30: Chapter 30: Once a prodigy, now a stray dog?

"Tsk."

The man at the lead was named Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei, the Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei of the Zhenwu Dynasty, sharing the same lineage as the Imperial Dynasty.

He let out a disdainful scoff from his throat.

The sound was like a blade wrapped in honey—sweet and sticky, yet cold and sharp, holding murderous intent within its gentleness.

The curve of his lips was full of playfulness and malice; it was the expression of a cat toying with a dying mouse, the pleasure of an executioner admiring the prey he was about to strike.

As the most favored eldest legitimate son of the Prince of Zhenbei, he had understood one truth since childhood: within this Imperial Dynasty, besides the one on the Dragon chair, their branch of the Li family—was the heavens.

He stepped forward with a composed yet arrogant pace.

His boot soles struck the cold flagstones, emitting a steady, unhurried tapping.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Each step felt like it was treading on the tip of one's heart, like a funeral bell tolling slowly in the quiet afternoon.

The sound echoed throughout the plaza, drowning out the wind, the distant voices of people, and Chu Zhanxiao's heavy, ragged breathing.

He stopped in front of the youth, looking down and examining him.

His gaze slowly swept over the youth's curled-up body—sweeping over that twisted, limp left arm hanging by his side, over the skin covered in filth and blood scabs, and over the rags that no longer resembled their original form.

His gaze was like he was examining a pile of filthy garbage, filled with pickiness, disgust, and a kind of high-and-mighty, self-evident contempt.

He was an Imperial Dynasty heir, while this thing curled up in the dust was nothing more than the remnant of a family that had been raided and exterminated.

Then, with the jade-encrusted tip of his boot, he kicked the youth's limp, already twisted and deformed left arm nonchalantly.

The movement was extremely light.

Light enough as if testing whether a piece of rotten wood still had sensation, as if confirming that a pile of garbage had not completely rotted away.

Yet, this light kick brought pain as if thousands of steel needles were piercing into his bone marrow simultaneously—the bones in this arm had long been shattered, broken into countless pieces, each one misaligned and grinding beneath the skin.

This kick caused those bone fragments to stab fiercely into the surrounding muscles and nerves.

Chu Zhanxiao's body trembled violently, yet he bit his teeth together tightly, not letting out a single sound.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..."

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei smacked his lips, drawing out his tone. Every syllable was laced with poison, dripping slowly from the tip of his tongue:

"Look, this thing lying on the ground... is this our Zhenwu Dynasty's once infinitely glorious, hailed as the once-in-ten-thousand-years—number one Prodigy, Chu, Zhan, Xiao?"

He enunciated this once-thunderous name word by word on purpose.

The tail of his tone rose, wrapped in thick, inseparable mockery.

It was as if he were reciting a joke, a massive joke worthy of everyone laughing together.

"Hahahaha!"

As soon as the words fell, the group of men and women in fine clothing surrounding them erupted into a burst of sharp, harsh, and undisguised laughter.

This laughter was like rusty, blunt knives, repeatedly cutting through the air and cutting through the youth's remaining self-esteem on the ground.

Some laughed until they were leaning back, some laughed while clutching their stomachs, and some laughed until tears came out—as if they had heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Prodigy?"

A sharp-mouthed, monkey-cheeked follower immediately bowed and leaned forward, his face full of nauseatingly flattering smiles.

He bent his waist and hunched his back, like a dog begging for scraps, shrilly echoing:

"Young Master Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei, no, Your Highness, please don't demean yourself by comparing him to that! What kind of damn Prodigy? He's just a crippled stray dog with a broken spine now, lying here, not even worth the dust on your soles!"

"Exactly!"

Another woman with a beautiful face but equally vicious eyes covered her mouth and giggled.

She wore a water-red Liuxian dress, the hem embroidered with exquisite butterflies, but her laughter was sharper than a viper's fangs:

"Great Prodigy Chu, where is that majesty of yours from back then, when you looked down on your peers and claimed you would suppress an entire era?"

"Oh my, why can't you even stand up now?"

"Do you want me to help you up?"

"However—I'm just afraid that your stench will soil my new dress!"

As she spoke, she pretended to be disgusted, pinching her nose and waving her other hand in front of her face, as if she really smelled something foul.

"Hahaha—"

Waves of ridicule rose higher and higher, unscrupulous, baring fangs and brandishing claws, as if to completely drown, suffocate, and crush the person on the ground in this laughter.

Chu Zhanxiao's chest rose and fell violently.

