After hearing everything, the dim light in Nan Mengling’s eyes flickered back to life. So the young master hadn’t lied—he truly hadn’t abandoned her again.
On the contrary, his words were now confirmed once more.
Yet one question still haunted her—the very thing that had confused her from the start:
“Why… why did you target my mother? Why… destroy my home?”
This was the only thing she could never rationalize. No cause, no reason—why her family? Her mother toyed with, her father killed! Why was *she* the one left deceived and spinning in circles?
The “Sword God” shot her a look of utter astonishment, then chuckled. “You know everything now… and *still* don’t get this?”
“Speak.”
Nan Mengling locked eyes with him, her blade pressed cold against his throat. Only one icy word left her lips.
“Alright, alright! I’ll talk… let’s not draw blood. Messy, you know?” The “Sword God” wiped the smirk from his face and lowered his voice.
“Truth is, there’s no ‘why.’ Simple: the Sword God fancied your mother—beautiful, shapely, low status, just a mortal husband. A little money, a little power… she climbed into his bed willingly. Even became his slave.”
“As for your father? Misfortune. Had he not discovered her affair… he’d still be alive.”
“Just… *that*?” Nan Mengling whispered, voice hollow. “My father died from… misfortune? Because he found his wife’s affair? What… what logic is *that*?”
The “Sword God” shook his head. “Logic? None. The Sword God was vastly stronger—that *is* the logic. This world’s full of injustice. I’m unjust. If I played fair, I’d have been reclaimed by him long ago!”
He let out a low chuckle. “Truth is, little girl, you should *thank* me. If I hadn’t refused reclamation, your master wouldn’t have been stuck playing the cuckold… Wait—no. He wouldn’t even *be* your master. He’d be your *owner*. You and your mother? Just playthings.”
Nan Mengling fell silent. In that moment, every last ember of hope for the Sword God died.
How foolish she’d been to ever pity her master. She’d clung to the fantasy: *If only he lacked that fetish… maybe life would’ve been kinder.*
But she should’ve known.
There *was* no logic.
Without that twisted dynamic, her life wouldn’t have been better—it would’ve been worse. She might not have survived to meet the young master. She’d have shared her mother’s fate.
Anyone capable of this was rotten to the core. No tragic past would redeem him—only forge a worse monster.
“Enough! I’ve confessed everything. Spare me?” The “Sword God” forced a ingratiating smile. “Shao Xiuqi’s gone… but you hunt the Sword God too! We’re allies! I’d *gladly* help kill that old bastard!”
His only reply: the cold gleam of a blade swirling with black and white energy.
“But I’m not willing. I am not your plaything.”
Nan Mengling’s strike was swift, clean. She saw through his victim-playing lies. She wasn’t naive. His words dripped with “Sword God” this, “Sword God” that—but *he* was one too. He shared the blame for her father’s death, her mother’s ruin.
Thud—!
As the “Sword God’s” head struck the ground, immense Spirit Energy dissolved. Blood and corpse shattered into luminous particles, vanishing. Only a crimson longsword remained—shattered into three pieces.
Nan Mengling glanced at the fragments, slowly sheathed White Moon. Her vision blurred.
*Without the Sword God… would I be ordinary? Life harder, skills weaker… but a whole family. A home. A place to smile.*
Then she shook her head. *No. Mother was sharp-tongued, materialistic. Even with Father’s gentleness… suffocation outweighed joy.*
Which was better?
Neither.
She was no plaything now.
But only…
—a puppet.
“Young master. I have the sword manual. Let’s go.”
Nan Mengling clutched the hem of Zhou Jiuyu’s robe. Wherever he walked, she followed—quiet, obedient, no complaint, no knowing how to complain.
…
“Boss Tong, why are we here?”
Near the summit of Little Sword God Mountain, a black sedan halted. Inside, one of Tong Che’s underlings spoke up.
“To find a patron! Obviously. Waiting to flatter the new city lord? Too risky. Lord Shao was flexible—but the next one? We can’t gamble. Secure a patron *now*, and even if targeted… we survive.”
Tong Che stepped out. “Wait here. I’ll meet the master alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tong Che smoothed his clothes and climbed.
Shao Xiuqi had once introduced him to this mountain’s “Sword God.” He knew little—but this man’s swordsmanship rivaled the Ninth Tier. And he hated Sword God Mountain’s “Sword God.”
*He has a goal. He’ll need hands.*
Tong Che took a deep breath, stepped onto the final stair—and froze.
The Sword Hall, meant to stand glorious atop the peak, was rubble.
He swallowed hard, peering inside. Figures moved within. A chilling familiarity prickled his skin.
“Your Sword God is dead. I won’t dictate your stay or leave. Treasures left in the Hall? Yours to divide.”
“Th-thank you, my lord…”
At the edge of Tong Che’s sight, the young master addressed seven or eight remaining women of the Sword Hall. After bowing gratitude to Zhou Jiuyu, they scattered.
Then Zhou noticed him. Hand in hand with Miss Nan, clutching an antique manual, he approached.
Ice shot through Tong Che’s veins. *The patron I came to seek… slain again by this young master and his lady!*
Suffocation. Frustration. *Wasted trip.*
Then—light dawned.
No.
Not wasted at all.
He sought a patron…
And before him stood the most formidable one of all.
