Miao Yu, a captivating smile playing on her lips, glided away with a graceful sway.

The White Bone Envoy was a man of veiled depths. Though they had shared considerable time, his true nature remained an enigma to her.

Today’s behavior could have been a probe, a test to ascertain if she had indeed found the Dao Zi. Or perhaps, it was a subtle caution, a reminder to tread warily and avoid revealing her discovery.

They had all converged upon the White Bone Path, bound by a shared aspiration. Yet, beneath that ultimate goal, each harbored their own intricate designs.

As for the Second Elder, his disposition was far more transparent. He seemed utterly indifferent to the fruits of Miao Yu’s interrogation. Perchance he was wholly unconnected to the incident of Ji Xuan, or perhaps he was already certain that Miao Yu would uncover nothing.

This cunning old fox, she would not even bother to divine his thoughts. To do so would only lead her astray, leaving her even further from understanding his intricate mind.

The contingent tasked with monitoring the thread concerning the abduction of the aquatic race was not substantial.

Miao Yu had not breathed a word of her intended presence at the Qingjiang riverbank. Therefore, anyone who could surmise her location must possess an intimate familiarity with her movements.

She had no inkling as to the identity of the clandestine figure transmitting messages. Interrogating them one by one would be a futile endeavor, for they might genuinely be ignorant of the truth.

The prospect of the Dao Zi’s exposure weighed heavily upon her. Having narrowly escaped the jaws of death, this anxiety now manifested with an unrestrained intensity.

But now, the White Bone Envoy clearly harbored suspicions, and the Second Elder was no fool either.

Upon descending into the mortal realm, the Dao Zi would not awaken immediately. Instead, he would be ensnared by every experience after his birth, followed by a protracted process of struggle and awakening. Before this transformation, the Dao Zi was not inherently powerful; his strength was solely dictated by the cultivation he attained after birth.

This also implied a significant possibility: the Dao Zi could very well be destroyed… or even supplanted before his awakening.

This was the very reason Miao Yu acted in secrecy, particularly after the Great Elder displayed a distinct lack of interest in the search for the Dao Zi.

As the Holy Maiden and the Dao Zi’s destined counterpart in the mortal realm, her purpose was to accelerate the Dao Zi’s awakening.

Thus, upon discerning Jiang Wang as the Dao Zi’s incarnation, she had meticulously arranged three matters.

These three matters represented three distinct choices.

She yearned to shake, even dismantle, Jiang Wang’s existing moral framework, and then guide him in the arduous task of rediscovering himself.

The first matter compelled him to contemplate the state and the court; the second spurred him to ponder the relationship between the human and aquatic races, and the very nature of humanity itself.

The final, the third matter… would have to be deferred.

The Great Elder had encountered some unforeseen predicament in the Yun Country and was temporarily incommunicado. The Second Elder and the White Bone Envoy exhibited equivocal stances. Now was not an auspicious time.

After all, the currents were far too perilous at this moment. She thought.

She returned to her chamber, her mind a turbulent sea of unease.

To the extent that she had forgotten her own nature – she had never been one to cower before danger.

…

…

When he was but a callow youth, his father had told Jiang Wang that the aquatic race were beings who resided in the waters.

Much like humans, they possessed their own thoughts and emotions, their own families and companions, their own intricate webs of love and animosity.

In truth, this was a common understanding among the populace.

This consensus did not arise from thin air; it was the product of millennia of interaction and adaptation between the human and aquatic races, and the concerted efforts of countless sagacious individuals from both sides.

And now, someone was clandestinely abducting the aquatic race, extracting their Dao veins to forge Opening Pulse Pills. It was as if, to obtain the perfect Opening Pulse Pill, humans could, without a moment’s hesitation, tear out the Dao veins of cultivators.

This stark reality plunged Jiang Wang into a maelstrom of chaos and absurdity.

“You think such things don’t happen?” Zhao Ru Cheng’s face was flushed from drink, his words flowing with an uncharacteristic ease.

The hour was late, and Jiang An An had long since surrendered to slumber. Having completed his cultivation, Jiang Wang still found sleep elusive, so he had ventured out in the dead of night to seek out Ling He and Zhao Ru Cheng.

