Inside the dimly lit room, the bright candle flames flickered gently in the breeze.
The seemingly refined man, dressed in a light green long robe, wore an expression barely concealing a vicious streak. This man was none other than Wen Mochen—the once-glorious imperial son-in-law during the late emperor’s reign, and husband of Princess Xingyue.
As one of the prominent aristocratic families of the Eastern Domain, the Wen family had always possessed profound foundations. And their ancestor, Wen Fengyuan, was an even more extraordinary figure—he had once served as the head of the Great Xia Academy, while simultaneously holding the post of Imperial Academy Chancellor. He was truly a dual pinnacle figure in both the imperial court and the martial world. His influence extended across the entire Great Xia court, with at least one-fifth of its officials connected to him in some way—whether as his disciples or old friends. This vast network had cemented the Wen family’s unshakable status within the Great Xia Dynasty.
As for martial cultivation, Wen Fengyuan’s realm was equally unfathomable. Over a decade ago, when the late emperor still reigned, he had already reached the peak of the Divine Mansion realm, becoming a Primordial Spirit True Man—a towering colossus in his own right. In recognition of his achievements, the late emperor personally bestowed upon him the title of Duke Rongguo of Great Xia upon his retirement. This title represented not only Wen Fengyuan’s personal merits but also the Wen family’s standing in the eyes of the imperial clan. The Duke of Rongguo was one of the highest noble ranks in the dynasty, reserved only for those with generations of distinction and outstanding service—royal relatives or veteran ministers.
Thus, even in retirement, Wen Fengyuan’s renown commanded respect far and wide.
Ten years ago, when the Wen family’s eldest legitimate son, Wen Mochen, became the imperial son-in-law, the family’s prestige reached its zenith, ranking just below the Eight Great Clans throughout the entire Great Xia Dynasty. Within the Eastern Domain, the Wen family’s influence was at its peak—even most of the regional governors had to tread carefully around them. Take the governor of Wentai Prefecture, for instance—though he governed a vast territory, he still made it a point to personally visit Duke Rongguo Wen Fengyuan every few days, bowing and scraping, speaking with utmost deference, terrified of giving any offense.
As the eldest legitimate son and heir to the family, Wen Mochen naturally attracted much attention. He carried not only the family’s expectations but also enjoyed supreme honor and martial resources under the personal patronage of Ancestor Wen Fengyuan. Though he was barely thirty, he had already reached the peak of the Inner Qi realm—though this was partly due to his own somewhat lacking martial talent. Otherwise, with the Wen family’s enormous resources, he would have long since attained the rank of Martial Grandmaster.
“You wretched woman—stay right here and behave!”
Wen Mochen’s voice seemed to squeeze through clenched teeth, each word dripping with venomous hatred. His gaze bore straight into the woman on the bed, as if he wanted to tear her apart limb from limb on the spot.
“In half a year, the Wen family will become one of the new Eight Great Clans. Those families have already promised us—once the great plan succeeds, they will grant us that legendary artifact.”
“A Ten-Pattern Sun-Class Vessel!”
A Ten-Pattern Sun-Class Vessel! As the future head of the Wen family, Wen Mochen was naturally privy to certain important secrets of the Great Xia Dynasty. The Ten-Pattern Sun-Class ritual vessels represented the dynasty’s ultimate power—bar none. The imperial clan, the Eight Great Clans, and the five transcendent powers all owed their supremacy in Great Xia to the immense might of these Ten-Pattern Sun-Class artifacts!
If their Wen family could obtain this legendary vessel, then Ancestor Wen Fengyuan could harness its power and stand at the very apex of Great Xia’s martial artists. And he, as the family’s future head, might one day glimpse that power for himself.
Wen Mochen’s mind painted vivid fantasies of wielding the Ten-Pattern Sun-Class Vessel, and the more he dreamed, the more engrossed he became. A greedy fire ignited in his eyes. Then, throwing his head back, he burst into shrill, arrogant laughter that echoed through the silent chamber.
With a sharp flick of his sleeve, he strode away, his laughter still lingering in the air.
But before the sound had fully faded, a blurry silhouette appeared at the doorway like a ghost—tall, upright, and utterly silent, standing before Wen Mochen without warning.
It all happened so fast that Wen Mochen had no time to react.
The next second, a slap packed with immeasurable force whistled through the air and landed squarely across his face.
BANG!
The deafening crack seemed to pierce eardrums. Wen Mochen’s body was hurled backward like a cannonball, uncontrollably crashing through obstacles along the way, sending debris flying. Finally, he slammed into a pillar near the wall, rebounded, and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Lying on the floor like a dead dog, Wen Mochen twitched in agony, fighting through waves of excruciating pain. His once-handsome, pale face now bore a vivid, crimson handprint—so deep it seemed branded into his flesh, stark and glaring. A trickle of thick blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the clean floor in a morbidly striking stain.
