Chapter 43
Chen Mujian stared at the jade pendant in his hand, his gaze flickering faintly.
As far back as he could remember, he had grown up in an orphanage—tattered clothes, thin porridge, days that stretched long and lean.
Life had not been kind, but it had not been cruel enough to break him either. The adults there weren’t bad people. He simply… grew up unevenly, stumbling through hardship.
At six years old, he began searching for his family.
The jade pendant became his only clue.
On market days, when the streets were crowded, he would slip out and stand among the throng, clutching the pendant tightly, eyes scanning every unfamiliar face.
From morning until dusk, he waited—hope stubborn and fragile.
One day, that hope nearly cost him his life.
A beggar noticed him.
Before Chen Mujian could react, a rough hand clamped over his mouth, dragging him away. The man’s grip was suffocating, his intent obvious.
Kidnapping.
Panic surged—but Chen Mujian didn’t freeze.
He twisted desperately, shouting to the crowd: “I don’t know him! He’s not my father—he’s a beggar!”
The man didn’t falter.
With a fierce expression and a coarse voice, he barked back at the onlookers, “The boy’s just throwing a tantrum. Had a little argument, that’s all. Mind your own business!”
The crowd hesitated.
The man looked the part—rough, intimidating—and no one wanted trouble.
In that split second, Chen Mujian made his move.
He snatched a delicate jade hairpin from a nearby stall—and slammed it onto the ground.
Crack.
The jade flower shattered into fragments.
The stall owner froze.
Then his expression darkened.
“You break it—you pay for it!”
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not someone to bully.
The beggar’s face turned ugly.
He had no choice but to loosen his grip and cough up the money, fury simmering beneath the surface. His eyes burned as he glared at the boy—already planning how he would take him away later and beat him until he couldn’t fight back.
But Chen Mujian was quicker.
Before the man could recover, he swept his arm across the stall.
Clatter—crash'
Fragile ornaments scattered across the ground, shattering one after another.
The beggar’s face turned green. He had already lost money—and now even more.
Forget selling the boy—he’d taken a loss instead.
He turned and tried to run.
He didn’t make it far.
Dragged to the yamen, he was dealt with swiftly. After all, beggars like him were never favored.
As for Chen Mujian—he now owed the stall owner a debt he couldn’t even comprehend.
He didn’t think of running from it. He just… didn’t know how he would ever repay it.
And still—he wanted to find his family.
That was when an immortal descended from the sky.
The man praised his quick thinking, his sharp mind, his courage under pressure. With a strange disc, he tested Chen Mujian for spiritual roots—and found them.
Just like that, Chen Mujian left his old life behind.
He followed the immortal to the White Jade Sect and stepped onto the path of cultivation.
As for the debt—it was quietly settled.
He came to love the White Jade Sect.
His fellow disciples. The life he built there. The belonging he had never known before.
But at seventeen—everything shattered.
The sect leader and several elders were ambushed and killed by unknown assailants. Overnight, the sect lost its pillars.
And without protection—it became prey.
Other sects descended, coveting its resources. Resistance was futile. The protective formation fell. Some disciples chose to submit and be absorbed into other sects.
Others left.
Chen Mujian was among those who walked away.
He understood the cruelty of the cultivation world. Weakness invited destruction. It was inevitable.
And yet—watching the White Jade Sect fade into history still left a hollow ache in his chest.
As for the immortal who had brought him there—he had already died on a mission.
Chen Mujian returned to the town of his childhood with nothing but the jade pendant as his only clue, moving from village to village, asking anyone who might know something—any trace, any rumor, any fragment of the past he had lost.
But there was nothing.
The jade was ordinary, no different from any other piece of stone. The engraving was rough, hurried, offering no hint of origin, no hidden meaning to grasp onto.
No matter how many times he turned it over in his hands, no answers came.
In the end, he stopped searching.
He packed his things, left the town behind, and this time, chose his path more carefully.
A major sect—one that wouldn’t collapse overnight, one that wouldn’t vanish and leave him with nothing again.
A place where he wouldn’t have to endure that kind of loss twice.
That place was the Wendao Sect.
Years slipped into decades. Slowly, he built a life there—carved out a place for himself, found companionship, found love.
And somewhere along the way, he let go of the past.
Accepted that some things, once lost, were never meant to be found again.
So he had never expected that, one day, the truth would find him instead.
He was not an orphan.
He had parents—parents who had loved him… and died.
