Encountering an Old Acquaintance

Xiao Ruobai and Fang Hanyu did not enter the imperial palace directly. Instead, they went to the end of a street on the western side, arriving at a courtyard carved with bloody memories.

Three years ago, this was the last refuge for him and his father, Xiao Zhan, while fleeing for their lives. Now, only broken walls and ruins remained.

The vermilion courtyard door had rotted to a mere half, creaking in the wind as if weeping over the tragedy of that year.

Only the crooked old locust tree in the corner of the wall retained the appearance from his memory.

"We are here."

Xiao Ruobai's voice was as heavy as ice-quenched iron. His footsteps fell on the gravel path, each step feeling as though he were stepping into the pools of blood from that stormy night three years ago.

He clearly remembered the deafening crash when the Imperial Guards smashed the courtyard doors that night, shaking the dust from the roof beams. His father had grabbed his wrist and rushed toward the outside of the manor. The Northern Frontier's God of War had his spear confiscated by the royal family long ago, so he met the blades of the imperial troops barehanded.

A long blade had slashed his father's back, leaving a wound so deep the bone was visible. Blood soaked his gray cloth robes, yet he always shielded Ruobai behind him. The words, "Ruobai, hold on tight to your father," were squeezed through his teeth, the warm spray of blood mist hitting his ear.

It was not until they broke out of the borders of the Great Yan Dynasty that his father could no longer hold on. He closed his eyes, and his final words, "Survive," became an obsession Xiao Ruobai dared not and could not forget over the past three years.

Fang Hanyu followed behind, watching the wild grass in the courtyard grow past their knees. The collapsed doorframes of the side rooms still bore the marks of cleaving blades. The character "Xiao" embroidered on the scattered scraps of cloth had long faded, yet one could still see the former orderliness of the General's Manor.

Although he had not personally experienced such a clan-exterminating disaster, he could read the three years of suppressed hatred from Xiao Ruobai's tense, pale shoulders. It was a hatred that soaked into the very marrow, a resentment that made him grind his teeth even in his dreams.

The two stepped into the main hall. The roof had long collapsed for the most part, allowing sunlight to stream through the holes and cast mottled shadows on the dust-covered floor.

Xiao Ruobai walked straight to the corner where the ancestral tablets were once enshrined. The altar table there had long rotted away, but the positions of the spirit tablets from back then could still be vaguely discerned.

He took out two red sandalwood boxes from his storage ring. Opening them with trembling fingertips, he revealed the spirit tablets of Xiao Zhan and his mother, the wood warm and smooth.

He had carved them himself from Supreme Profound Wood while fleeing all those years ago.

For three years, he had carried the spirit tablets close to his body. The edges had been repeatedly rubbed smooth and shiny, and even the carved grooves of the four characters "Xiao Zhan" and "Su Wan" were steeped in his body heat.

He found a relatively flat bluestone slab, swept away the dust with his spiritual energy, placed the two spirit tablets upright, and lit the plain incense he had prepared beforehand.

As the blue smoke curled upward, Xiao Ruobai kowtowed deeply to the spirit tablets. His forehead pressed against the cold stone slab, his voice carrying a suppressed but absolute resolution.

"Father, Mother, your son has returned. Those Imperial Guards who slaughtered our General's Manor, that foolish emperor who decreed our clan's extermination, I will not let a single one of them go.

For the blood debt owed to our Xiao family, I will make them repay it one by one, with interest!!"

Fang Hanyu stood to the side with his head bowed, his grip on the Taichu Sword quietly tightening.

Looking at the two faintly glowing spirit tablets, he thought of his own parents who had died tragically in the conspiracies of the Dayan Holy Land.

His enemy was the lofty Holy Land, far harder to shake than the Great Yan Dynasty. But looking at Xiao Ruobai's straight back at this moment, he had only one thought in his mind.

One day, he too would be like his senior martial brother, wielding his sword to shatter the mountain gates of the Holy Land, paying blood for blood.

Xiao Ruobai carefully stored the spirit tablets back into his storage ring. When he turned around, the grief in his eyes had entirely transformed into a sharp killing intent. The golden battle qi around his body surged restlessly, as if trying to break free of its restraints.

He looked up toward the direction of the imperial palace, his will to fight surging.

Just as Xiao Ruobai stepped out of the General's Manor and prepared to head toward the imperial palace, a strange sensation suddenly brushed the back of his neck.

It was the keen intuition forged from three years of fleeing, as if a quiet yet focused gaze had landed on him from the shadows.

"Who is there?"

Xiao Ruobai spun around abruptly, the Nine Heavens Dragon Soul Halberd held horizontally across his chest. Golden battle qi flowed at the tip of the halberd. His gaze swept over the distant, half-collapsed brick walls, eventually locking onto the crooked old locust tree in the corner.