Like an old bellows, every breath pulled at the excruciating pain where his limbs were broken—this was the pain of bone shards grinding against bone shards, the pain of his Meridians being severed and still twitching, the pain of his internal organs being displaced and shattered.

A fishy sweetness surged to his throat, hot, with the scent of rust, bubbling up from his stomach, rushing straight to his throat.

He used all his strength, tightly, bit by bit, to swallow it back down.

The taste of blood permeated his mouth, mixed with hatred, mixed with humiliation, mixed with something more bitter than poison.

He slowly, with extreme difficulty, raised his head.

Matted, filthy hair stuck to his forehead, covering most of his face, but it could not hide those eyes—in the sunken eye sockets, they were covered in spiderweb-like scarlet bloodshot veins.

These bloodshot veins were dense and intertwined, almost bursting open, dyeing the entire eyeball a terrifying crimson.

Deep in his pupils, there were no more tears—the tears had long since run dry.

Nor was there any begging—what was the use of begging?

What could it exchange for?

Only hatred that burned everything remained.

This hatred was so intense, so pure, as if refined from the karmic fire of Hell, like magma that had burned for a thousand years under the eighteenth layer of the abyss, nailed tightly onto every twisted smiling face before him.

He was looking at them, looking at them one by one, looking intently, as if wanting to burn these faces into ashes, carve them into his Soul, and take them with him to Hell.

His cracked, peeling lips moved.

A hoarse, broken sound like sandpaper rubbing against something came from his throat—this sound seemed to be dug out of ruins, crawled out of a grave, carrying the ferocity of a dying beast.

Word by word, pause by pause:

"A... bunch... of... clowns!"

The voice was not loud.

Even intermittent because of weakness, as if it could be blown away by the wind at any moment.

Yet, this weak voice was like a quenched steel needle, fiercely piercing into this turbid commotion.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

"Oh?"

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei raised an eyebrow.

He laughed instead of getting angry; not only was he not angry, but he seemed to have discovered something extremely interesting.

This smile slowly, slowly bloomed on his face, like a man-eating flower opening its petals, revealing the fangs stained with juice inside.

He bent down slowly.

Using the valuable spirit jade folding fan in his hand—the fan ribs were made of high-quality mutton-fat white jade, the fan face was a landscape painting by a famous master, and the fan pendant was engraved with the crest of the Prince of Zhenbei's mansion—he frivolously, tap by tap, slapped Chu Zhanxiao's face, which was covered in filth and blood.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Not heavy.

But every slap resonated clearly in the silent air.

This was a humiliation a hundred times worse than kicking and punching—not hitting you, but finding you dirty, finding you smelly, unwilling to even touch you with his hands, only able to use a fan to separate himself, as if touching some filth.

"You're already lying here like mud, yet your mouth is still as tough as ever?"

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei's voice lowered, carrying a cruel pleasure like a cat playing with a mouse.

His voice was slow, as if it contained sugar, and as if it contained poison:

"What a pity, what is the use of being tough?"

He paused, and the fan stopped as well.

"Can it bring back your Chu family's three hundred and seventy-one members?"

Another slap, slap.

"Or can it let your so-called 'iron-boned' Chu family Old Ancestor... stand up straight on his knees again?"

He leaned closer.

Warm, sandalwood-scented breath sprayed onto Chu Zhanxiao's ear, but what he said was more bone-chilling than ten thousand years of black ice:

"You didn't see it..."

His voice dropped lower, low enough to be a secret, a deadly secret that only the two of them knew:

"The night the Chu family was annihilated, the blood in front of the palace gate flowed for three days and couldn't be washed clean."

"Your Chu family Old Ancestor, usually such a majestic figure, in the end, didn't he still kneel like an old dog before my father—the Prince of Zhenbei, kowtowing with loud thuds—thud, thud, thud—his forehead was smashed, his face covered in blood, just to beg my father for mercy, to spare your life... this last remnant of the Chu family?"

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei straightened up.

He looked at Chu Zhanxiao's face with the gaze of someone admiring a piece of art.

This face turned paper-white in an instant—white without a trace of blood, white like a dead person.

But immediately after, it twisted and flushed red due to extreme hatred, red like a red-hot branding iron.

Two colors alternated and fought on his face, eventually merging into an indescribable, near-collapse tragedy.

Then, Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei slowly, deliberately, raised his foot.

The brocade boot embedded with pearls, carrying the weight of a thousand juns and the arrogance of crushing everything, stepped heavily onto the top of Chu Zhanxiao's head.

Forcing his head, which had just raised a little, fiercely and irresistibly back onto the cold, filthy ground.

"Argh—!"