His fingers tightened unconsciously around the jade pendant. Years of handling had worn its once-rough surface smooth, the stone now warm against his skin, almost as if it held a trace of life.
The Chen family—a cultivation clan.
There were none with that name near the Wendao Sect. But if he searched far enough… within a radius of a hundred thousand li… he would find them.
And yet—that voice had said his identity would be stolen.
That he would die… in a stinking ditch.
Did that mean there was already another “Chen Mujian” in the Chen family?
His grip tightened further, the thought pressing down on him like a shadow.
Then, suddenly, a soft hand covered his. The warmth caught him off guard.
“Mujian?” Nangong Wen’s voice was gentle, careful.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his hand and held hers tightly.
For a long time.
She didn’t press him.
Just stayed beside him, silent.
She had seen him like this before—absently touching the pendant, sometimes with a distant look in his eyes.
She understood.
He had always longed for a family—something steady, something that would not disappear without warning.
Her voice softened as she reached for his hand. “Mujian… you can lean on me.”
He looked at her—really looked, gaze lingering as if trying to anchor himself in something real.
Then, slowly, he shifted closer, leaning into her side with a care that felt almost hesitant.
The warmth between them settled quietly, grounding him.
A simple, undeniable reminder—that he was not alone.
Around them, realization spread through the hall in ripples of stunned silence. If they couldn’t find the real Chen Mujian… then they had replaced him.
A fake child.
A lie.
Even Old Master Chen had been deceived, pouring his affection into the wrong person without ever realizing it.
And just as that thought took root, Lou Yuqing’s inner voice rang out again—clear, cutting—this time carrying the truth right behind it.
[Family really does know how to hurt family best. When they strike… they strike precisely.]
Shock rippled through the hall.
It was the Chen family?!
[Years ago, Chen Laoda and his wife were ambushed and killed on their way back from a spring outing. Only their child survived.]
[When Old Master Chen realized his eldest son hadn’t returned, he immediately sent his second and third sons to search.]
[In the end, it was Chen Lao Er who found the bodies… and brought back “Chen Mujian.”]
Si Nidie rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt.
So it was him.
That shameless second son.
Replacing his own brother’s child just to curry favor.
What kind of twisted “brotherhood” was that?
Did he even think about what would happen to the real child?
Without protection—a single illness, a single accident—and he would be gone.
Chen Mujian’s gaze darkened.
He saw further than anger.
If Chen Lao Er dared do this—then he must have been certain.
Certain that the real child would never return.
And only one kind of person could be so certain.
The murderer.
The next moment—Lou Yuqing’s thoughts confirmed it.
[Chen Lao Er was only one year younger than his elder brother. But that single year meant everything.]
[His brother was the heir. He was not.]
[As he grew older, that resentment grew with him. He wanted to replace his brother. To stand where he stood.]
[After years of brooding…]
[After a conflict where their father sided with the elder brother—he made his decision.]
Lou Yuqing’s tone turned sharp, unable to hold back.
[Oh please—what are you even competing with? Your round face?!]
[Always fighting for resources like you can’t understand basic human language—shameless!]
[And Old Master Chen… what a failure. If he’d dealt with that rotten son earlier, none of this would’ve happened.]
[His eldest son finally left behind a child—and it all got ruined.]
[And that so-called bandit? Just a scapegoat.]
[The traces on the bodies were faked—by Chen Lao Er.]
[If he really wants revenge—he should be going after his own son.]
Silence fell.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Chen Mujian’s anger rose slowly, cold and deep, coiling through his chest like something long buried finally waking.
Parents he had never even met—killed, betrayed, their deaths covered over with lies… and not a trace of justice left behind.
If they knew… they would never rest in peace.
Would Old Master Chen truly kill his own son if the truth came to light?
Chen Mujian didn’t know.
And he didn’t care.
He had never been someone who relied on others—and he had no intention of starting now.
When he was strong enough, he would take that revenge himself.
The Chen family… was not his home.
[And that fake Chen Mujian? Raised by Chen Lao Er’s mistress.]
[Meaning—before marriage, he already had a child older than the real one.]
[To cover it up, he delayed bringing the child back—pretending it was younger.]
[Old Master Chen believed it completely. After all, it was his only “grandson.”]
[And if they did a blood test? Still wouldn’t reveal anything—because the mistress’s child… is also his grandson.]
“….”
No one spoke.
[What even was this?]
[Later—Chen Mujian went out searching for Nangong Wen. And ran into Chen Lao Er.]
