In the secret chamber of the Freewill Manor, Qin Xiaoyao stood like a statue, his face dark and stormy, staring at his unconscious son, Qin Lei, lying pale and motionless on the bed.
By the bedside sat Tie Linger, gently stroking her son's rugged face, her own countenance ashen, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Standing beside Qin Xiaoyao was Qin Feng, lips curled into a peculiar, mocking smile—the very smile he wore whenever the Sword Saint of the Starry River intended to kill.
In the corner of the chamber, Hua Linglong stood like a wooden puppet, eyes locked on Qin Lei. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks like broken pearls from a thread.
Qin Xiaoyao shifted his gaze from his son to Hua Linglong. His voice was low and steady, yet heavy with suppressed emotion. "Miss Hua, tell me truthfully—how exactly did my son come to be injured?"
Hua Linglong slowly recounted the events, every eerie and otherworldly detail of the voice that had instructed her, sparing nothing.
The more she spoke, the deeper the furrow in Qin Xiaoyao's brow grew. His sharp eyes bored into hers, as if trying to pierce her soul.
Despite his scrutiny, Hua Linglong met his gaze without flinching. There was sorrow in her eyes, and a guilt she couldn't hide.
When she finished, Qin Xiaoyao was silent for a while, then asked calmly, "Did you witness all of this with your own eyes?"
"I did," Hua Linglong replied firmly. "Everything—I saw it myself."
Qin Xiaoyao nodded slowly. "I understand. You've done enough, Miss Hua. You've looked after my son for days without rest. For that, I thank you. Please go and get some sleep now. We'll take care of Lei'er from here."
Hua Linglong opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but Qin Feng's icy gaze swept over her like a blade. She shuddered involuntarily, lowered her head, and quietly exited the chamber. A servant led her away.
Once she was gone, Qin Xiaoyao turned to Qin Feng. "Feng'er, what do you make of all this?"
"She didn't lie," Qin Feng said without hesitation.
Qin Xiaoyao nodded again. "She didn't. No one can lie under my eyes. Lei'er's injuries do resemble a blow from the Heaven-Shrouding Palm... or more precisely, the version I developed in my youth—before I had the three of you."
Qin Feng's eyes gleamed. "Father, you mean…"
Qin Xiaoyao gave a cold laugh. "The Heaven-Shrouding Palm I created in my youth only carried two forces—Yin and Yang. Yin is soft but vicious; Yang, fierce and overwhelming. Whoever got hit by it had their bones shattered by the raging dual forces. Each time I used it with full force, blood would spill. That's why they called me 'Bloodhand Shura.' But after founding this manor, I rarely walked the martial world. I spent my days refining my skills, and eventually, I evolved the technique."
"The version I taught Qin Ren contains seven distinct forces: fire, ice, thunder, wind, hardness, softness, and cohesion. Only he and I can unleash all seven in one palm. Not even you or Lei'er knew that."
Qin Feng, ever the sword enthusiast and his brother Lei'er, a lover of blades, had always ignored other martial arts. Thus, despite the Heaven-Shrouding Palm being one of the Three Supreme Techniques under Heaven, neither of them had learned it. Ironically, it was the least martial of the three brothers, Qin Ren, who inherited the complete art.
"So you're saying," Qin Feng leaned in, "Lei'er was struck only by Yin and Yang forces?"
Qin Xiaoyao nodded with a sneer. "Had this happened twenty-three years ago, even I wouldn't have been able to spot the forgery. But now? Hmph. If they think they can frame Qin Ren with outdated tricks, they've sorely underestimated me."
"But Father," Qin Feng said, "you still believe Hua Linglong didn't lie?"
"She didn't," Qin Xiaoyao affirmed. "But someone taught her to lie—and did it so well, she believes every word she says. Tell me, Feng'er, do you believe Qin Ren would ever hurt his brother?"
Qin Feng shook his head without hesitation. "Never."
Qin Xiaoyao smiled faintly. "Nor do I. Hmph. For years I've kept to myself. The martial world must have forgotten who the true Shura is. They think I've gone soft. Forgotten the name 'Bloodhand Shura'..."
The air in the chamber grew heavy, charged with a suffocating aura. Qin Feng, long accustomed to his father's mild, almost henpecked demeanor, now felt as if a mountain had risen before him—immense, indomitable. His father's aura was no longer that of a kindly elder, but a lion king surveying his prey... No, a lion was not enough.
This was a god of slaughter, his hands soaked in blood, who viewed all beneath him as ants.
Even Tie Linger, though deep in grief, could sense the sudden change. She turned sharply and snapped, "Xiaoyao, what are you doing? Our son lies dying, and you're standing there brooding like some tragic hero? Must I twist your ear before you check on him properly?"
At her words, all of Qin Xiaoyao's murderous aura vanished like smoke. He chuckled sheepishly, and with an ingratiating smile, shuffled over to the bed. "Ling'er, don't be mad. I'm here now, aren't I? Actually, I just discovered something about Lei'er's wounds…"
Qin Feng rubbed his temples and sighed. Yep. Still the same old henpecked dad.
Leaving the chamber, Qin Feng addressed the three figures waiting outside—the strongest warriors of Freewill Manor, known as the Three Gods of Slaughter.
"Father has given his orders. Freewill Manor will make no statement on the upcoming Martial Assembly. We will neither help nor hinder the pursuit of Qin Ren. Let them do as they please. When the Assembly convenes, we'll send a representative."