438: Chapter 448 Night Talk

The man wore a wide bamboo hat pulled down low, hiding most of his face in the darkness. There was no trace of Killing Intent on him; he stood there casually, as if he had always been a part of this study.

The mysterious man did not look at Xu Qing. He merely lowered his head slightly and poured a cup of tea with movements that were smooth and natural.

Then, he set down the teapot and reached out with his right hand to pick up the steaming cup of tea.

At the very moment he picked up the teacup—

"Tap, tap, tap."

The mysterious man pressed his index and middle fingers together and tapped three times on the hard red sandalwood tabletop, extremely lightly yet with a distinct rhythm.

To Xu Qing's ears, those three soft taps were no different from a clap of thunder exploding from the Nine Heavens!

Xu Qing's pupils suddenly constricted. His right hand, which was gripping a short blade, abruptly loosened, and his entire body froze in the armchair as if struck by lightning.

This movement...

Years ago at the Qingshi Town County School, in the courtyard of that dilapidated Class A Dormitory, whenever the two of them stayed up late to study, discussing the scriptures or chatting, that youth—who always liked to treat many things with indifference—would subconsciously tap the table three times with his index and middle fingers whenever he was thinking or picking up a teacup.

It was a habit, one carved deep into his bones that could not be faked.

Xu Qing's breathing became rapid. He stared fixedly at the figure in the green robe, his lips trembling slightly as he tried to say something, only to find his throat blocked as if by a ball of cotton, unable to make a sound.

At this moment, time seemed to freeze completely. The only sound in the study was the "crackle" of the burning candle wick.

Silence.

A long silence.

After an unknown amount of time, Xu Qing finally found his voice. It was terrifyingly hoarse, sounding as if it were being rubbed against sandpaper.

"You... have been here the whole time?"

The hand of the green-robed figure holding the teacup paused slightly. He did not take off his hat or turn around; he only gave an extremely slight nod in the dim light.

"Mm."

A single word, calm as water and without a hint of emotion, came from beneath the bamboo hat.

Although the voice was much deeper than it had been five years ago and had a cold hardness from experiencing many hardships, Xu Qing would never mistake that unique, composed tone that seemed to look down on everything, even if he died.

It really was him.

Not only had he not died in the icy northern border, but he had also returned. Throughout this most critical moment of shifting winds in the Daxing court, he had been here the whole time.

Xu Qing felt his eyes sting. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the intense surge of emotion in his chest to make his voice sound as steady as possible.

"That night..." Xu Qing stared at Su Ming's back, the scene outside East Straight Gate flashing through his mind again—the top-tier dead soldiers scattered across the ground in bizarre states of death, and the desperate, crazed look in Marquis Yongchang's eyes. "Outside East Straight Gate, the one who killed those dead soldiers... was you, wasn't it?"

Su Ming turned around, holding the cup of tea as he slowly stepped out of the shadows.

The dim candlelight illuminated his slightly thin jaw, but he still did not remove his bamboo hat.

He did not answer Xu Qing's question directly. He simply raised the teacup, took a light sip of the long-cold tea, and uttered a single word:

"Yes."

Hearing this answer, Xu Qing was stunned for a moment.

He stared intently at Su Ming, looking at this old friend.

A moment later, Xu Qing laughed.

He leaned his head back against the chair and let out a low, relieved laugh.

He laughed with relief, with joy, and with reckless abandon.

He knew that for an ambitious hero like Marquis Yongchang, the greatest torture was not death or ruin, but being crushed by a power completely beyond comprehension or resistance—and not knowing who had been the Dominator of his fate in the shadows until the very moment his head hit the ground.

This answer and this way of dying were crueler and more thorough than any revenge involving a thousand cuts.

Su Ming stood quietly before the desk, watching the laughing and crying Xu Qing without interrupting. He knew this was the release of five years of pent-up emotions for Xu Qing.

When Xu Qing's laughter finally subsided and he regained his steady composure,

Su Ming slowly took a crystal-clear jade pendant from his robes, which faintly shimmered with a water-like luster.

He placed the jade pendant gently on the desk in front of Xu Qing.

"This is a token of the Cloud Hidden Sect's Foreign Affairs Department." Su Ming's voice remained calm, but there was a subtle hint of gravity in his tone. "If you encounter trouble in this Mortal court that cannot be resolved in the future, take this to the 'Four Seas Trading Company' in the east of the city and look for an old man named Zhou."

Su Ming paused for a moment and looked deeply at Xu Qing through the veil of the bamboo hat.

"He will help you once."

Xu Qing looked at the jade pendant on the table, which emitted a faint coolness. He was an extremely intelligent man; he didn't need to ask to guess the weight of the name 'Cloud Hidden Sect'. At a critical moment, this jade pendant was a death-exempting gold plaque, a mountain of support that no one could shake.

He did not engage in hypocritical refusal, nor did he say any useless words of gratitude.

He reached out and solemnly gripped the jade pendant in his palm, feeling its warm texture, before carefully tucking it into his inner robe.

"Are you leaving?" Xu Qing looked up, his eyes burning as he watched Su Ming.

Su Ming nodded.

"The matter is settled; it is time to go back."

He didn't say where he was going or what he was going to do. But they both knew that from tonight on, they would walk two completely different paths. One would continue to drift in the Peak of Mortal power, while the other was headed for the vast and cruel world of cultivation that Mortals could not touch.

The two men stood facing each other.

The candle in the study had burned to its end, and the light became increasingly dim.

Looking at this familiar yet strange figure, Xu Qing suddenly spoke, his voice tinged with an unavoidable sense of melancholy:

"The next time we meet, you might not recognize me anymore."

A Mortal's life is but a hundred years. Time would carve its marks on his face, and power would change his appearance. Perhaps in a few decades, he would be a white-haired old man, while Su Ming would still look this young.

Su Ming was silent for a moment.

His gaze passed through the veil of his bamboo hat, falling on the few strands of white hair already appearing at Xu Qing's temples.

"The next time we meet, you might not be here anymore."

It was an equally plain sentence, yet it expressed all the cruelty and helplessness of the divergent paths between immortals and Mortals.

The two looked at each other.

There was no sadness, no attempt to make the other stay.

From each other's eyes, they both saw the open-mindedness that belonged only to those who had experienced life, death, and the hardships of the world.

They shared a smile.

Everything was understood without words.

Su Ming turned around, his wide green sleeves tracing an elegant arc in the air.

A gust of autumn wind swept into the study again, blowing out the last flickering flame of the candle.

When the study fell back into darkness, the green-robed figure had already vanished silently into the heavy night, like a reflection dissolving on the water's surface.

Xu Qing did not light the lamp.

He slowly stood up, walked to the window, and pushed open the carved wooden frame.

A bright, clear moon hung high in the late autumn night sky, casting its cool silver light across the entire courtyard.

Xu Qing stood by the window with his hands behind his back, gazing at the moon for a long time without moving. As the night wind brushed against his official robes, he felt as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and his entire being felt an unprecedented sense of ease.