The sealed memories, struck by the bell’s sound — sharp as a blade — burst from the earth like bamboo shoots after rain, surging into his mind with the force of a tide. Fourth Master Rong could no longer hold himself together. He fell from his wheelchair in a heap, his hands clawing into the cold, filthy earth with desperate force, a sound like an animal in agony tearing from his throat.

Those memories had been suppressed by sorcery and hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind. He had known nothing — and even less did he know what had happened to Ren Yao after that. If she had been with child — how had she managed alone? How had she, bearing such enormous pressure, faced the judgments of the world and brought the child into existence? And in what kind of terror and despair had she suffered and died?

And he — who should have been at her side, sharing everything with her — had simply drifted, cloaked in a convenient “amnesia,” hiding away in some corner of the world, taking comfort in a carefully fabricated illusion, living out his days in an easy stupor of wine and numbness.

Not knowing all the while that as he indulged in his self-righteous comfort, the woman he loved was staggering forward under a crushing weight, until she finally collapsed in despair, taking her family down with her.

Ren Yao — that woman who should have lived her whole life without care — had she, in the moment of her death, knowing she had brought such catastrophe down upon her loved ones and kin, been filled with regret? Had she regretted, until the very last, ever having known him?

Fourth Master Rong’s throat broke again and again with cries of anguish. His gaze fell on the courtyard ahead, reduced to dust. Lang Jiuchuan had stopped here — did that mean Ren Yao had died on this scorched ground? Had she died in the fire?

What had happened in this estate? Who had been so determined to destroy every last one of them?

Baleful energy rose continuously from the depths of his heart, coiling around him and refusing to disperse — and gradually it transformed into black, sinister killing intent.

Gong Tinglan was startled. This was the sign of grief and fury curdling into something demonic. He looked at Lang Jiuchuan, his words stopping in his throat. If he fell to demonic corruption, the world would not tolerate him.

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes went cold and pitiless. “This is still only the beginning.”

Sande had already thrown himself forward, pressing down hard on the aura radiating from Fourth Master Rong, crying out, “Master — come to your senses! This matter isn’t simple. If you lose your mind, who are you going to make pay for this? Mistress — she would die without resting in peace!”

Eyes reddening, he kept calling to Fourth Master Rong. He was not the sharpest person, but he was no fool — the moment the blood-bond line had appeared, he had understood. The Ren Yao they had believed to be living happily and peacefully — it was all a lie.

It had been a carefully arranged deception.

And his master had been lost inside that deception for more than a decade. If he lost his reason now, wouldn’t the people behind it rest even easier?

Fourth Master Rong’s body went rigid. He forced down the baleful energy — the effort sent a searing pain through his chest, and he coughed up two mouthfuls of blood. He raised his head and looked at Lang Jiuchuan, and in his eyes was a trace of dread, and the weight of guilt and self-reproach.

She was his only flesh and blood. She was the child born of the one he had loved.

No wonder. No wonder, when he had come here, he had felt such dread. As it turned out, the bonds of fate had already been laid down long ago — and he had been too foolish to recognize them. What face did he have to meet this blood of his? What face did he have to meet Ren Yao?

Fourth Master Rong stared at Lang Jiuchuan, both eyes gradually turning crimson, blood rising into his irises and spilling down in tears of blood.

He was not worthy.

Lang Jiuchuan suppressed the inexplicable grief rising within her, closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, she was perfectly composed. She said: “Hate — that’s right, hatred is appropriate. And there is even more to hate.”

Fourth Master Rong slowly regained his calm. Sande moved him back onto the wheelchair. His voice came out raw: “I… I truly didn’t know. Something so enormous — I knew nothing of it.”

“Your spiritual soul bears traces of a forcible sorcerous sealing and restitching. Did you see who made a move against you?” Lang Jiuchuan asked.

In truth, sealing memories like this could also be accomplished through needling — driving needles into acupoints, then reinforcing it with psychological suggestion and medicinal decoctions, capable of sealing away the memories a person found most agonizing and most shameful to reveal. This required someone with both peak medical skill and peak acupuncture mastery.

