Chapter 73
The old man's brows rose slightly. "My library?" Wei Zhi nodded eagerly. "I've heard there are over four thousand books and records in there. All collected by you personally. Every shelf contains treasures. Every row contains knowledge lost to time. How could I not want to see it?" Elder Gu looked at her for a long moment before laughing again.
At that exact moment a loud impact echoed across the battlefield. Everyone's attention snapped back toward the arena. Weiyang stood there breathing heavily, covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. His spear rested firmly against Kai's throat. Kai himself was barely standing. "I win," Weiyang declared. The battlefield immediately fell silent.
Then Weiyang turned his head and looked directly toward Elder Gu and Wei Zhi. A massive grin stretched across his face. He looked less like a victor and more like someone who had just discovered the greatest source of entertainment in existence. Covered in wounds and blood from head to toe, he happily began walking toward them.
Meanwhile, inside the estate, an entirely different conversation was taking place. Wuming sat calmly on the bed while Katsuro remained seated beside him. The room was quiet apart from the occasional movement of the curtains caused by the evening wind. Wuming looked at his father and finally spoke. "Why are you here, Father?" Katsuro paused for a moment before smiling gently. "I wanted to talk with you."
Wuming stared at him coldly.
"About what?"
For some reason Katsuro's smile became slightly more awkward. "What's your favorite color?" For the first time in several minutes, Wuming genuinely wondered whether his father had too much free time. "I don't have one." Katsuro's smile remained. Though beneath it was something else. Shame. Regret. Hesitation.
"If you had to choose one?" he asked softly.
Wuming looked at him for a few seconds before answering.
"Black."
Katsuro tilted his head slightly.
"Why?"
Wuming's gaze shifted toward the darkening sky outside the window.
"Because black isn't a color."
His answer made Katsuro pause.
Wuming continued calmly.
"Logically speaking, black is simply the absence of light. Just as the absence of Lunive is Tenebris. It isn't truly a color. Though if you're asking an artist, then yes. Black becomes a pigment. A shade. A tool used to darken other colors."
Silence filled the room afterward.
For some reason Katsuro's smile weakened slightly as he looked at his son.
And for the first time that evening, he realized that every answer Wuming gave sounded less like a child speaking to his father and more like a scholar explaining reality itself.
Wuming looked at his father for a few seconds before speaking again. His voice remained calm and detached.
"If you need something from me, just say so."
He sat in the same position on the bed, one leg folded while the other rested loosely beneath the black robes. His long hair had turned completely black from the mantras, flowing down his shoulders and back like liquid darkness. The faint mark on his forehead had already begun fading, but traces of its power still lingered in the room.
Katsuro's eyes drifted toward his son's hair.
"It'll return to normal after a few hours, won't it?"
"I know."
Wuming's answer was immediate.
"The mantras are powerful. They strengthen the body and spirit for longer periods. The side effects are temporary."
Katsuro nodded slowly.
For some reason, he kept staring.
The black hair suited him.
The serene eyes. The long dark lashes. The black hanfu hanging loosely around his frame. Even the white bandages visible beneath the robe seemed strangely fitting. The boy looked less like an injured cultivator and more like a scholar who had stepped out of an ancient painting.
"You look good with black hair."
Wuming didn't react.
The compliment simply entered one ear and left through the other.
After a moment, Katsuro cleared his throat.
"How was the spar?"
His expression softened slightly.
"Was it with Weiyang?"
"No."
The answer came so quickly that Katsuro immediately sensed something was wrong.
Wuming's golden eyes shifted toward him.
"It was with Ming."
The room fell silent.
Katsuro stilled completely.
For the first time since entering the room, genuine surprise appeared on his face.
"Ming?"
Wuming looked at him without the slightest change in expression.
"Yeah."
His voice remained calm.
"You heard me."
Katsuro frowned slightly.
The surprise quickly turned into confusion.
"Why were you sparring with Ming?"
Wuming lowered his gaze toward the bandages around his arm.
"Because Elder Gu wanted to see something."
He paused.
"Or perhaps because he wanted everyone else to see something."
That answer only made Katsuro more confused.
"What exactly happened?"
Wuming leaned back against the headboard.
A faint sigh escaped him.
"An old man's curiosity happened."
For the first time, Katsuro felt like he was talking to Elder Gu instead of his own son.
And somehow, that realization made him even more concerned.
Wuming looked at Katsuro and said calmly,
"I think you should go... and see your son. He might be in his last moments too if he doesn't know how to control his breathing properly."
Katsuro immediately froze.
His face turned pale.
"What?" he asked, his voice tense. "Was it truly a friendly spar... or a death spar?"
Wuming remained seated on the bed, his black hair falling over his shoulders. His expression did not change in the slightest.
"Like always."
"A match between Excusatio users."
Katsuro's eyes narrowed.
"And what do you mean by last moments, Wuming?"
For a moment, silence lingered between them.
Then Wuming slowly lifted his gaze toward him.
"Why talk so much?"
His voice was calm and emotionless.
"Why don't you see it for yourself and relieve the anchor in your heart?"
The room fell silent again.
Katsuro stared at him for several seconds, unable to tell whether the boy was exaggerating or simply stating a fact.
But seeing Wuming's indifferent expression, he suddenly felt uneasy.
Very uneasy.
Katsuro got up from his seat and left the room without another word. The door closed behind him. For a few seconds, complete silence filled the room. Wuming stared at the door and children slowly. "Finally. " The moment the word left his mouth, his body lurched forward.