The three sworn brothers had gathered at Zhao Ru Cheng’s dwelling to imbibe, their spirits growing warm and mellow.

When the conversation drifted to the burdens weighing on his heart, the youngest, Zhao Ru Cheng, was the most dismissive.

“Those who devour others are legion, and Xiong Wen is merely one of them!” He laughed, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol: “You believe? It’s simply that many do not consume directly; they devise other means, and thus you all deem those who devour others to be few. Third brother, you are far too naive!”

“Your third brother is not naive,” Ling He had also drunk deeply, yet he was the kind who, even inebriated, would not descend into wild abandon. He half-reclined in the chair, inhaled slowly, and spoke: “He possesses convictions he holds dear.”

“Then what of you, my esteemed elder brother, what are your convictions?” Zhao Ru Cheng patted his knee and grinned broadly: “So young, yet you conduct yourself as a benevolent elder every day. What is the reason for this?”

“I believe in the inherent goodness of human nature. I believe that no one truly desires to consume another; often, it is born of necessity, and given a choice, they would not resort to such acts. I believe that everyone yearns to stand unsullied beneath the benevolent rays of the sun.”

“Third brother is somewhat naive… you, however, are simply foolish!” Zhao Ru Cheng was slightly unsteady and simply leaned upon the armrest, waving his hand with forceful abandon: “Do not grant such people a single chance!”

Jiang Wang lay sprawled upon the table, poured another cup for himself, and with the flush of alcohol upon his face, narrowed his eyes and declared: “Elder brother is the kind of person who harbors no ill intent towards others; there are many deeds he would never commit, and thus he assumes others would not either.”

“Hearts are fashioned from flesh, after all.” Perhaps he had imbibed too much, for Ling He seemed somewhat obstinate tonight. Or perhaps, he was inherently stubborn but refrained from arguing when sober.

“Some flesh is afflicted with sores; it is rotten!”

“Before it is riddled with sores, however, it is good.”

“No, no, no, the hearts of some people are not made of flesh; they are naught but rotten sores from the very beginning!”

“Nonsense, little fifth. Rotten sores cannot form a heart.”

Ling He was truly intoxicated. It had been a long time since they had used the moniker “little fifth” when they were together.

Zhao Ru Cheng giggled gleefully: “Not everyone is human, my foolish elder brother.”

“But not everyone is not human either.” Jiang Wang, who was observing with a keen eye, accurately seized upon the flaw and spoke with conviction: “The reason people are people is because the vast majority of people are people. Otherwise, why would we not call ourselves ghosts?”

He drunkenly raised his right hand high: “Therefore, I declare! Elder brother is in the right!”

Ling He grinned, a genuine, innocent satisfaction radiating from him as he laughed.

“To hell with it!” Zhao Ru Cheng flopped over and lay back on the recliner: “This accursed place, I care not who lives or dies. Save for you lot, and Hu Zi…”

He suddenly burst into tears: “Woo woo woo. And Fang Peng Ju. That scoundrel Fang Peng Ju!”

Normally, he was the one who displayed the least regard for Fang Peng Ju. It was only in this unrestrained, drunken state that such sentiments would escape his lips.

Jiang Wang swayed unsteadily and poured another cup for himself, raising it: “A toast to that scoundrel Fang Peng Ju.”

And drained it in a single gulp.

Zhao Ru Cheng cried for a while, then ceased, and angrily declared: “Hu Zi has been in Jiujiang for so long and has not sent us a single message; he is also a scoundrel!”

“Aye, another scoundrel!”

Ling He, half-drunk and half-awake, suddenly corrected them: “It is tiger scoundrel.”

…

Uncle Deng had, at some point, leaned against the doorway, his hands tucked into his sleeves, listening to the sounds emanating from within the room, and sighed deeply, his voice heavy with emotion: “They are still but children…”

The night wind whispered through his sleeves, and a single drop of blood fell in silence.

But before it could touch the ground, it was dispersed by some unseen force, vanishing into nothingness.