming had only met twice, and had barely exchanged more than a few words. What could he possibly have done?

Yet in Cen Yan's ears, those words landed as Chu Rong looking down on Shi Ming from a lofty height, too important to even remember his name.

The cold frost on Cen Yan's face deepened. He suddenly reached out and seized Chu Rong's wrist, yanking the man right up to him. The force was so great that it nearly sent Chu Rong flying off his feet: "I should never have brought you back to the sect three years ago."

Cen Yan's hand was broad, gripping Chu Rong's wrist in an iron hold, his fingertips nearly embedding themselves into his skin.

Chu Rong felt instantly as though the bones of his wrist were being crushed. His long, thick lashes swept upward, and his expression went completely cold.

"Tianxiao Records" was a novel Chu Rong had genuinely liked.

Toward its protagonist, Cen Yan, he had also always felt a certain fondness — only the fondness of a reader for a character — and a degree more patience than he might show toward others.

But he was not made of clay, to be kneaded and molded into any shape at will. Even if Cen Yan's hatred of him had its roots in reason.

Chu Rong was someone who had made his way alone in the world, climbing step by step to where he had been before transmigrating. He was not a person without a temper.

Chu Rong's eyes went cold as ice that had lain undisturbed for a thousand years. His hoarse, unpleasant voice behind the mask carried not a trace of warmth, making people involuntarily uneasy: "Let go!"

Cen Yan's mind seemed to loosen for a moment. He inexplicably relaxed his grip.

Chu Rong seized the chance to pull his hand back. Clear red finger-mark impressions stood out vividly on his pale white wrist, branded into skin like snow, dazzlingly stark.

Chu Rong's brow furrowed, his tolerance for Cen Yan running dangerously close to its limit: "Bringing me back to the sect — wasn't that your own choice? You were the one who wanted to repay your debt. You were the one who wanted to cure the condition the fire left behind. And yet what is it you've actually done? You accused me without a shred of proof, fabricated false evidence, had me forcibly dragged to the front hall, and in front of the entire sect forced me to confess to crimes I didn't commit — humiliating me and putting me to shame. If I hadn't thought to clear my name with the Truth Pearl, I'd likely have no life left to speak of by now, would I?"

Chu Rong rubbed his aching wrist, and for the first time showed Cen Yan a cold face: "Great Immortal Cen, that is not how one repays a debt."

Chu Rong had thrived at a prestigious company, rising through the ranks. How could he not have a few tricks up his sleeve? Talking nonsense and turning the tables on others — that came as naturally to him as breathing.

Chu Rong had no intention of picking a fight with Cen Yan, but if Cen Yan kept targeting him, he wasn't going to be polite about it either.

In the cultivation world, it was the law of the jungle. What morality, what goodness, what conscience — all of it was hollow. Chu Rong had been here less than a day, and he was already more like a native of this world than Cen Yan was.

Nonsense!

It was Chu Rong who had exploited the debt, pressing him repeatedly with the life-saving grace until he had no choice but to bring him back to Qingyang Heavenly Sect.

And that evidence against Chu Rong had not been fabricated from nothing — each piece was real, tangible, as solid as a mountain.

Yet Chu Rong was innocent. He was not guilty.

Cen Yan's face went livid. He clenched his fist tight and glared at Chu Rong with cold fury: "My sect's disciples are not the kind of people you're making them out to be!"

He had only locked him in Cloud Ridge Peak. How could that result in death? What did Chu Rong take his fellow disciples for?

Everyone in the sect adored Cen Yan, so of course he believed all of them to be good people. But to Chu Rong, who had read every word of the novel, the Qingyang Heavenly Sect was a place that harbored filth and corruption — scheming, rivalry, bullying, and abuse pervaded every corner of it.

Hadn't what he'd seen last night at the foot of the outer mountain been a living, breathing example?

"Seeing only the tree and missing the forest." Chu Rong's gaze was sardonic as it rested on Cen Yan: "Cen Yan, your vision is no better than this."

Insufferable!

"What my vision is like is no concern of yours." Cen Yan was furious to his very limit. He let out a cold, derisive scoff and swept out of the room.

What nerve.

Chu Rong's lips curved slightly. He stepped forward and closed the door, then walked back to the table, pressed two fingers against the side of the mask, and was just about to remove it —

Something occurred to him, and his movement suddenly stopped.

Inside the Hall of Eternal Life in the inner gate.

Three bodies covered in white cloth lay side by side, surrounded by rings upon rings of white candles on all sides.

The sect disciples who had come to pay their respects stood outside the hall, each with their head half-lowered, fists clenched tight until their knuckles went white, their faces etched with grief and fury.

Why?

The evidence had been ironclad, yet the true culprit walked free. They refused to accept it.

The disciple standing at the very front had red-rimmed eyes, tears streaking down his face. He gritted his teeth, the grinding of his molars almost audible, his eyes blazing with a fury that looked ready to burst forth at any moment.

"One day, I will avenge you." The disciple raised a hand and wiped the tears from his face. As his arm came back down, his eye happened to catch a tall, slender figure at the edge of the crowd, and his expression immediately turned dark and dangerous.

"Chu Rong!!" The disciple's expression was malicious. He forced the two words out from between his teeth, shattering the oppressive, heavy silence outside the Hall of Eternal Life.

The disciples turned as one. There, at the outer edge of the crowd, stood a man alone, wearing a blue-grey mask.

Long hair flowing freely, like a waterfall tumbling down over the curved-water purple gauze outer robe. Against the sunlight, the mask cast shifting patterns of light and shadow over his eyes, making it impossible to read his expression. The two fangs jutting from either side of the mask's mouth gaped open like the jaws of a demon from the underworld.