"Cough–!" A large amount of blood uneven from his lips and splattered onto the floor. Bright red. Fresh, another cough followed more blood poured from his mouth, staining the wooden floor beneath. His hand gripped the edge of the bed tightly as who dripped through his fingers. The metallic atmosphere spread for the room.
Wuming lowered hus head, his long black hair falling over his face while his shoulders rose and fell unevenly. Yet there was no panic. No fear. Only silence.
As if he had been enduring it the entire time, as if he had deeper waited for katsuro to leave before allowing his body to react furthermore.
Katsuro walked quickly through the estate, his robes swaying behind him as he headed toward Ming's pavilion.
The usually calm man found his steps growing faster with every passing second. By the time he arrived, the doors were already open. Inside, three physicians surrounded Ming's bed while servants moved in and out carrying medicine and fresh cloth. The atmosphere was heavy. Tense.
Ning and Kai sat nearby while physicians patched their wounds. Both looked miserable. Ning was the first to complain."That lowly girl hit me on the neck so hard I fainted!" she cried angrily. "I didn't even get to make a move. Not one! She appeared in front of me and it felt like my soul stopped."
Meihua listened quietly without interrupting. Her expression remained composed and elegant. Cold, even.
Her attention never left Ming's unconscious figure lying on the bed. Then the doors opened further. Katsuro entered. The room immediately fell silent. Kai and Ning hurriedly stood despite their injuries. Both bowed respectfully. "Greetings, Marquis."
Katsuro raised a hand. "Sit."
Without waiting for another word, he walked directly toward the bed. His gaze landed on Ming. Pale. Unconscious. Covered in bandages. A physician was still working on the wound beneath his chest. Katsuro's jaw tightened.
He turned toward Meihua. "How is he?" Meihua finally looked at him. "Alive." The single word made Katsuro's anger rise immediately."For heaven's sake, don't test my patience, Meihua." His voice hardened.
"Tell me how badly he's injured." The room became even quieter. Meihua stared at him for several seconds. Then she laughed softly. A laugh with no warmth behind it. "Are my children my tools?"
Her voice was calm.
"Or is only your precious heir your tool way? Who'smaking tools here katsuro?" Katsuro froze. Meihua stepped closer to the bed.
"He left Ming barely alive after a spar." Her eyes sharpened. "He could have killed him." "But he didn't." "He toyed with him." The words struck the room heavily. "Ming never stood a chance." She folded her arms."Your heir is far more ruthless than you ever were, Katsuro." A sneer appeared on her lips.
"Perhaps he is already walking farther down that path than you ever managed." Katsuro swallowed. For once, he found himself unable to answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the unconscious Ming. Then toward the bandages. Then toward the floor.
A helpless thought crossed his mind. Well... what exactly am I supposed to say? He is Xuan Yin Wuming, after all.
Katsuro looked at Meihua for several moments before finally speaking. "Don't take your anger over failure out on me, Meihua." His voice remained calm, but there was irritation hidden beneath it. "You failed at your schemes. Just admit it." The moment those words left his mouth, Meihua's eyes widened in disbelief before anger quickly replaced it. "Scheme?" she repeated. "What scheme?" Her voice rose slightly. "What exactly are you talking about, Katsuro?"
Katsuro frowned. "Don't play dumb with me. Didn't you send Elder Jiu?" He folded his arms. "For power scaling. To compare both children. To see where Ming stood against Wuming." The moment he said that, Meihua's expression changed completely. Confusion appeared on her face for a brief second before she replied sharply, "I never sent anyone."
Katsuro froze.
For the first time since entering the pavilion, he genuinely looked surprised.
His brows slowly furrowed.
If she didn't send Elder Jiu...Then who did?
The thought lingered in his mind. Because if it wasn't Meihua, then someone else had arranged everything from the shadows. Someone who wanted the match to happen. Someone who wanted Excusatio against Excusatio.
Meanwhile Meihua's anger only continued growing.
"You call this revenge?" she asked coldly. "You seriously call this revenge?" Her gaze shifted toward Ming's unconscious body lying on the bed. "He toyed with my son's life, Katsuro."
Katsuro's expression hardened. "And you toyed with his." The room fell silent. Meihua's entire body stiffened. Katsuro stared directly into her eyes. "There is no difference between you and him right now." His words struck harder than any slap.
"The only difference is that he outsmarted you." Katsuro continued calmly. "He took the initiative before you did. He destroyed your plans before they even had the chance to fully bloom." He looked toward Ming briefly before turning back toward her. "And now you're angry because your hopes were crushed."
Meihua's hands trembled.
Not from sadness.
From rage.
Pure rage.
Katsuro sighed.
"For God's sake, don't do anything stupid." His gaze sharpened slightly. "The court session is only a few days away. The last thing you need right now is to make yourself look guilty."
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and walked toward the exit.
The pavilion doors opened. Then closed behind him. For several seconds nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody dared. Then suddenly—"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Meihua's scream exploded throughout the entire pavilion. The physicians nearly dropped their medicine bowls. Several servants outside stumbled in shock. The air itself seemed to tremble. Her elegant composure shattered completely. Veins appeared across her neck as spiritual energy leaked from her body uncontrollably.
The skin around her arms slowly turned red. Her chest rose and fell violently. Years. Years of planning. Years of expectations. Years spent believing Ming would finally stand above Wuming. All of it had been destroyed in a single afternoon. Not only defeated.
Humiliated.
Crushed.
Toyed with.
The worst part wasn't Ming's defeat. The worst part was that Wuming had done it while remaining completely calm. As though none of it mattered. As though Ming had never been a threat to begin with.
End of 73