Rong Tian stepped to Rong Ma’s side and crouched beside him, but he did not immediately try to pull his father to his feet. Instead, he carefully placed one hand on Rong Ma’s shoulder. “Father, the flowers have already reached him. The dead know who came with sincere intentions.” Rong Ma looked at him with reddened eyes. “Tian’er, I only wanted to pay my respects.” “I know.” The simple reply was enough to make several townspeople lower their heads. Zhao Hua could feel the crowd’s sympathy slipping away from her like water leaking through a cracked jar, and she knew she could not allow that to continue. “Stop putting on an act in front of me,” she said. “Your family has always been good at making other people feel guilty. You used to survive on the Zhao household’s charity, and

That small action drew several gazes away from Zhao Hua and back toward the flowers. Zhao Hua saw it too. Everything she had used earlier to build sympathy was now turning into something that tightened around her own neck. Guang Jiang stopped three steps away from Rong Tian. A faint, controlled smile returned to his face. “Young man,” he asked, “what is your name?” The question sounded polite. Yet anyone familiar with Jianghu knew that when the leader of a great sect asked a question that gently after such an unusual incident, he was asking for much more than a name. Rong Tian bowed just enough to remain respectful. “Rong Tian.” Guang Jiang studied him more closely. On the ground, Zhao Hua remained face-down, her cheek stained with dust while tears and anger ruined the mourning expr

Guang Jiang moved without warning. His right arm rose as the end of his sleeve cut through the air, and the qi released from his palm swept dust from the road in a thin arc. A sharp rush of wind followed the strike. Rong Ma flinched and nearly stepped back, while Rong Tian appeared to notice the attack only at the last moment and pulled his father half a step aside. Guang Jiang’s palm passed directly in front of Rong Tian’s chest, tearing a narrow line through the outer cloth at his shoulder. Cries immediately rose from the townspeople watching nearby. “That was fast.” “He almost got hit.” “He only escaped because he pulled his father away.” Rong Tian dropped into a seated position on the road with a startled expression, dust clinging to his sleeves. To ordinary eyes, he looked like a young man who had barely es

Guang Jiang stood near his disciples and continued watching Rong Tian without showing open hostility. From the street, he looked like a sect leader who had finished examining a minor disturbance and had chosen to keep the funeral procession moving. From above, Lin Zhao saw something different. “Guang Jiang is not satisfied,” he said. “He stopped because the road ahead became too narrow, not because he believed the boy.” “And Chang Zhong?” Hanim asked. Yue Lin answered before Lin Zhao could speak. “He notices smaller details than his master.” Hanim glanced toward him. “What details?” “The dust.” Yue Lin placed his cup down. “When Rong Tian fell, the dust around his feet moved too late. An ordinary person falls because he is pushed. He fell after choosing where he wanted to land.&rdqu