It was truly Chu Rong!

Like cold water thrown into a pot of boiling oil, the space outside the Hall of Eternal Life erupted instantly into uproar.

Every gaze snapped to Chu Rong at once — like bloodied daggers driving in from all directions, as though they intended to flay him alive.

"What are you trying to do now?" The first disciple to spot Chu Rong had bloodshot eyes as he shoved his way to the front. He charged up to stand right in Chu Rong's face.

The disciples around him exchanged glances and surged forward together, blocking Chu Rong's path.

Wasn't this Chu Rong, the one responsible for all of this, not satisfied with what he had already done to those disciples, now showing up to shove his way into their memorial rites as well?

How could Elder Brother Cen, a man of such radiant brilliance and exceptional talent, have entered into a marriage contract with someone so despicable and vile?

The thought stoked the fire of rage in the lead disciple's heart to an even fiercer blaze. A dark and sinister idea surfaced from somewhere deep within him.

"What, does your guilty conscience over those you killed have you coming to bow at their spirit tablets, trying to ease your guilt?" The disciple's lips spread into a sneer, the thick, viscous malice in his eyes churning like it could at any moment spill over and flow out: "That's not entirely out of the question."

He raised his hand and pointed at the three bodies lying within the Hall of Eternal Life, deliberately raising his voice so everyone present could hear: "Go in there, kneel before each of them and kowtow a hundred times, then stay there on your knees for ten or fifteen days. We'll see if you show any sincerity."

The Hall of Eternal Life was cold and damp, and by nightfall the chill seeped into one's very bones. Even a cultivator who knelt there for several consecutive days risked serious harm, let alone Chu Rong, who was only a mortal. Most likely after just one night on his knees, he'd walk away with permanent damage to both legs.

Anyone with eyes could tell this disciple was deliberately making things difficult for Chu Rong — but it was exactly what this whole group of people wanted to hear.

Someone like Chu Rong deserved every humiliation that could be heaped upon him.

"You took lives — you should give yours in return. Letting you go apologize at their spirit tablets is already more than generous. Don't be ungrateful!" Those around him chorused in agreement.

The malice in all their eyes was identical.

Chu Rong's peach blossom eyes narrowed slightly. The faint ripple of emotion that had been in them vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold clarity that made anyone who met that gaze feel a bone-deep chill.

"And who said I came to apologize? Ganging up on one person, bullying with superior numbers — this is truly the hallmark style of the Qingyang Heavenly Sect, running clean through from top to bottom. Nauseating."

He bit down hard on those last four words, one by one, and the surrounding disciples startled — then, once it registered, the rage surging through them redoubled.

"What did you just say?!" Who was Chu Rong to question the way the sect was run?!

Chu Rong let his gaze move slowly around, his eyes clear and ice-cold, like a lake at night glimmering with rippling moonlight. Inch by inch that gaze traveled over each of them, and the cold light reflected in his eyes made none of them dare to meet it directly.

"What — you can do it but I can't say it? Are cultivators inherently superior to mortals? How many of you have reached Foundation Establishment? Aren't you mortals too?"

Two sharp, pointed questions struck right at the core, landing with such force that the disciples on the scene were left shaking with fury yet unable to form a single rebuttal. One by one, their faces went through every color imaginable, their mouths opening and closing, unable to spit out so much as half a word.

Indeed, many of them had yet to draw qi into their bodies. Compared to Chu Rong, they were only nominally cultivators in name.

In essence, they were the same as Chu Rong — mortal. And Chu Rong was the fiancé of Elder Brother Cen, which meant his standing was actually even higher than theirs.

Chu Rong paid no attention to the rainbow of ugly expressions across that crowd of faces. He had only come to pay his respects to the three people killed by the original owner. His purpose was accomplished, and he had no reason to linger. He turned his back and walked away.

On the way back to Misty Pine Residence, he had to pass through the outer gate.

With the Guardian Formation sealing the sect, no one was permitted to leave. All of the sect's miscellaneous tasks were essentially handled by the outer-gate disciples, and there was a great deal of work to be done.

All along the way, Chu Rong passed disciples carrying water, chopping wood, watering vegetables, washing clothes... Among several disciples sweeping the ground, he immediately spotted a familiar back.

The tall, solidly built man had his head down, broom in hand, sweeping up the fallen leaves on the ground. His rolled-up sleeves revealed arms covered in dense, overlapping wounds — even more than what Chu Rong had seen the night before.

Chu Rong's brows furrowed slightly beneath the mask, and a distant memory suddenly surfaced.

Chu Rong had been bullied before — school bullying, to be precise. He had no father or mother, but he had good grades and looked good too, which naturally made him a target. Cornered in the restroom and beaten in groups, water poured onto his bed in the middle of the night, garbage stuffed into his desk, notes covered in slurs left everywhere he went... For a time, his body had been just as covered in wounds as Yun Zhi's.

But he and Yun Zhi were different. Yun Zhi had put up almost no resistance before Cen Yan rescued him. Whereas he had seized every opportunity he could find to fight back, not stopping until he had beaten each of those people into the ground — until their bones went soft and they took one look at him and walked a wide circle around him out of fear, never daring to bother him again.

Chu Rong did the math on the plot. It was still over a year before Cen Yan would rescue Yun Zhi. His eyes shifted slightly, and he couldn't help himself: "You — come over here a moment."

Yun Zhi looked up in confusion, met the terrifying mask on Chu Rong's face, and scared himself white, his whole body shaking.