Refuse to trample on the pride of heaven

Qu Yanhui's laughter gradually subsided, leaving only an empty silence that permeated both the deep cave and the distant hiding place.

The traces of his tears left a cold dampness on his pale cheeks, like frost and dew freezing in the dead of winter.

He slowly lowered his hand that was covering his face, his fingertips still trembling uncontrollably.

Through the puppet's empty eyes, he once again "looked" at Lu Wensheng, and the young faces behind him, each with a different expression, yet all equally silent.

“…Important.” He repeated the word in a low voice, his voice hoarse as if every syllable was tinged with blood. “Yes, very important.”

This time, it was no longer a question, but a confirmation that was almost cruel.

"Is it important? So what?" He abruptly changed his tone, his voice now tinged with the usual icy sarcasm, but beneath that sarcasm lay countless wounds that could no longer be concealed.

"Could you take me back to those days and make those who framed me realize their mistakes? Could you make those high and mighty elders of the Kui Sect admit that they were blind and misjudged the good and the bad? Or could you stop the world from spreading rumors about how I, Qu Yanhui, murdered my fellow disciples and was utterly wicked?"

He chuckled, a short, sharp laugh like the cry of an owl.

“Lu Wensheng, your ‘feelings’ and your ‘justice’ are nothing but flimsy in the face of these established facts. They can’t change anything, they can’t wash away my infamy, and they can’t erase the blood on my hands.”

"I can no longer turn back."

He seemed to be speaking to Lu Wensheng, but more like he was emphasizing it to himself, trying to use this cold reality to slam the door to his heart, which had just been slightly opened by the word "important," shut again.

"The road I have walked is paved with corpses; the things I have done are intolerable to heaven and earth."

"The person you see now is a ruthless demon who associates with the demon race and kills without hesitation—this is the 'truth' now."

As he spoke, the lark puppet fluttered its wings slightly, making stiff "clack-clack" sounds, as if cheering for its master, or perhaps silently mocking him.

Inside the cave, only his hoarse and cold voice echoed, carrying a desperate, self-destructive pleasure.

However, amidst this suffocating silence and self-abandonment, Lu Wensheng's gaze remained calm, unmoved by his words.

He simply gazed quietly and intently at the puppet lark, as if he could see through its inorganic eyes the soul struggling alone in the boundless darkness.

Lu Wensheng did not immediately refute his despairing assertion, but spoke softly, his voice not loud, yet it seemed to contain a kind of calming power, quietly echoing in the cold depths of the demonic abyss.

"There may be no turning back; it is true that your hands are stained with blood; but this is a different matter from whether you were wronged in the first place."

The path you take is the one you chose; however many reasons there may be, you must bear the consequences yourself.

But that initial step was not your fault.

This innocence, though it cannot bring back the lost time or atone for the sins committed later, should not be forgotten, much less be completely obscured by the subsequent filth.

It existed, and that makes it important.

Acknowledging this isn't to excuse you, but rather for... that other possible 'Qu Yan Hui' that was forcibly brought to an abrupt end.

What the world owes may never be fully repaid, but the value and weight of the initial injustices suffered cannot be erased.

It deserves to be remembered, to be mentioned, and to be recognized as "important."

Some wounds will not heal with the passage of time; they will only fester and rot, eventually growing into the flesh and blood. But even if they cannot heal, someone must acknowledge the pain of the bleeding that once occurred.

A simple "justice" cannot turn back time, bring the dead back to life, or easily wash away the sins committed later.

But it was like a faint yet persistent ray of light, shining into that forgotten, dusty corner, telling the figure huddled in the darkness: the injustice you initially suffered was seen, remembered, and considered important by some.

It is for Qu Yanhui, and also for others like him who have been swept away by the world and driven to a dead end—it is to serve as a warning, and to reduce such suffering.

For a heart that has long been cold and desperate, this may be the first crisp sound of ice breaking in the darkness.

Qu Yanhui seemed to be touched on something deeper by these words, and remained silent for a moment, as if the aura emanating from the puppet had frozen.

He seemed to be muttering to himself, his voice as faint as a candle flickering in the wind, carrying a distant longing that even he himself was unaware of: "If... if none of this had happened, if only I could... meet people like you, how wonderful that would be..."

In that voice, all the sharpness and pretense had faded, leaving only pure, heartbreaking melancholy.

But there aren't so many "what ifs".

Once the trajectory of fate deviates, it is difficult to rejoin it, leaving only devastation and endless sighs.

This brief moment of vulnerability and sentimentality is like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, creating only a ripple before quickly sinking.

After suppressing her emotions that had just surfaced, Qu Yanhui suddenly smiled again.

It was called laughter, but the sound was hollow, devoid of any joyful warmth. Rather, it was a cold, self-mocking sigh, carrying a sense of detachment from worldly affairs and a touch of cynical mockery.

“Lu Wensheng,” he murmured the name, his tone becoming somewhat strange, as if he were savoring something incredible.

"People like you are extremely rare. You empathize with me? Empathy... that sounds unbelievable. Do people in the cultivation world also possess such a miraculous ability?"

The sarcasm in his tone was almost overflowing, like a cold needle probing, yet carrying a hint of barely perceptible expectation that even he himself loathed.

Why does it feel so strange and sarcastic?

Everyone felt that Qu Yanhui was like a madman on the verge of insanity. First, he laughed wildly as if he wanted to eat a child, then suddenly he became quiet, and now he started laughing coldly again. His emotions fluctuated unpredictably, making it difficult for people to understand his true intentions.

Before anyone else could react, the light around the lark puppet began to flicker rapidly, clearly indicating that its energy was about to run out.

Qu Yanhui, on the other end, seemed to realize this as well. Before the lark shattered, he left a final sentence, his tone suddenly becoming somewhat lighthearted, yet carrying an inexplicable, almost mischievous meaning.

"Little Deer Leader, I have a surprise for you, hmm, as a gift from me—as a congratulatory present for becoming the leader, how about it? Heh, time really flies... The kid who was afraid of ghosts has actually become the leader of the righteous path."

The moment the words fell, the lark puppet made a soft "poof" sound, turning into a small wisp of spiritual light that dissipated into the thick demonic energy.

When Lu Wensheng heard the last sentence, his ears visibly turned red. He almost instinctively wanted to refute it, but he was speechless for a moment. He could only feel the knowing and good-natured teasing looks from his companions, which made him feel even more embarrassed—how did this guy know?!