His cheek pressed tightly against the rough flagstone.

Gravel dug into his skin and flesh, each pebble leaving a bloodstain on his face.

Dust mixed with the smell of blood rushed into his nasal cavity, choking him until he almost suffocated.

A whimper like a trapped beast came from Chu Zhanxiao's throat.

This was not a cry of pain—pain, he was already numb to it.

This was a desperate shriek squeezed from the deepest part of his Soul when his dignity was thoroughly trampled and his Soul was forcibly pressed into the mud.

Like the final howl of a dying wolf in the snow, like the last struggle of a snake nailed to a wall.

The bones throughout his entire body were rattling.

It was not because of the force of the stomping—this force was not enough to crush bone.

It was because of the volcanic eruption of grief and humiliation that was almost bursting through his shell!

This power charged left and right within his body, but could find no exit, so it could only shake his bones until they rattled and grind his teeth until they were on the verge of shattering.

"Look, look!"

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei enjoyed the faint struggle coming from beneath his feet, as if it were the most wonderful music in the world.

He looked around at his excited lackeys, his voice rising, full of the desire to perform:

"This is the fate of opposing the Imperial Dynasty! Chu Zhanxiao, what do you think you are? Talent? Fortuitous encounters? Standing out from your peers? A joke!"

He slowly applied force with his foot, grinding down.

This once-proud head was slowly ground between the sole of his boot and the stone floor.

The rough stone floor scraped the skin of his forehead, blood seeping out and staining the gravel red.

"In the face of absolute power—power that is inherent to our Li family line—you, this so-called Prodigy, don't even count as an ant that is slightly stronger! If this young noble is in a good mood, I can let you linger on, begging for mercy just like this. If I'm in a bad mood..."

He paused, his smile becoming incomparably malicious.

His gaze slowly swept over Chu Zhanxiao's limbs; that gaze was like a knife, lingering on every wound:

"This young noble is in a bad mood right now. Shall we... break a few more of your bones for fun? You're already a cripple anyway, so what does it matter if a few more are broken?"

The surrounding lackeys excitedly held their breath, their eyes flashing with expectant light.

But Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei did not move.

It was as if he had suddenly remembered something more interesting.

"Right..."

He slowly bent down, this time almost pressing his lips against Chu Zhanxiao's ear.

This action was so intimate it was as if he were whispering sweet nothings, but the voice was slow and deliberate, a breathy sound like a venomous snake flicking its tongue:

"Considering you are so pitiful and about to be reunited with your whole family... I will show some kindness and tell you a little secret."

Warm breath sprayed onto his ear.

The voice was as light as a feather, yet as heavy as a mountain.

"Your fiancée, Shui-xian-er, in order to make me spare your lowly life for a few more days, has been coming to my Prince of Zhenbei's estate every single day, 'bit-ter-ly beg-ging'..."

The three words "Shuixianer".

Were like three red-hot steel rods, in the same instant, ruthlessly stabbing into Chu Zhanxiao's already shattered heart!

His unfocused pupils suddenly constricted!

Constricting to the size of pinpricks!

Immediately—

Exploding with a terrifying blood-red light!

This blood-red light was the final madness of a dying man, the final counterattack of a trapped beast before death, the most intense flame formed by the instant combustion of all despair, all hatred, and all humiliation!

"Be...ast!!!!"

A roar that did not sound human, mixed with blood foam, exploded from the depths of his throat!

A terrifying power surged from somewhere into his long-crippled limbs—this power did not come from his Physical Body, but from his Soul, from the abyss, from that will which had madly rebounded after being trampled to the extreme!

He suddenly opened his mouth, revealing blood-stained teeth, and like a dying wolf, used the last strength of his Soul to bite fiercely toward Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei's calf, which was within reach!

He could not reach it.

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei had anticipated this.

He easily dodged, a glimmer of offended malice flashing in his eyes—the malice of a high-and-mighty master offended by a dying ant.

Then he raised his foot.

Secretly releasing spiritual power.

He kicked fiercely into Chu Zhanxiao's chest!

"Pfft—!!!"

This kick shattered the last of the Life Qi he was holding onto.

Chu Zhanxiao was like a tattered puppet with broken strings, his whole body kicked rolling away—rolling, rolling, rolling on the rough stone floor, his limbs like strips of torn cloth flailing powerlessly with the rolling.

A large mouthful of dark red blood mixed with fragments of internal organs sprayed out wildly, splashing into a shocking mist of blood in the air, blooming into a fleeting, eerie flower under the afternoon sun.

Then.

He crashed heavily back to the ground.

"Thud."

