3720-chapter-53
Chapter 53: Shen Yu’s True Identity Revealed
As the memories faded, a heavy silence filled the room.
Jiang Ziyou, glancing at his companions, all of whom wore grim expressions, was the first to break the stillness.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “What a tragic story.”
“My father… did something like this!”
Yin Ci suddenly lashed out, splitting the table in half with his sword.
His face flushed with alternating shades of red and white as he yelled in near madness, “Why? Why would my father do such a thing? Why does it have to be him? Why?!”
With his head bowed, veins bulging on his forehead, Yin Ci’s dark eyes were fixed on the ground, his grip on his sword tightening as if he were on the verge of tears.
“Why does it have to be my father—”
“Junior brother, calm down.”
Jiang Ziyou reached out to grab him, but Yin Ci violently shook him off.
“Don’t touch me!”
Yin Ci turned and roared, his usually handsome face distorted with anger.
The blood-red tear mole at the corner of his eye glistened as if it were about to bleed.
“Yin…”
One of the cultivators tried to step forward to comfort him but hesitated, unsure what to say.
Should he still call him “Young Master Yin”? The words felt stuck in his throat.
Addressing him as “Yin Ci” also seemed awkward.
Suddenly, a sob echoed through the room.
Just as everyone thought they had imagined it, Yin Ci collapsed to the ground, breaking into uncontrollable wailing.
Everyone was stunned; even Jiang Ziyou stood frozen in surprise.
The once-proud and pampered young master, famed in the Rimuli, now lay in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably, his face streaked with tears and snot.
“Awoooo~” Coal Ball gently patted Yin Ci’s leg, as if trying to comfort him.
“How will I ever face my father now? I hate him! I hate him for doing this! He deserves to die! He brought this on himself! But… I can’t bear the thought of him dying… Why does it have to be my father?!”
His sorrow was so deep that he clutched his face, tears flowing between his fingers.
Song Shi, with a swift hand chop, knocked Yin Ci unconscious and tossed him to Jiang Ziyou.
His voice was cold as he said, “The way he’s whining about his fate is getting on my nerves.”
One of the cultivators asked, “So, what do we do now? Go back to Rimuli and expose Yin Ruoxu?”
Song Shi snorted, amused, “Are you kidding? Go back now? Walk right into a trap? Someone like Yin Ruoxu would never let anyone who knows this secret live.”
“Then what’s your plan?”
“I’ve already sealed Shen Susu’s memories in a recording stone. First, we leave here, and then we’ll publicly expose Yin Ruoxu’s crimes. Scum like him should be left to the sects for judgment.”
“Agreed.”
The others nodded in approval.
Yin Buqi glanced at Song Shi without saying anything, focusing on bandaging Jiang Niannian’s injured arm.
After giving Shen Susu a proper burial, they prepared to leave.
The townsfolk of Qinghe Town, upon hearing they were departing, rushed to offer their most valuable possessions as tokens of gratitude.
The group, insisting it was their duty, refused to accept anything.
After some discussion, the group decided to head to the Shuiyun Sect, one of the Four Great Sects, for safety.
Along the way, Jiang Niannian seemed melancholic.
“What’s on your mind, Niannian?” Yin Buqi, riding on the same sword, embraced her from behind.
Jiang Niannian sighed, “I was just reflecting… Has your father’s actions affected you?”
Yin Buqi lowered his eyes, his tone indifferent.
“In my heart, that man stopped being my father a long time ago. Whether he lives or dies means nothing to me now.”
“That’s probably for the best…” Jiang Niannian murmured.
In this world of cultivation, the path was always fraught with difficulty.
Failure to transcend tribulations was common, and murder for treasure happened often.
It was hard to hold any cultivator to a moral standard.
The weak were preyed upon—strength was everything.
For those without moral scruples, mortals were as insignificant as ants, to be trampled or slain at will.
Though Jiang Niannian detested it, she knew she lacked the power to change the way this world worked.
It reminded her of her school days, when teachers constantly admonished, “Novels are nothing but misleading distractions! Textbooks are the real guide to life!”
As the sun began to set, the group found an inn to stay the night.
It was a remote inn, and they were the only guests.
Yin Ci and Tang Murou had regained consciousness.
Tang Murou was listening as the male cultivators recounted the events.
“Junior brother…” Jiang Ziyou, typically slow to pick up on emotions, struggled to find the right words to comfort Yin Ci.
Yin Ci gave no response, as if he had lost his hearing.
His eyes were vacant, lifeless, and his lips kept moving in a low murmur, “Why does it have to be my father…?”
The group sat around the dining table, waiting for the food to arrive.
The atmosphere was heavy with depression.
Strangely enough, Song Shi seemed in a good mood, leisurely cracking sunflower seeds while sipping tea.
Yin Buqi’s eyes never left Song Shi.
His jade-white fingers tapped idly on the wooden table.
Song Shi noticed Yin Buqi’s gaze and looked up, stopping his movements.
“What are you staring at?”
Yin Buqi lowered his lashes, his tone cold and distant, a glint of ice in his eyes.
His thin red lips parted slightly, “Should I call you Song Shi, Shen Yu, or Little Yu?”
All eyes instantly snapped toward Song Shi.
Even the dazed Yin Ci lifted his head, staring at him in shock.
Jiang Niannian, confused, asked, “Buqi, what are you talking about?”
Song Shi’s hand paused slightly, then, as if hearing a hilarious joke, he pressed his fingers to his forehead and laughed uncontrollably.
His shoulders shook, and he nearly doubled over, struggling to keep himself upright by leaning on the table.
“Hahahaha, Yin Buqi, your imagination is truly wild! You’re killing me with laughter!”
“When I first saw Little Yu, I noticed he bore a slight resemblance to Shen Yu. After all, people’s faces change as they grow, so I dismissed it as coincidence number one,” Yin Buqi calmly continued, taking a sip of tea.
“Then, the names—Shen Susu, Little Yu, Shen Yu—three names with an undeniable connection. Coincidence number two. And then… the spirit’s last words. It wasn’t ‘Sha..Yu..,’ but ‘Shen Yu,’ wasn’t it?”
Song Shi’s smile deepened.
“So Little Yu and Shen Yu share similarities. But what does that have to do with me, Song Shi?”
Yin Buqi replied, “The white jade flute. Same color, style, shape—down to the exact same chip. It appeared on all three of them. Still think it’s just a coincidence?”
Song Shi slowly stood up, casually dusting off his white robe.
In a calm voice, he said, “And if it’s true, what then?”
His voice—it was Shen Yu’s!
With a simple movement of his hand across his face, the familiar features of Shen Yu appeared.
Jiang Niannian asked, “So… it was you who tampered with the formation?”
Shen Yu’s smile grew more cryptic.
“That was someone else’s doing.”
Tang Murou slammed her hand on the table, seething with anger.
“Shen Yu, as a physician, you’ve lost all conscience! Dozens of cultivators were slaughtered by the spirits because of you. You deserve death! Yin Buqi, if you stand for justice, kill him now and rid the world of this scum!”
Many in the room were taken aback by Tang Murou’s outburst, their lips twitching as if to say, “Are you out of your mind?”
In the next instant, the male cultivator beside her knocked her unconscious.
What absurd drama.
The female lead must have porridge for brains.
To suddenly spout nonsense at a time like this.
A sudden thunderclap echoed, and the skies opened up in a torrential downpour.
Inside the inn, silence reigned once more.
Steaming dishes were laid out on the table, but no one moved to eat.
Yin Ci, who had been dazed for so long, suddenly spoke, “Can you… spare my father?”