Chapter 86: How Can the People’s Wrath Be Appeased Without Bloodshed?

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PS: Starting today, this month will see an explosive release until the end, five chapters updated daily—enjoy to your heart’s content. Wuyai is going all out.

Master Gong admired his handiwork, his expression alternating between amazement and regret, occasionally shaking the prayer beads on his wrist. Jiang Pingchuan followed the sway of the beads, walking slowly as if he were a mindless puppet, entirely under Master Gong’s control. Jiang Pingchuan inwardly scoffed at the old man's complacency, aware that he had let his guard down.

Master Gong had just finished performing his Soul Capturing Technique and ceased its operation. As soon as the technique stopped, the Floating Pagoda Art within Jiang Pingchuan began rapidly consuming the lingering aura left by the technique. In just a few breaths, Jiang Pingchuan had fully regained his consciousness. He continued to play along, wanting to see what Master Gong intended to do.

“Pingchuan, from the moment I saw you, I felt you were the one I’ve been searching for all along. But you’re far too dangerous; I can’t grant you too much freedom. I’m afraid you might awaken on your own,” Master Gong murmured as he looked at Jiang Pingchuan. With cultivators like Ah Hu and Zhendong, Master Gong felt confident in his ability to control them, allowing them some autonomy and speech. But Jiang Pingchuan, as a puppet, was different; the mysteries surrounding him made Master Gong uneasy, unsure if he could truly control him.

Hearing Master Gong’s words, Jiang Pingchuan understood the flaws in the Soul Capturing Technique—it was incomplete, likely acquired by Master Gong by chance for malicious purposes.

“Please, let him go,”

Fox Meier, who had just regained consciousness, looked at the puppet-like Jiang Pingchuan and pleaded hoarsely. Master Gong looked at her with disgust.

“Let him go? I’ve absorbed the yang energy of 998 people, but only Black Rat’s was worthy. Do you know how many Black Rats Jiang Pingchuan is worth?” Master Gong sneered, eyes filled with greed.

“Let him go, I can make up for the last two souls,” Fox Meier clutched her chest, her voice sorrowful.

“For the sake of Jiang Pingchuan, you sacrificed your millennium of purity, and now you’re willing to die for him. He’s a cultivator, you’re a demon—you nearly ruined my grand plans, do you realize that?” Master Gong squatted down, gripping her chin fiercely, his fingers digging in so hard that no matter how she struggled, she could not break free.

“Father, let them go,”

Just as Jiang Pingchuan was about to act, Sifu suddenly appeared in the hall, followed by the mad, rambling old Master Gong.

Two Master Gongs appeared—one mad, one cruel and venomous. Jiang Pingchuan could not discern the real Master Gong’s character. Sifu looked at Jiang Pingchuan with apologetic eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, Guangfu, have you finished the ledger... Guangfu... why did you hurt me...” The mad old man glared at the Master Gong crouched by Fox Meier—Guangfu, as he called him. Guangfu stood up and approached, causing the mad old man to hide behind Sifu, avoiding Guangfu’s gaze.

“Crack...”

“Unfilial son, what are you doing? Who allowed you to bring him out?” Guangfu slapped Sifu harshly. Sifu looked at his father with a bitter smile and shook his head.

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“Father, every deed is seen by Heaven. Please, stop,” Sifu said, his eyes reddened as he faced Guangfu. No longer bowing his head, he could not bear addressing his own father as “Master” every day; he just wanted a normal life.

“Unfilial child, are you trying to lecture me? Do I need your approval for my actions? Lock up this crazy old man at once!” Guangfu roared at Sifu, who straightened his back and shook his head earnestly. The mad old man, following Sifu's lead, also poked his head out and shook it seriously at Guangfu.

“You’re courting death...”

“Ah...”

Guangfu struck Sifu’s forehead with a ball of black energy. Sifu, facing his father, smiled and closed his eyes—yet he felt no pain.

Instead, he heard his father cry out in agony. Sifu opened his eyes and saw Jiang Pingchuan behind Guangfu, holding an empty fist poised at Guangfu’s chest.

Blood trickled from Guangfu’s mouth; his vacant eyes stared at his abdomen, where the outline of a spear faintly appeared.

“Mr. Jiang, don’t kill him!” Sifu pleaded urgently, while the mad old man behind him leapt forward, applauding excitedly and pulling Sifu to join him.

