Chapter 28: Unaware (Please support and recommend the new book!)

It is indeed true that human strength has its limits. Even someone as energetic as Yang Jingru, after taking the revitalizing elixir provided by Zhao Yulin to clear his mind and restore his vigor, could not endure beyond the sixth sleepless day. Upon hearing that yet another family—twelve people across four generations—had all perished, he could not catch his breath, coughed up several mouthfuls of fresh blood, and trembled as he uttered, “This crime began with me.” He then collapsed into unconsciousness, whether from exhaustion, overwhelming grief, or fury overtaking his heart, it was impossible to say.

After Yang Jingru was ordered to be taken away for rest and recovery, only Zhao Yulin and another middle-aged man, Inspector of the Winds Fang Xingyuan, remained in charge. The imperial court had no leisure to scrutinize every detail here; both the Jade Bowl Banquet and the assassination of the princess were urgent matters of the highest priority. As for this place, the two remaining officials would have to devise their own strategy. After all, the court had only received the earliest report: the inexplicable death of Lai Qing, a commoner from Swallow Lane, nicknamed Green Worm. Such a trivial matter could scarcely stir even a ripple within Swallow Lane, let alone the vast central administration of the Great Qin Empire. If anything seemed odd, perhaps the higher-ups only wondered how such a petty incident had even come to their attention. No further news followed. The reason for this was simple—Zhao Yulin had suppressed the matter entirely. There was something Yang Jingru once said that Zhao Yulin found especially apt: “Just a minor official for the people’s welfare.” In the eyes of Zhao Yulin, legitimate son of the Zhao family, even a court-appointed protector of the people was a trifling figure.

Now, by rank, the two left in charge were Inspector of the Winds Fang Xingyuan, a second-grade official, and Zhao Yulin, an idle bureaucrat. Naturally, Fang Xingyuan should take the lead. Proving himself worthy of his station, Fang declared, “With Master Yang now taken ill, I will temporarily assume responsibility for public safety.” He glanced at Zhao Yulin and added, “I now appoint Lord Zhao to act as circumstances require.” With remarkable decisiveness, Fang Xingyuan handed over authority to Zhao Yulin. While titles mattered formally, in terms of family background, Fang paled into insignificance.

Unlike Yang Jingru, who was a simple, straightforward man, Fang Xingyuan was a cultivator, at the peak of the Qi Condensation stage. He cherished his life and prospects, so he was prudent. Where Yang Jingru chose to be grateful and look the other way, Fang Xingyuan decided to step back entirely. Since Zhao Yulin clearly had his own plans, why not let him have his way? In this, Fang truly lived up to his name—“acting with perfect measure.”

Still, the formalities had to be observed. Zhao Yulin accepted the order with thanks, promising to fulfill his duty. Fang Xingyuan nodded in silence. Their performance was outstanding, but there was no one left to appreciate it. The citizens who had hurried away had no time for such a show. The guards of the Forest Army cared only for their tokens of authority. As for the elite enforcers from the Thunder Division, they had come solely on account of the Zhao name.

Zhao Yulin was a new official, yet his “three fires” had not even begun to burn when trouble came from outside first. A man ran in from the gate, reporting, “The Grand Unity Array is wasting too many resources. By tonight at the latest, the formation around Swallow Lane will be deactivated.” For, after all, Qin was still Qin—many departments showed no deference to the five great families of the empire. The Nine Cities Division, guardians of the capital’s arrays, was one such.

Abandoning his plan to observe and wait, Zhao Yulin was forced to act decisively. Of the more than four thousand residents left, he ordered a swift screening: check each against the registers—those who didn’t match were to be executed. This reckless decision, surprisingly, brought unexpected good fortune. Many notorious criminals and fugitives, missing for years, were caught in the dragnet. Truly, fate sometimes comes full circle.

Yet, if Yang Jingru were to awaken and learn of this, he would likely faint again. For cultivators at the Core Formation stage and beyond could already alter their facial features, which was why Yang Jingru had insisted on the laborious method of implicating neighbors and inquiring into each household’s private affairs.

