Ning Long — that long-unspoken name suddenly pierced his ears like a shovel, lifting the lid that had buried a secret, exposing one by one the filth and darkness concealed within, things that could never see the light of day.

Sheng Huai’an thought of the figure in his memory — a brilliant and radiant scholar from the Jiangnan region, born into a faded family of scholarly lineage. From birth, his access to books and learning had been vastly superior to Sheng Huai’an’s own — a family that farmed while studying.

He was as his name suggested: born with a mind of seven apertures, all pathways of understanding opened. Whatever essay or discourse was placed before him, he grasped it in an instant. His insights were always distinct. His poems, essays, and compositions were forever being praised, read with admiration, and circulated widely. He was the brilliant moon shining high above, inspiring reverence in all who looked up.

As for him — Sheng Huai’an — he had to pour every last ounce of effort into his studies. He spent twice as many hours as others, daring not to slacken for a single night or day, before he managed, step by step, to enter their ranks and become a fellow student at the prefectural academy.

Ning Long found studying effortlessly easy. He always carried an air of careless nonchalance, yet every time a major examination was held, he would inevitably take first place. It was profoundly unjust.

He clearly put in no effort at all — so why was taking first place so effortlessly natural for him? Was it simply because he had been born with an extra measure of natural talent?

What Sheng Huai’an hated most was Ning Long’s disposition — that air of a man who already had everything figured out and within his grasp, who moved through the world as if everything had already been claimed. That swaggering, unrestrained confidence, as though it looked down on everyone around it, was blinding — and it made one desperate to shatter it.

And that desire only grew stronger over time, until at last he was given his opportunity.

In their village there was a Daoist known as Wuchi. In his early years, he had followed a wandering Daoist and taken up the path, though how he had eventually returned to the village no one knew. He lived in cultivation on the mountain, and he said he could change Sheng Huai’an’s fate — but his price was Sheng Huai’an’s son.

Sheng Huai’an had married young. His son had once been called a child of remarkable gifts — so said the temple keeper at the most famous Lord Guan shrine in their township. And indeed, his son Cong had been extraordinarily bright from a very young age.

A change of fate — and if the fortune obtained was Ning Long’s, would he not then be the one who took first place? Sailing smoothly through everything, leading his clan to transform their standing, soaring to heights undreamed of.

He was still young. He could father more sons. He could even take a new wife from a distinguished family. But an opportunity to change one’s fate — that came only once.

Sheng Huai’an thought of Ning Long’s fortune and brilliance, and in the end, greed overcame the goodness in him. He made his bargain with the devil.

The soul was pulled from the body. The bones were extracted. The soul was imprisoned and its fortune shared. The Daoist Wuchi truly accomplished what he had promised.

And so he became Master Liufeng — renowned and celebrated. He married his mentor’s daughter as his second wife. His clan rose to become a refined and distinguished noble family. His son…

His son was the one source of regret.

He never fathered another child of remarkable gifts. He had only a pampered and delicate boy, raised entirely in the hands of women, who became neither a scholar nor a soldier. He often wondered whether this was retribution — that he had sent away a gifted son with his own hands, and received in return a useless one who could not even carry on his legacy.

But that had not mattered much. He still had his grandson, whom he personally guided. Surely something could be cultivated from that. And now, even his grandson was on the verge of being lost.

No one to carry on the line.

Ning Long — was this your revenge?

A film of haze passed before Sheng Huai’an’s eyes. He seemed to see that brilliant, radiant young man — luminous as the moon, resplendent with the wind — walking slowly toward him.

Ning Long!

A gurgling sound rose from Sheng Huai’an’s throat, as if invisible hands had seized his windpipe, leaving him momentarily voiceless. His left hand scrabbled desperately at the unseen grip crushing his throat.

From the moment A’Piao had spoken the words about Master Liufeng killing a man and grinding his bones to dust, everyone had been struck rigid with shock.

Some recovered their senses, on the verge of crying out that this man reeking of commerce had no right to make such groundless accusations — that Master Liufeng was no such villain. But the words had barely formed before they watched Liufeng himself seize at his own throat again and again, as though possessed by a ghost.

What manner of performance was this?