“He tried to kill even you. A tiger does not eat its cubs, yet he has slaughtered nearly a thousand innocents—his death is well deserved,” Jiang Pingchuan said, his brows drawn in stern determination.

“Heh, I’ve always known someone like you could never be controlled. Kill me, you’re right—I deserve to die,” Guangfu laughed, staggering forward. As Jiang Pingchuan withdrew the phantom spear from his body, Guangfu collapsed to the ground.

Purple aura coiled around him, his wounds growing ever more apparent. Above Guangfu’s head appeared Jiang Pingchuan’s purple skull, its black aura breaking into granules that scattered across the floor. Jiang Pingchuan beckoned to the skull, which smiled faintly and returned to his hand.

“Why is this? I already refined it,” Guangfu gasped, blood trickling as he stared at the purple skull in Jiang Pingchuan’s hand, now restored to its pure violet form.

“My possessions, even if I give them to you, you cannot hold them,” Jiang Pingchuan sneered, hanging the skull at his waist. He had deliberately left it at the mortuary, knowing Guangfu’s greed would drive him to seize and attempt to refine it. Little did Guangfu know, the skull would only slowly erode his strength, impossible to refine—a trap Jiang Pingchuan had set, though he had caught the false Master Gong, but the real culprit nonetheless.

“Well said. Kill me,” Guangfu looked at Jiang Pingchuan, eyes wild.

“Your death is inevitable, but to let you die too easily would be unfair to those you’ve harmed,” Jiang Pingchuan swiftly struck at Guangfu’s limbs, severing all the tendons. Sifu, tears streaming down his face, watched as Jiang Pingchuan methodically crippled his father. Jiang Pingchuan withdrew his spear, glancing coldly at the writhing Guangfu.

“I did not misjudge you, Jiang Pingchuan. Ruthless men attain eternal life,”

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Guangfu said, lips trembling, his eyes holding no hatred for Jiang Pingchuan—only admiration for his resolve. Jiang Pingchuan ignored him; even on the brink of death, this wretched old man sought to disturb his mind.

“Whoosh...”

“No, don’t kill him. He’s now just a cripple, let him go,” As Jiang Pingchuan thrust his spear at Guangfu, Sifu suddenly knelt before him, arms spread wide. The spear had already pierced Sifu’s neck, drawing blood. Jiang Pingchuan gritted his teeth, looking at Sifu.

Guangfu, though a cripple, bore the deaths of over a thousand innocent souls—a burden Jiang Pingchuan could not accept. If he spared Guangfu, how could he answer those lost souls?

“If he lives, how can the people’s wrath be appeased?” Jiang Pingchuan kicked Sifu aside and again thrust his spear at Guangfu. Guangfu glanced at his son, who had been knocked aside, and smiled bitterly, closing his eyes.

Just as Jiang Pingchuan’s spear was about to strike, the mad old Master Gong intervened, grabbing the spear barehanded and sighing.

“Enough. Though his crimes are heinous, now he’s a broken man, aged and frail—he won’t live long. Let him go,” The murkiness in Master Gong’s eyes vanished completely. Jiang Pingchuan was astonished—so the old man had been feigning madness all along. His eccentric, foolish appearance was a deliberate act; this true Master Gong was no simple character.

“You’re certain you want me to spare him?” Jiang Pingchuan asked, eyeing Master Gong with suspicion. Master Gong nodded and released the spear, his palm blackened from the spear’s energy.

He had forcibly stopped Jiang Pingchuan’s attack, suffering burns from the weapon’s essence. Jiang Pingchuan glanced at Guangfu on the ground, snorted, and withdrew his spear.

“Master Gong, I...” Guangfu raised his head, looking at Master Gong beside him, unsure what to say, his face filled with guilt. Master Gong waved him off, not allowing him to continue.

“Guangfu, you’ve been the old steward of the Gong residence, watched me grow up. I don’t want to see you die before me. Go,” Master Gong spoke gently, never looking at Guangfu. Sifu rose, glanced at Jiang Pingchuan and then at Master Gong, who smiled at him.

“Sifu, you’re a good child. Take your father and leave. If you ever wish to return, the position of steward at Gong residence is still yours,” Master Gong patted Sifu’s shoulder. Sifu wiped his tears, nodded, and helped Guangfu, limping, toward the gates of the residence.

When Jiang Pingchuan looked at Master Gong, the old man was gazing at him with an amused, calculating smile.