“Another squad of the Forest Army is dead. We can confirm that thing is still inside. All personnel have now withdrawn,” a Thunder Division agent whispered.

Zhao Yulin took a deep breath and nodded, feeling an unexpected thrill. The plan was crude, and the assumption of a beast on the loose somewhat hasty, yet by luck or fate, it seemed to have worked. There is nothing wrong with acting on a whim, but when one’s status brings harm to others, it becomes inexcusable.

In Zhao Yulin’s hand appeared a frameless round mirror. As he infused it with spiritual energy, a ring of pale light gradually spread outward. The Thunder Division agent from the Zhao family was startled—he had not expected Zhao Yulin to possess this treasure. This was no ordinary mirror, but the Life-Seeking Mirror, one of the Zhao clan’s prized relics. Its function was simple yet extraordinary: by channeling spiritual power, it revealed every living being within an area, their souls and life force laid bare. No cultivation could conceal them. In an age where magical artifacts were rare, this was a precious treasure indeed.

The ring of light expanded: one mile, three miles, five miles. Dots of green light appeared on the mirror’s surface. Each time a light appeared, several cultivators would be dispatched—many a fowl, small animal, or even insect was subjected to a cultivator’s methods, an unusual fate, since most would never bother to hunt flies or bugs with magic.

Suddenly, a chess-piece-sized green dot appeared on the mirror. Zhao Yulin was stunned, then overjoyed. He had not yet given the order to close the net, but it was no longer necessary.

A man—handsome in appearance—stood before him. “Are you the one looking for me?” Wu Yue asked. “Those of your kind—I killed them,” he stated plainly, without the slightest attempt at concealment.

Zhao Yulin felt a surge of anger, the irritation of having been played. He asked coldly, “Are you alone?” It was not a foolish question—who could have imagined that a single man, a powerful cultivator, would go to such lengths to kill within these walls, only to end up hunted himself in this trap of his own making? The truth was simple: whereas the old Wu Yue was merely inexperienced, the new Wu Yue was utterly ignorant of the ways of the world.

Wu Yue glanced around. “If there’s no one else here, then yes, I am alone.” Their questions and answers did not quite align.

“Who are you?” Zhao Yulin asked, quietly sending out a message. Only now did he realize that he might not be able to keep this man here—especially since behind him, the main gate stood wide open, unprotected by any formation.

“You may call me Wu Yue. That is my name now.”

“Wu Yue?!” Zhao Yulin’s expression changed drastically. This scion of the Zhao family, so sure of his own intelligence, suddenly realized he was out of his depth in this world.

Wu Yue, past or present, was never one for unnecessary words. Stretching lazily, he muttered, “Good thing I’ve eaten these last few days, or I might not have been able to use my innate power—Soul Devouring.”

A clap of thunder! Lightning roared! In the bright daylight, under a clear sky, bolts of lightning struck down upon Swallow Lane. The storm intensified, silver serpents writhing, forming a pool of thunder. It drew the attention of countless people: in the palace, among the five great houses, and among many visiting cultivators.

Far across the city, in Chang’an Lane, Wu Yue’s figure suddenly appeared.

“So, the world’s laws resist me more fiercely; the primary consciousness grows ever stronger.” Wu Yue spoke to himself. “Seems I’ll have to finish things for you. How tiresome, this wretched true self—so weak, so pitiful, so wretchedly unhappy. Only by killing can one end the cycle of killing; that is the true path.”

This was a consciousness, warped to an extreme, fused with the Soul-Devouring Void, believing itself of noble spirit—harboring both the human thirst for vengeance and the void’s ruthless indifference, but lacking all sense.

If Zhao Yulin was a noble scion, shielded by privilege and untested by the world—a man who paid a bitter price for his naivete—then Wu Yue, in his ignorance of worldly ways, would likewise pay dearly for his obliviousness to such maxims as “a gentleman’s revenge is never too late.” What price, then, will this self-unaware soul be made to pay?