Chapter 32

Just the thought that being forced off the cliff now was actually something his disciple had been plotting for decades made Yu Sheng's heart feel like it was being swept by cold winds and scattered leaves.

More terrifying than being seen through from the very beginning was the realization that today’s tragedy had long been predetermined—a result that was nearly irretrievable, even if the world didn’t face the apocalypse.

Indeed… what kind of precious artifact was the Linglong Luo? Even for the Ghost King Yin Wangzhi, it would be difficult to find such a suitable artifact and prepare so thoroughly in just a few short years after the apocalypse’s revelation. Conspiracy—this was all a conspiracy!

A wave of grievance surged within Yu Sheng, and his sharply focused gaze landed squarely on Yin Wangzhi's face, causing the latter to feel an involuntary sense of guilt.

All the mental preparation, determination, and subsequent plans collapsed in that instant, leaving even the usually fearless Ghost King momentarily at a loss, loosening his grip slightly.

Yin Wangzhi was thrown into a panic under Yu Sheng's intense gaze; he instinctively took a step back, and that single inch allowed his arm to relax a bit, causing the oppressive aura surrounding him to retreat sharply. If Yu Sheng truly wanted to run or escape, that would be the biggest flaw, an opening that could be successfully exploited.

But he clearly didn’t understand why he felt panicked, nor did he comprehend why his master showed such an expression. Everything was beyond expectation, far exceeding the bounds of reason, logic, and understanding.

Yu Sheng also felt that Yin Wangzhi’s actions, thoughts, and emotions were not within the realm of normal comprehension, far surpassing his imagination.

The two fell into a silent gaze, reading confusion, bewilderment, and a complex mix of helplessness in each other’s eyes.

One thought, the protagonist's heart is as hard to find as a needle in the sea.

The other pondered, the master’s heart is unfathomable.

What should have developed into an atmosphere of subtle ambiguity or suppressed danger was suddenly shattered by humanity’s insatiable curiosity, dissipating almost entirely.

A small, white ball of fluff, which had remained silent and had almost no presence, quietly lay to the side. As time passed, it had gradually become softer, like a hamster, its three-dimensional form diminishing significantly, becoming increasingly flat and round.

Yet, the change in form did not equate to a weakening of its intelligence. Quite the opposite; it had entered a low-power state, transmitting most of the visuals and sounds, effectively becoming Wen Jiu’s eyes and ears.

At this moment, witnessing the scene before him, the little white ball of fluff had a meaningful glimmer in its beady eyes—if beady eyes could convey meaning—seemingly suggesting that perhaps this was the essence of using softness to overcome hardness, of winning without making a move. As expected, the old ginger was indeed the spiciest.

Far away, busy with his tasks, Wen Jiu suddenly sighed in relief, marveling at how reassuring his master was.

Unaware of the growing stature of Yu Sheng’s personal image, the latter was still diligently trying to probe the depths of Yin Wangzhi’s heart, which was like a needle at the bottom of the sea.

Upon careful reflection, Yu Sheng realized that the image of the white-haired elder had long been seen through by Yin Wangzhi. However, this made Yin Wangzhi’s reasoning—that “because he was severely deceived, he must pull his master out of his happy pastoral life for revenge”—invalid. The later reasoning—that “because his master had been kind to him, he could not allow him to perish with the Three Realms and must ensure he lived out his days peacefully”—was also nonexistent, since the apocalypse of the Three Realms had not occurred decades ago.

At that time, Yin Wangzhi’s persona had not collapsed yet… So what exactly made him so determined to make Yu Sheng leave?

Yu Sheng pondered seriously, and even the feelings of grievance and sorrow faded somewhat. Unable to help himself, he asked, “So, Yin Wangzhi, have you seen through my illusion all along?”

Yin Wangzhi was still caught in a chaotic mix of thoughts and emotions, where his greatest skills in combat and ruthlessness were rendered useless. Upon hearing the question, he could only nod silently.

“You know I’m not just Yu Xian, and you know my true identity?”

Yin Wangzhi nodded, then shook his head.

“You’ve learned so much yet pretended not to see through it, planning to find a way to push me off the cliff first? Afraid that if you expose everything, I’d be even less willing to leave?”

Yin Wangzhi nodded again, a trace of seriousness on his face.

The chair, bang—there was no more chance for a chair bang. The once-dominant powerhouse, caught up in the strange atmosphere of his master, found it difficult to extricate himself. The kingly aura he radiated could not manifest, leaving behind a heavy sense of sorrow and isolation, as if he were merely a pitiful person being reprimanded and questioned by a mentor, standing in place, unable to help but reflect on what he had done wrong.

Feeling guilty, lost, and at a loss.

Yu Sheng let out a long, slow sigh. As soon as he did, Yin Wangzhi’s nerves tensed, the muscles in his fingers tightening as he quietly clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on Yu Sheng, afraid he would reveal disappointment, sadness, or any other negative emotions, fearing Yu Sheng might harbor unspoken bad thoughts that he couldn’t detect.

Yu Sheng remained silent for a moment, and Yin Wangzhi didn’t dare make a sound, only feeling the alcohol rising, alternating between hot and cold.

What pressure, what inviting someone into a trap, what forced coercion, what overbearing dominance… cough, all the plans that had seemed so good and the possibilities that had seemed so promising now felt like a joke.

