Wang Lin withdrew his gaze, the sorrow within unseen by Wang Ping.

None knew the true reason he forbade Wang Ping from the path of cultivation. Sun Tai knew it not, nor did Wang Ping. Only Wang Lin himself understood the root of it all.

He could not bring himself to speak the truth to Wang Ping. For Wang Ping’s sake, he could not… and this had naught to do with the demise of Liu Mei…

The sigh that echoed in his heart was unheard by Wang Ping as well.

His gaze fell upon the fields beyond the carriage window, and Wang Lin lapsed into silence.

Within the carriage, Wang Ping was similarly quiet. The silence between father and son grew heavy, like a shroud.

At long last, Wang Ping turned, regarding his father. From this angle, the wrinkles upon his face seemed deeper etched. A pang of tenderness pierced his heart, and he whispered, “Father, I was wrong.”

Wang Lin turned, offering a gentle smile, but spoke no words.

Qishui City, a jewel among the three great Empires of Ranyun Star, stood as the secondary capital of the Qin Dynasty, second only to the Royal City in its splendor. Its proximity to the great rivers swelled its bustling heart with life.

The carriage rumbled into the city and halted before an inn. Wang Lin and his son alighted, stepping into the vibrant heart of the metropolis.

Never before had Wang Ping witnessed such a clamorous city. He gazed about, seemingly forgetting all past discord.

Within an opulent tavern in the eastern district, Wang Lin strode, a hostler rushing forth with a beaming smile, leading father and son to a window-side table in the great hall. Before long, dishes and flagons were brought forth.

Perhaps it was Wang Ping’s comely visage, but as he sat, he drew the gazes of many women within the hall. Such attention was not new to him, having been commonplace during his youth in the village.

Wang Lin did not touch the food, but lifted a flagon, taking a deep draught. His expression remained serene. Wang Ping tasted his drink sparingly.

“From this day forth, we shall dwell here. We shall seek a dwelling anon,” Wang Lin declared, setting down his flagon.

Wang Ping nodded, a smile gracing his lips. “Father, this place is agreeable. Having grown accustomed to mountains and seas, this bustling city feels like a sudden immersion into the world of men.”

No sooner had Wang Ping spoken than a snort echoed from a nearby table.

Three sat there: an aged man with silvered hair and robes of brocade, his bearing regal. Though his eyes were dim, a palpable aura of nobility surged with each blink.

Beside him sat two others, a man and a woman. The man was handsome, his frame lithe, clad in violet robes embroidered with threads of gold. He radiated an air of opulent nobility.

The woman, barely two decades old, possessed a cascade of raven tresses. Though not divinely beautiful, she carried herself with a spirited grace.

The snorter was the man in violet.

“The simpleton is amusing. He claims to have seen mountains and streams, and speaks of worldly matters, likely having never before stepped within Qishui City,” the violet-clad youth tittered to the woman beside him.

His words were spoken loud enough to reach Wang Ping’s ears without fail. Wang Ping’s brow furrowed, but he remained silent.

Wang Lin, however, lifted his own flagon, taking another draught, his eyes casually sweeping across the trio at the other table.

The woman, likewise, creased her brow and whispered, “Is it truly so amusing?”

The youth chuckled. “Why, Qingyi, does it not amuse you?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the woman’s face as she turned her head away.

The youth snarled inwardly. The only reason he had chortled at Wang Ping was because the aloof Qingyi had glanced his way when he entered.

Given his status, he would not have deigned to dine in such a place had it not been for her. Seeing her reaction, he turned back to Wang Ping, fixing him with a dark stare.

“Such a face, were it upon a woman, would be a vision of alluring beauty. Alas, it is wasted upon a man… though perhaps fit for the role of a courtesan,” the violet-clad youth purred.

Having endured enough provocation, Wang Ping set down his chopsticks, turning to face the youth. “A grand visage you possess. Were it upon a man, it might be considered handsome. Alas, it is wasted upon a beast.”

The violet-clad youth’s face darkened, but before he could reply, the silver-haired elder bellowed, “Has Jingyaxuan fallen so low as to admit the unmannered? If your elders lack the will to teach you respect, I shall offer a lesson myself!” With that, the elder flicked his chopsticks, sending them hurtling towards Wang Ping’s shoulders with the speed of lightning. Should they strike true, Wang Ping’s hands would be crippled for life.

The woman gasped, leaping to her feet to intercept the deadly implements.

Yet, in the very instant they flew, the chopsticks seemed to lose their force, falling gently at Wang Ping’s side. A chilling glint flashed in Wang Lin’s eyes as he set down his flagon, raising his gaze to the silver-haired elder.

A single glance.

The elder shuddered, as if struck by a thousand thunderbolts. The gaze was a blade, piercing his eyes, cleaving his mind, searing his soul, threatening to shatter his very essence, to extinguish his inner flame and sunder his Golden Core.

His body froze, seized by uncontrollable tremors.

“This… This is…?” the elder’s mind reeled, his scalp crawling. A piercing pain bloomed in his brow, as if the gaze had pierced his very skull.

His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to explode. A cold sweat slicked his skin, as if he stood naked before a fearsome foe.

All that he was crumbled before that single gaze.

A line of crimson flowed from the corner of his lips, tinged with gold. His Golden Core had cracked, its energy bleeding into his veins.

The elder was a cultivator, a Core Formation cultivator. The youth had barely begun his Qi Refining, while the woman had yet to reach Foundation Establishment.

Since a Core Formation cultivator would so readily inflict such cruelty upon a mortal, Wang Lin would not hesitate to unleash his wrath.

Especially when the target was Wang Lin’s own son.

“You…” The elder’s chair splintered beneath him as he crashed to the floor, his face ashen. He fumbled for a medicinal pill from his storage pouch, gulping it down before crushing a jade talisman of communication.

Silence blanketed the tavern. Many patrons were bewildered, but some, more astute, hastily paid their bills and fled.

The violet-clad youth stood frozen, his eyes fixed on Wang Lin and his son, his expression a mask of dark fury.

The woman stood motionless, staring at Wang Ping and Wang Lin, her face reflecting the shock of the sudden turn of events.

“My son needs no lessons from you,” Wang Lin said, reclaiming his flagon and taking another drink.