As for using Daoist technique — that was easy enough to describe, yet not so easy in practice. It involved cutting away only a single segment of memory and leaving the rest seamlessly intact, with no trace of disruption. That required a profoundly powerful mastery of soul-cultivation arts — to seal only one segment, perfectly spliced, leaving no inconsistency.

What had been cut from Fourth Master Rong was specifically the memory he shared with Ren Yao — and then, in its place, a constructed belief that Ren Yao had married and borne children and was living well had been implanted. This meant that after the sealing, someone had also built an illusory tableau around it.

“It may not necessarily have been an illusion,” Gong Tinglan said. “They say the person is real — if so, then those people truly exist. The Records of Ten Thousand Mysteries contains one technique: the head-exchange art. In substance it’s the face-swapping technique known among wandering martial artists — but it involves taking a living person’s facial skin, refining it through secret methods, cultivating it into an identical face, then using sorcery to apply it over the original face. A perfect substitution — no trace of disguise visible, impossible to remove. Hence it is called the head-exchange art.”

Sande’s expression turned to one of horror. “Why go to such lengths? Harm someone and then construct a deception as elaborate as this?”

“Naturally because what they did was even more wicked and more vicious — they couldn’t afford even the smallest error, and they feared any deviation or unexpected variable.” Lang Jiuchuan looked at Fourth Master Rong beside him and said: “Just as with Fourth Master — if he had known of Ren Yao’s death, how could he have remained so docile, playing the part of a useless man?”

Fourth Master Rong’s expression went glacially cold. He would not have.

As long as Ren Yao lived — as long as she was well — he could give up everything, could contentedly be a useless wretch. But if she had met with misfortune? Then he would have painted the world in blood and fire, and let no one rest easy.

Every bone in his body had grown contrary. His blood ran cold.

Fourth Master Rong frowned and said, “I didn’t see who performed the sorcery on me. Only a corner of a robe — and a voice, somewhat familiar, like something I had heard somewhere before.”

“Was it not the Rong Family Head’s doing?” Lang Jiuchuan frowned.

The tampering done to Fourth Master Rong’s spiritual soul bore a striking resemblance to the switching of Cui Shi’s child back then — the same hand at work, somehow. Except that Fourth Master Rong had had his memory severed, while the others had remained absolutely convinced that nothing was amiss.

And Ren Yao and Cui Shi were connected as well. Their children, too, had been switched. So this person who had performed the sorcery was a pivotal figure — or perhaps the very root and source from which all this tragedy had grown.

“No.” Fourth Master Rong shook his head. “By that time, he hadn’t even reached Foundation Establishment. Where would he have gotten such profound cultivation?”

A chill shot through Lang Jiuchuan’s heart.

Fourth Master Rong wiped the corners of his eyes, then looked at Lang Jiuchuan with a hungry intensity and said: “You just said there was something even more wicked and vicious — what was it? And how have you fared, all these years?”

Lang Jiuchuan looked back at him with calm steadiness and said, “If I were to tell you, I’m afraid you might not be able to bear it. The truth is cruel.”

Fourth Master Rong was taken aback. His heart pounded like a drum. His face went ashen white, and that sense of foreboding surged up in him once more.

“But I cannot keep it from you — because those who made all of this happen — the Rong Family Head, and Qi Yun — deserve no small share of the credit.” Lang Jiuchuan gave a cold, mocking laugh. “Fourth Master Rong — you have rested peacefully for so many years. It is time you woke up.”

Fourth Master Rong’s gaze shifted sharply, a sudden change in his expression. She mentioned the old bastard and Qi Yun as the architects of it all — what did she know?

“In truth, I am not exactly your daughter — because she, roughly half a year ago, died. Murdered by Qi Yun. Her sinews stripped, her bones broken, her blood drawn and her soul devoured. She died alone on a mass grave site. I am merely a wandering remnant soul that borrowed this body, fighting tooth and nail to survive.” Lang Jiuchuan’s voice was steady and composed. “So your daughter — born of you and Ren Yao — has died in a carefully designed conspiracy. This physical form exists only because I have mended and patched it together with everything I had, and that is why it can stand before you now.”

Her words fell into silence — and then her spiritual soul departed from her body. With a single technique, she revealed to Fourth Master Rong and the others what this body had looked like in its original state.