Then they saw Sheng Huai’an — who had barely been able to move — rise to his feet, as if he had been replaced by an entirely different person, and with crisp, clear articulation begin to recount his own past crimes. The crowd gaped in open-mouthed disbelief.

It couldn’t be — could it? If this was true, it was the crime of deceiving the Emperor — enough to bring about the execution of the entire family.

The late Emperor had passed from this world, yes, but he had still been the Emperor. Sheng Huai’an had deceived him. That was the crime of imperial deception.

Had he gone mad?

The scholars’ faces drained of color. They exchanged glances and began backing away. The more quick-witted among them had already slipped off quietly — if officials were summoned and they were found here, having come to seek justice for a man guilty of deceiving the Emperor, their futures would be finished. Their families might even be implicated.

Others, keen for the spectacle, rapidly recorded in brushstrokes everything ‘Sheng Huai’an’ was saying. Good heavens above — this was an earth-shattering scandal in the literary world. If the storytellers in the teahouses and taverns got hold of this, would they not pack the halls to bursting?

When the crowd heard that Sheng Huai’an had used his own son as a bargain with a wicked Daoist, someone could no longer contain themselves and flung the fried stinky tofu they had been eating directly at him.

“Even a tiger will not devour its own cubs — yet you turned it backward. You are beyond malicious.”

“That’s right! Called a great scholar and sage — ptui! Nothing but a wolf in human skin!”

“No wonder he ended up like this. Retribution, pure and simple.”

“Beat him!”

“Report it to the authorities — quickly! This man has committed the crime of deceiving the Emperor!”

Deceiving the Emperor — an unforgivable sin.

The Sheng household servants’ legs were shaking uncontrollably. It was over. They were finished.

The old master’s self-exposure — what was the difference between this and drawing a sword and slitting his own throat in public?

They would have liked to cover his mouth and drag him away, but the ‘old master’ at this moment was terrifying — an icy chill radiated from his entire body and they could not get close.

Outside Tongtian Pavilion, a scene like this had never been seen before.

From the moment Sheng Huai’an had begun his confession, people had already been racing to spread the word, flooding toward this spot to hear for themselves how greed had driven a man to commit such crimes against another.

When the Sheng Family received word, their first instinct was not to bring him back — but to pack their valuables and flee. However, before long, soldiers had surrounded their residence on all sides, blocking every route of escape.

The Sheng Family was finished.

Sheng Huai’an finished recounting his crimes. His expression shifted once more, and he crumpled softly to the ground, staring up at the rotten leaves and rotten eggs raining down on him. Something stirred in his throat, and he spat out a mouthful of old blood.

He knew precisely what he had said just now — no, what Ning Long had said. He had been completely lucid. He simply could not wrest back control.

This was Ning Long’s counter-suppression — the same way Sheng Huai’an had suppressed Ning Long all these years.

He, Sheng Huai’an, was finished.

With great difficulty he twisted his head to look — Ning Long stood right beside him, gazing down from above with an expression exactly as it had been in their youth: contemptuous, and utterly indifferent.

Sheng Huai’an reached out his hand, a rasping sound escaping his throat: “Return it to me…”

The Linglong Pagoda. He had to get it back.

Stubbornly refusing to repent to the end.

Ning Long gave a cold laugh, turned, and walked back to A’Piao and the others.

Lang Jiuchuan gave a slight shake of her head, forming a hand seal and casting it upon Sheng Huai’an’s body — keeping him alive by a thread.

The crime of deceiving the Emperor required corroborating testimony. Otherwise, how would Ning Long’s grievance ever be redressed? A Star of Literature who had passed all six imperial examinations in succession — cut down in his prime by human greed, destroyed by a wicked Daoist’s foul arts. How lamentable.

She would add kindling to the fire that drove out evil and crooked paths.

More and more soldiers came in this direction, dispersing the onlookers and hauling Sheng Huai’an to his feet. Several scholars who had not managed to slip away in time were also seized and taken.

A’Piao spread his hands wide and feigned an expression of shock: “I could never have imagined — that Master Liufeng would turn out to be such a vile person. Truly, the workings of heaven are just, and retribution always arrives in time!”

The crowd around them: This acting is terrible.