[He was recognized instantly. Seven or eight parts resemblance to Chen Laoda.]
[Impossible to miss.]
[Guilt flashed. And fear followed.]
[Chen Lao Er didn’t dare let him remain in the city. What if he ran into Old Master Chen?]
[So he made his decision—quickly. Coldly.]
[Kill him.]
[He sent men to ambush Chen Mujian the moment he left the city.]
Nangong Wen’s heart clenched painfully.
He had only gone out to find her—and yet… such a fate awaited him?
Her thoughts halted.
Abruptly.
Wait.
She was missing…?
Darkness pressed in from all sides.
In that suffocating void, a blade pierced straight through Chen Mujian’s chest.
The strike was vicious—too clean, too precise—and worse, the edge carried poison. The wound spread outward in a sickly black, devouring warmth, devouring life. His strength drained rapidly, like water leaking from a cracked vessel.
Then, as if the scene itself demanded a villain’s entrance, Chen Lao Er stepped out from the shadows.
Unhurried. Smug.
He began speaking—reveling in it, savoring every word—laying out the truth with a triumphant, almost indulgent arrogance.
Si Nidie let out a cold scoff.
Shameless. Absolutely shameless.
Strangely, Chen Mujian himself felt no panic.
No fluster. No despair.
Only clarity.
He knew very well—if he simply lay there, waiting, he would die.
And he had no intention of doing that.
Sure enough, the next moment, Lou Yuqing’s tone shifted—sharp, amused, almost gleeful.
[Heh. Chen Lao Er, you laugh at him for being kept in the dark… while he laughs at you for dying so soon.]
Her voice carried a wicked sort of satisfaction.
[While you were busy talking, Chen Mujian bought himself time. He suppressed part of the poison, gathered what strength he could—and then struck.]
A pause. Then, almost cheerfully—
[You didn’t even finish your sentence before you died.]
[This just proves one thing.]
Her voice curled with dry humor.
[Villains really do die from talking too much.]
Chen Mujian repeated it silently.
Villains die from talking too much.
And just like that—he laughed.
Low at first, then clearer, steadier.
Yes… that was exactly how Chen Lao Er had died.
Certain of victory. Careless. Talking too much.
In the end, the only thing he had miscalculated was this—Chen Mujian was a disciple of the Wendao Sect.
Not some ordinary cultivator he could trample at will.
That single misjudgment had cost him his life.
Even knowing that he himself would not escape—that he would still fall, surrounded and hunted—Chen Mujian felt no regret.
Human strength had its limits.
But at least…he had dragged the true murderer of his parents down with him.
That alone was enough.
Except—none of that had actually happened.
Reality shifted.
Reversed.
This time, the enemy stood in the open.
And he… stood in the shadows.
The balance tipped.
The difficulty of killing Chen Lao Er—and every accomplice tied to him—plummeted in an instant.
And then—Lou Yuqing's voice cut in.
[At the moment Chen Mujian fell, the soul lamps within the sect… went out.]
[A second later—Nangong Wen’s lamp went out as well.]
The words landed like a blade.
Chen Mujian froze.
For a heartbeat, his mind went completely blank.
Then—his hand tightened abruptly around the one in his grasp.
“Wen’er…”
His voice dropped, hoarse, trembling despite himself.
He could accept his own death. He had already made peace with that.
But hers?
No.
That, he could not accept.
She was still so young. She still had her sister to protect.
If both of them were gone—what would become of Ying’er?
The image rose unbidden.
A quiet girl, already fragile, suddenly left alone—surrounded by people who would smile to her face and sneer behind her back.
She might not die.
But she would never know peace.
The thought alone made his chest tighten.
Nangong Wen felt it immediately.
The panic.
The fear.
Without hesitation, she tightened her grip on his hand and spoke softly, steady as ever.
“I’m here.”
A small squeeze, grounding.
“I’m fine. Look at me—I’m not even hurt. Why are you panicking like this?”
Chen Mujian lowered his gaze, voice barely above a murmur.
“…I can’t help it.”
Fate had already carved enough scars into his life.
Why did it have to reach for her too?
Off to the side, Nangong Ying lifted her head slightly, glancing at him.
Then, just as quietly, she lowered it again—letting her long hair fall forward, hiding her expression.
Chen Mujian’s thoughts turned sharp.
Cold.
Focused.
Lou Yuqing had mentioned it before—someone trying to force Wen’er into marriage.
But Wen’er would never agree.
So—what then?