What… what had he originally intended to do?

Yin Wangzhi made an effort to return his thoughts to their original track, struggling to remember what he had done not long ago.

Bringing his master back to the Ghost Realm, bringing his master to his palace, getting him drunk, testing and inquiring about his feelings, confessing, proving everything to him, trying every means to make his master his…

He prided himself on never having softened his heart; the only option he had ever considered was to “obtain.” If he couldn’t have it, he would take it. He was the strongest in the Ghost Realm, never knowing what fear was.

He had thought about sparring with his master.

In the Ghost Realm, there was an acknowledged rule, even a custom: when two people sparred, the victor could make a request. Just like the “human sentiment” valued in the human world, if one owed someone, they had to repay it; accepting kindness always came at a price.

His master hadn’t refused to spar…

Even if he ultimately couldn’t win, he had made plans to cheat.

He wanted to get his master drunk and take him away. He also wanted to know how his master would react if all these plans were no longer concealed. Would his master want to run away, or would he accept him?

He had thought he already had the answer, but Yu Sheng’s reaction left him uncertain.

But now… how did it end up like this?

Was the crux of the issue the cliff? Was his behavior back then… too excessive? Was it his own inadequacy that made his master sad?

One confusing question after another disrupted the Ghost King’s rhythm, gradually reminding him that matters of the heart seemed far more complex and tortuous than he had imagined. It wasn’t something that could be resolved simply by obtaining and possessing.

In just a few breaths, Yin Wangzhi, who was the laziest to think and habitually resolved everything through action, had already completed the process of confusion, reflection, analysis, and entanglement. The deep, murky depths of his eyes gradually revealed glimmers of understanding.

He had thought he was fearless enough, but he didn’t expect that, throughout, he had made so many roundabout, cautious, and timid plans, implementing so many hesitant actions.

He was just a thin layer of realization away from complete enlightenment, his emotions rising and falling, his gaze illuminated by the astonishment and shock that followed.

“Master…”

He murmured, feeling the pride of having deceived his master and feigned ignorance in front of him vanish entirely, replaced by an unbearable embarrassment for his past self.

Yu Sheng also returned from the brink of distraction and contemplation, raising his eyes to meet his.

Yin Wangzhi called out to him once more, “Master.” This time, his tone and emotions carried a subtle shift; the turbulence in his heart was hard to suppress, gradually permeating his entire being and manifesting in his demeanor, movements, and words.

If calling him “master” before was a spur-of-the-moment whim, a stopgap measure for future advantage, then this time, the title was used with genuine seriousness, imbued with the respect it deserved. It was a heartfelt acknowledgment, full of longing, while subtly repressing the feelings that had already taken shape, containing countless words within.

Yu Sheng looked at him, and in response to his change, he didn’t show much surprise, perhaps because he was unaware or because he felt everything was as expected.

“My good disciple.”

With this heavy response, the previously elusive question now had a definitive answer. It acknowledged the title of “master” and continued to accept him, conveying, “I know.”

Yu Sheng had always felt that being “known” by someone was a rare and important thing. He rarely felt truly known—whether it was about his desires, the obstacles preventing him from stepping forward, the reasons behind his choices, or the emotions he felt that were different from others.

Perhaps it was because others often “didn’t know” him, which made him eager to give away that which he could never obtain, without hesitation.

Yin Wangzhi restrained the oppressive aura that could darken at any moment, suppressing emotions that were almost interrogative and unwilling, transforming the looming storm into a quiet calm.

He stepped back with his right leg and knelt on one knee before Yu Sheng. As Yu Sheng extended his hand, Yin Wangzhi slowly lowered his gaze, allowing his master’s palm to gently descend upon him.

He thought Yu Sheng would want to pat his head, but instead, it landed on his shoulder.

Surprise flickered in Yin Wangzhi's eyes as he silently observed—he had always thought that his master would pat or touch his shoulder because he couldn’t reach his head, because he wouldn’t bow his head or kneel easily.

Yu Sheng chuckled and told him to rise. “There’s no need for this; if you’re shy, don’t force yourself.” If you keep kneeling, your character as the proud, cold, ruthless villain will really be lost. This isn’t being influenced by me; it’s a forceful transformation into a righteous character!

A thought stirred in Yin Wangzhi's heart. He knew he wasn’t like Zhan Xiaotian, who had such a thick skin.

This subtle recognition didn’t evoke jealousy; instead, it filled his heart with a warm and dangerous current. He slightly narrowed his eyes, and the edge he had just restrained began to emerge again.

—Master, this is what you said you didn’t want.

He didn’t need to bow his head, didn’t want to force him, and didn’t want him to change for the sake of his master.

The Ghost King had only humbled himself before one person in his life. If that person was too “considerate” and wouldn’t accept it…

Then he couldn’t be blamed for being selfish and greedy.

Yin Wangzhi seized his wrist, gripping it firmly. As a smile bloomed, his brow slightly furrowed, and his gaze shifted, his entire aura transformed in an instant, his eyes sharp and captivating.

“Master, I…”

Yu Sheng also smiled sincerely, thinking he had guessed the latter half of the sentence, and cheerfully replied, “Let’s spar!”

Great! The villainous aura of the second disciple has returned!

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