Before the words had even fully fallen, Chen Yi raised his hand and said, "I am part of the Lin Party—I share in the misdeeds."

Wei Wuque paused for a moment, then let out a few awkward chuckles before smoothing things over: "It seems you once earned Lin Ge-lao's admiration. 'A gentleman dies for one who understands him,' certainly an admirable sentiment. But why engage in deeds that reject the world's sustenance? Loyalty is commendable, but this is mere blind loyalty."

"I was the first to betray Lin Ge-lao back then."

Wei Wuque fell into silence on the spot.

Chen Yi met his gaze and shook his head slightly. Wei Wuque was laying the bait—how could he not hear it?

But wasn't he the one who, just half a year ago, managed to flee the Capital City, escaping Anhou's grasp? Now that he hadn't even warmed his seat, he was being asked to serve someone else?

After a long pause, Wei Wuque finally spoke again:

"If you work with me, reinstating your previous rank—or even advancing to higher positions—would not be out of the question."

The words were rather dry. Moments earlier, the appeal to loyalty had failed; now he was directly offering the lure of benefits.

If things were as they used to be, perhaps Chen Yi might half consider, but now that he had nearly severed ties with the palace, he decided it wasn't worth it.

He reached into his robes and touched the jade pendant hanging beneath. "Wei Seatmaster, I've wandered the Jianghu for too long—attempting to bring me into the fold is pointless. I'm someone who was born just wanting to live well. I'd much rather be Chu Liuxiang, or Lu Xiaofeng."

Wei Wuque, naturally, had heard of the government cat and rat figures mentioned—the loyal and resourceful characters of public-case martial arts novels like 'Three Heroes and Five Gallants.' They assisted the government, aiding virtuous officials to punish evil and defend good. But as for Chu Liuxiang and Lu Xiaofeng, he genuinely had no clue.

"Chu Liuxiang and Lu Xiaofeng—heroes from which region?"

"Wuxia storybooks, written by Ancient Dragon."

"I've never heard of them. Likely, they're not well-known in these parts."

Seeing Chen Yi's mind was firmly made up, Wei Wuque stopped trying to persuade him. He glanced at the lifeless Tang Ze on the ground, walked over, and pressed his hand to the corpse's face. With a sharp pull, he tore off a mask, revealing a blood-streaked face underneath.

Wei Wuque spoke slowly:

"So it really is the Sect Leader of the Kunlun Sect. And you actually guessed it."

"I did consider the possibility that he was the Lonely Smoke Sword. But I always felt the Lonely Smoke Sword was stronger," Chen Yi replied thoughtfully.

The Lonely Smoke Sword and the Broken Swordsman hailed from the same master, and Chen Yi reckoned, by all accounts, the Lonely Smoke Sword should be of the Third Grade Realm, not Fourth Grade.

Moreover, having trained in the Killing Sword technique, Chen Yi understood that the Sword Intent of the Killing Sword leaned toward decisiveness—quite different from the joyous swiftness of the Killing Blade. The Killing Sword exuded an overwhelming resolve. The saying "A single sword bears true intent, enough to cleave two weights of the wind" captured its essence. If the sword mirrors its wielder, it would never resemble Tang Ze's timid, calculating, maneuvering ways.

Wei Wuque said, "He couldn't possibly be the Lonely Smoke Sword. He has neither seen the Lonely Smoke Sword's true face nor heard his voice."

"Not having seen the true face is understandable. But not having heard his voice?" Chen Yi asked, puzzled. "Could it be…"

Wei Wuque slowly revealed:

"The Lonely Smoke Sword cannot speak.

He is a wolf-child—a mute."

Chen Yi's expression shifted dramatically, his eyes narrowing slightly. Wei Wuque's words were utterly shocking.

The Lonely Smoke Sword, who shared the same master as the Broken Swordsman, was, incredibly, a wolf-child.

Wolf-children were those abandoned as infants or young children in remote wilderness, left to die at an age too young to speak. Some, by a rare twist of fate—or maybe misfortune—would be taken in and raised by mother wolves.

Those who survived grew into beings incapable of human speech, their minds murky, behaving much like their animal counterparts, living feral lives of tooth and claw.

And yet, someone like this could wield a sword, rise to the Third Grade Realm, roam the Jianghu for over a decade, and clash life-and-death with martial artists.

Chen Yi couldn't help asking, "Is this true?"

Wei Wuque replied with indifference, "Information from Xique Pavilion."

The weight behind those words was undeniable.

Chen Yi pondered momentarily, then asked, "So, he went to Chongyang Sword Pond, where his movements were discovered—and now a group of Western Jin spies is hiding his whereabouts. Is all of this true?"

Wei Wuque confirmed, "All true."

Chen Yi nodded, receiving confirmation from Wei Wuque. Even without additional details, he could discern many implications from this.

Wei Wuque turned and slowly walked to the edge of the roof, saying:

"Soon, I will send people to search this place thoroughly. If Min Qianhu is interested, he can come to Cui Feng Courtyard to seek me out—he will be greeted by the appropriate person at that time."

With that, Wei Wuque leapt from the roof, vanishing into the darkness of the night.

To him, tonight had been a series of unexpected developments. Chen Yi could easily guess that he would soon be preoccupied with matters concerning the new County Magistrate.

On the roof remained only Chen Yi, standing alone beneath the cold moon. The autumn wind swept in, brushing past the tips of his hair strands. He took a few leaps to reach the apex of the roof. Only now did he have the opportunity to overlook Shantong City—a mixture of what was once prosperous and what now lay in decline. Time hadn't yet struck midnight, not a curfew hour, yet the sparse lights of the city could be counted on one hand—mostly from brothels and entertainment houses, with the remainder coming from martial arts halls.

A faint breeze carried a trace of metallic blood scent. Beneath his feet, the commotion in the Qingfeng Hall lingered—the muffled panicked cries of Daoists rang out, still causing chaos. Chen Yi didn't need to guess to envision Yin Weiyin's detached and composed demeanor as he displayed his overt skill in front of the crowd. Chen Yi couldn't help but sneer softly.

The clouds drifted aside, letting moonlight illuminate his face. As the storm of blood and blades subsided, a serene calm emerged in Chen Yi. The dying obsession in Tang Ze's eyes, Zhao Yan's shocked expression as he met his end, and the varied faces of the Lifeng Pavilion assassins—each distinct—were like fleeting clouds, leaving behind no trace. Unaffected, he slowly wiped the blood off his sword, seated himself beneath the moon, and meditated in its glow.

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