Facing Ruan Wei’s interrogation, Shu Yang remained composed. In fact, he found Ruan Wei’s actions somewhat absurd. With a calm, mocking curl of his lips, he replied, “Young Palace Master, you have plastered portraits of the Celestial Lord Ziwei all over the streets. I would like to pretend I have never seen him, but I suppose I need your permission for that.”
Shu Yang initially intended this as proof that he was not Shu Yang, nor had he ever encountered the man. To his surprise, Ruan Wei slammed the table with uncharacteristic violence and shouted, as if to cover something up, “I did not draw those portraits! I never painted him!”
Shu Yang was startled by his sudden outburst. He thought, So what if you did not? Why be so dramatic? However, he chose not to argue. He paused and said dismissively, “Fine, fine, you did not draw them.”
Ruan Wei, his expression obscured by the veil, stiffened and slumped back into his seat.
The atmosphere turned stiflingly quiet. Behind the thin veil, Ruan Wei’s features were indistinct, and Shu Yang still could not discern what was going on in the man’s head. Ruan Wei’s hatred seemed not to have faded with time; rather, it had intensified to a point where he seemed eager to skin him alive. This bewildered Shu Yang and made him even more cautious about revealing his true identity.
Ruan Wei clearly sensed he had overreacted. His face cycled through shades of pale and blue as he struggled to find words. He knew that the only person who could definitively confirm Shu Yang’s identity was Shu Yang himself. In this ancient era, without DNA testing or official identification, as long as Shu Yang refused to confess, no one could prove a thing.
Who can prove who I am?
A wave of irrational frustration washed over Ruan Wei. He gripped his fingers until they dug into his palms. He realized, with a sense of defeat, that he had always been the passive party in his relationship with Shu Yang. He had never held the upper hand. He had been the one to secretly admire Shu Yang, the one to chase him, and the one to turn to hatred after failing to obtain his love.
Had Shu Yang ever said he liked him? Never. It was a one-man show, and even their rivalry felt like a desperate play for Shu Yang’s attention. The hatred felt just as groundless. Ruan Wei grew angrier as he thought about it, slamming his fist onto the table and punching a massive hole through the surface.
Shu Yang winced. He noticed that Ruan Wei’s temper had soured significantly over the centuries.
Just as Ruan Wei was debating whether to kill this man who looked like Shu Yang or slaughter the child alongside him, a commotion erupted outside. A dragon guard entered and knelt. “Young Palace Master.”
“What is it?” Ruan Wei snapped, appearing impatient. “Speak.”
“The rewards you posted have brought many men claiming to be Shu Yang to the palace. Some actually bear a resemblance to the portraits. Would you like to inspect them?”
Ruan Wei glanced at Shu Yang, his expression unreadable. Shu Yang was baffled. Who in their right mind would volunteer for a suicide mission? Ruan Wei seemed amused as well. He knew that if the real Shu Yang were alive, he would never come to the palace to claim his identity. He decided to see them anyway.
Shu Yang found it amusing. If Ruan Wei were fooled by one of these imposters, he could slip away unnoticed. However, Ruan Wei’s gaze drifted back to the child nestled against Shu Yang, and he frowned. He reached out, using his spiritual energy to pull the boy into his arms.
“Ah!” The child, confused, flailed in the air before landing clumsily in Ruan Wei’s embrace.
“What are you doing?” Shu Yang’s wariness deepened. “Why take the child?”
Ruan Wei stiffened, clearly realizing his own impulsive action but refusing to back down. He gripped the child by the collar, holding him up like a thermos. “I do as I please! Is that any of your concern?” With that, he hauled the boy away.
Shu Yang thought he was insane, but he could not abandon the only source of his faith-based energy. After a moment of hesitation, he followed.
The guard had not lied. The palace was filled with men resembling Shu Yang—some in their brows, some in their frame, some in their demeanor. It was like a cosplay exhibition. Ruan Wei, however, was unimpressed until his eyes landed on a man who bore a striking resemblance to the fallen immortal, even mimicking the subtle red tint at the tips of his lashes.
Ruan Wei beckoned the man forward, examined him closely, then ordered a basin of water and splashed it across the man’s face. The powder and cinnabar dissolved, revealing an ordinary, plain face beneath.
Good grief, Shu Yang thought.
Several others followed, all failing the test. It was no surprise; Shu Yang’s face was the product of the Heavenly Dao itself. It was neither too sharp nor too soft, a perfect balance that no mortal could mimic.
As the count of failures rose, Shu Yang’s heart began to race. The fewer people who looked like him, the more suspicion would naturally fall on him. How could he keep up this charade?
Ruan Wei’s expression turned dark. These imposters were murderers, rogue cultivators, or conmen—all driven by greed. But they did not understand Ruan Wei’s heart. His was not just the hatred of a rejected lover; it had fermented into a visceral need to flay his target alive.
“Since you all so desperately want to be Shu Yang, I shall treat you all as him,” Ruan Wei declared. He raised his hand, and a gust of biting wind swept through the hall. The air turned brittle with ice.
“Before you die, I will be kind enough to tell you.” Ruan Wei seemed to enjoy the fear on their faces, his smile twisting into the face of a malevolent ghost. “The person I hate most in this world is Shu Yang. I have sworn that if I ever see him again, I will peel his skin, dismantle his bones, and drink his blood until I am his eternal enemy!”
As the last word echoed, Shu Yang felt a spray of hot, metallic-tasting liquid hit his cheek. The fake Shu Yangs collapsed; some died instantly, others clawed at their throats as Ruan Wei’s invisible dragon breath strangled the life out of them.
Shu Yang stood frozen, his pupils trembling. A cold, serpentine chill crawled up his spine, freezing his skin and numbing his brain. He broke out into a cold sweat, his palms slick with moisture.
Ruan Wei was not joking. He genuinely intended to kill him.
Shu Yang did not think; he bolted. But he was no match for the speed of a dragon. Before he could reach the hall exit, a wave of frigid air washed over him. He tapped his toes, channeling every drop of energy from his weak spiritual roots to sprint.
A snowflake landed on the tip of his nose.
“Damn it!” Shu Yang ducked, dodging Ruan Wei’s dragon breath by a hair’s breadth, and delivered a kick to Ruan Wei’s shoulder that sent the man staggering back.
Ruan Wei recovered instantly. He summoned a bow forged from ice, pulled the string taut, and aimed it at Shu Yang’s heart.
Is he insane? Shu Yang was defenseless. He shouted at the sky, “I told you, I am not Shu Yang! Why must you kill me?”
“You are not him, yet you wear his face. That makes you even more deserving of death,” Ruan Wei whispered, closing one eye to aim. “No one can replace him.”
He released the string. The arrow, charged with immense spiritual energy, tore through the air. The sound of the wind ripping apart was deafening. Shu Yang stood pinned to the spot, his blood running cold. His brain could only process one thought:
Ruan Wei, your obsession with hating me has truly driven you into madness!