In the shade of the tree, a seated figure leaned against the trunk, covered in a washed-out, old cloth shirt. His aura was steady but weak; if one did not sense carefully, he almost blended in completely with the surrounding dead branches.

He lifted his halberd and walked forward slowly, battle qi quietly gathering in his palm. These ruins had rarely seen visitors, so a rashly appearing figure was inevitably suspicious.

But the moment he drew near and saw the person's face clearly, his pupils contracted sharply. The battle qi around his body uncontrollably dissipated by more than half, and even his voice carried a trembling disbelief: "Uncle... Uncle Ye?"

The person leaning against the tree was a middle-aged man, yet at this moment, he appeared aged and decadent.

His gray cloth shirt was torn and tattered, and his exposed arms were covered in bruised and purple scars. Some had formed black scabs, while others were still seeping blood.

He was curled up in a pile of dry grass, his legs twisted at an unnatural angle, evidently broken long ago.

The most shocking thing was his dantian. The area that should have been gathering spiritual energy was now just a dead, sunken hollow. Clearly, someone had forcibly crippled his cultivation, completely severing his meridians.

But even in such a wretched state, Xiao Ruobai recognized him at a glance. On that face covered in wrinkles and grime, the contours of the past could still be vaguely seen, especially the small black mole at the corner of his left eye, a mark he always loved to reach out and touch as a child.

Xiao Ruobai recognized him instantly: Ye Wentian, his father Xiao Zhan's life-and-death brother from the Northern Frontier military camp, and the most outstanding, fierce general under his father's command.

Ever since his father voluntarily handed over part of his military power to avoid the suspicion of his merits outshining the master, it was Ye Wentian who took over the heavy responsibility, stationed at the borders year-round.

He was rough but detail-oriented. Every time he won a battle and captured rare spiritual herbs or warming jades, he would immediately dispatch fast horses to deliver them back to the General's Manor to nourish Xiao Ruobai's body.

Hearing the words "Uncle Ye," the old man leaning against the tree trembled slightly, a sudden light flashing in his murky eyes.

Propping himself up against the trunk, he slowly sat up straight. Though his voice was hoarse, it still carried the toughness of a soldier: "Young Master? Is it really you? You are still alive, that is wonderful!"

Xiao Ruobai hurriedly stepped forward, carefully supporting Ye Wentian. When his fingertips touched the man's cold skin and stiff joints, his heart ached as if pierced by needles.

"Uncle Ye, it is me, it is Ruobai. How did you end up like this? Your legs, and your cultivation... These past three years... what exactly did you go through?"

Ye Wentian sighed, waving his hand, his tone calm but unable to hide his desolation.

It turned out that back then, while Ye Wentian was guarding the border pass and had just led his soldiers to repel the invading enemies, he received the secret report about the incident at the General's Manor.

He entrusted the post-battle inventory to his lieutenant and, without even taking off his armor, mounted his warhorse and rode through the night toward the imperial capital.

He sought an audience with the emperor, wanting to defend Xiao Zhan.

But the guards at the palace gates blocked his entry, stating that His Majesty was seeing no one. He only waited until a eunuch delivered the decree with an expressionless face: "The evidence of Xiao Zhan's treason is conclusive. His Majesty has ordered that anyone who dares to plead for mercy will be treated as an accomplice!"

How could he be willing to just give up like that?

Taking advantage of the dark, he sneaked out of the imperial capital, wanting to find Xiao Zhan and his son.

But the moment he stepped out of the city gates, he was completely surrounded by imperial guards who had been lying in ambush. It turned out the Emperor had long seen through his intentions and never intended to let him leave the imperial capital.

The guards dragged him back to the palace plaza. There, in front of the entire court of civil and military officials and the ranks of the imperial army, the Emperor personally stepped forward.

Before Ye Wentian could even open his mouth, the Emperor struck his dantian with a heavy palm. A tyrannical surge of spiritual energy instantly invaded his body, shattering his dantian on the spot. Amidst agonizing pain, the meridians in his four limbs snapped inch by inch.

"Considering the many years you spent guarding the borders, if not for your merits, then for your hard work, I shall spare your life."

The Emperor's voice was bone-chillingly cold, devoid of the slightest warmth.

"Throw him back into the ruins of the General's Manor! Let him take a good look at how the 'loyal subject' he served implicated his entire family, and how this manor was reduced from a place of glory to a pile of rubble!"

And just like that, Ye Wentian was tossed here like a piece of trash.

Fortunately, the neighborhood locals knew that Ye Wentian was once a military commander of the Northern Frontier. They would occasionally offer him some food and supplies, which was the only reason he managed to survive.