If persuasion failed… force followed.
A flicker of killing intent ignited in his eyes.
Anyone who dared lay hands on her—did not deserve to live.
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop. A chill crept across the disciples’ spines, drawing involuntary shivers.
Right on cue, Lou Yuqing’s voice rang out again—laced with biting sarcasm.
[What era are we even living in? And people still think they can just take someone by force?]
A brief pause.
Then, pointedly—
[Yes. I’m talking about you—the young lord of Tianxing City, Beitang Lechen.]
Nangong Wen’s expression froze.
…Him.
Chen Mujian’s killing intent halted mid-rise.
He turned slowly, cautiously. “Wen’er… you and this Beitang Lechen… were once engaged?”
There was something almost careful in the way he asked it.
Almost.
Nangong Wen stared at him for a second—then sighed, half amused, half helpless.
“It’s nothing like that anymore,” she said plainly. “That engagement ended long ago—back when the Nangong family declined.”
She waved it off lightly. “We just played together when we were little. That’s all. He used to pull my braids all the time.”
A faint frown.
“I never had any feelings for him.”
Chen Mujian went quiet.
Childhood sweethearts.
Those words lingered, unwelcome.
By the time he met her, she had already grown into who she was now.
Something in his chest tightened.
Without thinking, he leaned closer—resting against her, clinging just a little.
His voice came out low, almost muffled. “The past is the past.”
A pause.
“But now… you’re mine.”
Nangong Wen blinked.
Then laughed softly, exasperation and warmth mixing together.
This man—usually so composed, so steady—and now acting like this?
Rare.
Very rare.
Still, she indulged him.
“Alright, alright,” she said lightly. “I’m yours.”
A small smile.
“And you’re mine too.”
For a moment, everything softened. Warmth seeped in, quiet and steady.
Chen Mujian felt it—like sinking into a spring after a long, cold night.
Then Lou Yuqing shattered it again.
[Nangong Wen rejected Beitang Lechen outright. She told him clearly—she already had a Daoist partner. Told him to let her go.]
[He didn’t listen. He locked her up. For half a month.]
[What the hell?! That’s illegal detention!]
Her outrage crackled through the air.
[And then—while drunk—he broke into her room and tried to force himself on her. She slapped him awake.]
“Good!” Lou Yuqing snapped, unable to hold back. “Shameless bastard! She doesn’t like you, and you still force it? What kind of upbringing is that?! Bah!”
The warmth vanished.
Completely.
Chen Mujian’s smile faded.
The killing intent that had barely settled began to gather again—denser, sharper than before.
Nangong Wen frowned slightly, discomfort flickering across her face.
This man… he had truly grown worse over the years.
Lou Yuqing continued, tone shifting again—more serious now.
[Nangong Wen’s spiritual power was sealed by Beitang Lechen’s Spirit-Sealing Ring.]
[Fortunately, her protective artifact had developed sentience. Otherwise…]
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t need to.
[After leaving the City Lord’s Manor, Nangong Wen tried to contact Chen Mujian—to let him know she was safe.]
[But at that time, Chen Mujian was being hunted by Chen Lao Er’s men. He couldn’t respond.]
[Her spiritual power recovery was slowed by the ring. She needed time to recover.]
[And that delay… cost her.]
The air grew heavy.
Oppressive.
[While she was still weakened, the mission target found her.]
[They fought. In the end—mutual destruction.]
Silence.
Complete.
Nangong Wen stood there, unmoving.
“….”
Her thoughts tangled.
With her strength… that mission should have been simple.
Routine, even.
She had already injured the target severely. Finding them again would have been only a matter of time.
And yet—Lou Yuqing’s voice pressed on, merciless.
[It should’ve been easy. But then Beitang Lechen showed up. He used the excuse that the City Lord’s Manor could help… brought her in…]
[And then decided to confess instead.]
[He confessed. Got rejected. Then locked her up.]
Lou Yuqing’s disbelief spilled over.
[Are you serious right now?! Nangong Wen is on a mission—and you’re doing this?!]
Nangong Wen let out a slow breath, the tension leaving her shoulders inch by inch.
For a moment, she didn’t even know what to say.
Because now the truth had settled in—cold, clear, and impossible to deny.
She hadn’t died because she was weak, nor had she failed because of the mission itself. No… she had been delayed.
By him.
And that delay had handed her life over, neatly and cleanly, to her enemy.
A bitter thought rose, sharp as a blade.
How humiliating… to die like that.