A dull sound.

Kicking up a cloud of dust.

The blood-red light in his eyes quickly dimmed.

Like burnt-out ashes blown away by the wind, only a deathly silence and emptiness remained.

This emptiness was bottomless, like two dry wells, like two abysses leading to nothingness.

His body twitched slightly, his limbs occasionally jerking, like the final struggle of a dying insect.

There was only breath going out, no breath coming in.

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei looked at the few bloodstains splashed on the hem of his robe and frowned in disgust.

He pinched the blood-stained fabric with two fingers and shook it gently, as if shaking off some filth.

Immediately, he revealed an even more intense, even more cruel smile.

He paced over.

The sound of his boot soles striking the stone floor rang out once again.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

This sound was slow and composed, like the lingering echo of a funeral bell, like the footsteps of the Grim Reaper.

He stopped in front of Chu Zhanxiao.

He bent down again.

Using the cold jade bones of his folding fan, he lifted Chu Zhanxiao's blood-stained, powerlessly drooping chin.

This chin was limp, without a shred of strength, like a lump of dead flesh.

Only his slightly opened eyes still held the frozen, shattered Soul and endless hatred of that final moment.

"Can't take it already?"

He leaned down.

His voice was lowered extremely low.

Yet every word was like a poison-tipped ice pick, nailing into Chu Zhanxiao's gradually unfocused hearing—his hearing was drifting away, blurring, being swallowed bit by bit by darkness, but these words, like red-hot iron nails, were nailed in one by one:

"Don't be in such a rush, the secret... has only been told halfway."

He paused.

Enjoying the last, barely perceptible tremor in those empty eyes.

"The way Shuixianer knelt and begged me, it truly made one pity her..."

His voice was as soft as if he were whispering sweet nothings.

"She said that as long as I spared your life, she would be willing to do anything."

Another pause.

A long, cruel pause, enough to make time freeze.

"Guess what I made her do?"

The surrounding lackeys had long since held their breath.

Their eyes shone, filled with lewd and eager anticipation, waiting for the most "exciting" part—this gaze was greedy, malicious, like vultures circling carrion.

Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei enjoyed Chu Zhanxiao's suddenly rigid body.

The rigid body stopped even twitching, stopped even breathing, as if frozen, nailed down, or cast under a paralysis spell.

He admired it, as if admiring his own most proud work.

Then, he slowly spat out the last sentence:

"I made her... every night, use her 'way' to properly 'serve' me. Until I grew tired of it."

"Hah... hah..."

A sound like a broken bellows came from Chu Zhanxiao's throat.

This sound did not sound like it came from a human, it sounded like it came from the depths of Hell, like the final wail of a shattered Soul in the abyss.

His wide-open eyes were almost splitting apart.

Blood tears slowly seeped from the corners of his eyes—these blood tears were red, thick, flowing down his cheeks, cutting two shocking trails through the dust and bloodstains.

Deep within his empty pupils, the last faint glimmer of light was extinguished.

In its place was a kind of completely sunken, boundless darkness and deathly silence.

The darkness was so thick, so desperate, so bottomless—as if his Soul had fallen into a bottomless abyss, forever, forever unable to see a glimmer of light again.

The next second—

"Pfft—!!!!"

A large mouthful of even more torrential, even hotter blood, like a blood spring that had been repressed for ten thousand years, sprayed wildly from his mouth!

It was not a splash.

It was an eruption.

It was a dam breaking.

It was the final eruption of a volcano!

The blood was boiling hot, carrying the final heat of life, carrying the final temperature of his Soul, carrying everything, everything, straight, resolutely, splashing onto the front of Heir to the Prince of Zhenbei's luxurious brocade robe!

In an instant!

This piece of exquisite cloud pattern—embroidered with gold thread, worth a thousand gold—was dyed into a shocking, desperate dark red!

The dark red blood, following the texture of the brocade robe, slowly seeped out, slowly flowed, drop by drop, dripping onto the stone floor.

Chu Zhanxiao took one last look at this filthy world.

In this look, there was nothing left.

No hatred.

No pain.

No despair.

Nothing at all.

Only emptiness.

Only nothingness.

Only endless, eternal darkness.

Then.

His head tilted to one side.

He completely lost all signs of life.

Only those slightly opened, empty, dead-silent eyes still held the frozen, shattered Soul and endless hatred of that final moment.

His eyes looked up at the sky.

The sky was very blue.

So blue that it seemed like a world unrelated to him.

The wind blew by.

Blowing his blood-stained, messy hair on his forehead.

Once.

Twice.

As if seeing someone off.