Struggling to lift his head, Wen Mochen’s eyes—blazing with fury a moment ago—went wide with sheer disbelief.
Because the figure standing at the doorway was someone he knew all too well.
“Father!” Wen Mochen’s voice trembled, laced with incredulity. “What are you doing?!”
Confusion and grievance flooded his heart—he simply couldn’t understand why his own father would strike him so viciously.
The middle-aged man at the entrance was none other than Wen Mochen’s biological father, Wen Lingyun—the current head of the Wen family.
Wen Lingyun’s eyes were cold as steel, murderous intent churning within them, his face dark and stormy. Each step he took into the room carried an aura that made one’s blood run cold.
When he reached Wen Mochen, his hands unconsciously clenched into tight fists. The invisible, terrifying power surrounding him seemed to materialize into white liquid ripples spreading outward, making the air itself heavy and suffocating.
In the blink of an eye, Wen Lingyun’s furious eyes looked ready to split open, veins bulging on his forehead like writhing serpents. He lunged forward, grabbing Wen Mochen by the collar and yanking him upward—their faces nearly touching.
Oblivious to the distance, Wen Lingyun roared hoarsely:
“You little beast!”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”
His rage-filled bellow was like rolling thunder exploding in Wen Mochen’s ears, leaving his head ringing and his mind blank.
Though Wen Mochen was a peak Inner Qi realm martial artist, before the furious Wen Lingyun he was utterly powerless—like an ant beneath a heel, forced to endure the full brunt of his father’s wrath.
Seeing his son remain silent, Wen Lingyun’s chest heaved violently again as he struggled to contain his barely controlled fury. Still fuming, he continued to roar:
“Who allowed you to do this?”
“And who else was involved?!”
His voice was low and icy, as if rising from the depths of hell, each word carrying a bone-chilling coldness that could freeze the very air.
“How could I have sired such a monster!”
Wen Lingyun laughed in bitter fury, a flash of ruthless resolve crossing his eyes.
“Fine then. Since you are so recklessly brazen, I’ll send you, you little beast, to join that equally audacious bitch of a mother of yours!”
The moment his words ended, his aura surged violently, and killing intent spilled out like a tangible miasma.
The “audacious bitch” he referred to was none other than Wen Mochen’s own mother—the Wen family matriarch, whom Wen Lingyun had once married in a formal ceremony.
Clearly, Wen Lingyun believed his son’s actions had been instigated by her. So he laid all the blame squarely on his lawful wife. On his way here, he had already struck her down without warning in their own chambers—a single palm strike, merciless and final.
It turned out that while Wen Mochen had been running amok, Wen Lingyun—as head of the Wen family—had been away from Yuntai Prefecture visiting old friends. He knew nothing of the outside world during that time, only that a catastrophic calamity had struck Haoran Prefecture’s capital.
Upon learning the news yesterday, he had rushed back to Wentai Prefecture without a moment’s rest, then pressed on to the family’s evacuation site—Mingxin Mansion’s capital city.
Barely back at his residence, his trusted confidant had hurriedly reported to him in secret, detailing Wen Mochen’s deeds—the full story, cause and effect, laid bare before him.
That beast Wen Mochen had been utterly depraved!
He had captured the handmaiden who had grown up alongside Princess Xingyue, toyed with her savagely, and tortured her to death.
Then, fearing the princess would report him to the authorities in Tian Du, he had seized an unguarded moment to strike—cruelly maiming Princess Xingyue herself.
Her martial cultivation was destroyed, and all four of her limbs were brutally broken. Now she lay at death’s door, barely clinging to life.
Wen Mochen’s eyes bulged as if they might burst from their sockets. His body was immobilized by some mysterious force, leaving him able only to watch—helplessly watching his father Wen Lingyun’s palm, wrapped in terrifying Gang Yuan, swoop down upon his forehead like a hawk striking prey.
No one in this world knew his father’s true strength better than Wen Mochen.
Wen Lingyun—a Lesser Outer Gang Grandmaster—whose power was already nearing the peak of Outer Gang Grandmaster realm. And he himself was merely a minor Inner Qi realm cultivator.
Faced with such a devastating strike, Wen Mochen knew only one outcome awaited him: certain death, with no chance of survival whatsoever.
Just as he closed his eyes in utter despair, waiting for the end…
A hunched figure quietly appeared outside the door. Then the old man stepped forward slowly, unhurriedly, one step at a time.
And then—before Wen Lingyun’s horrified gaze—the slightly stooped elder simply extended a single finger.
And gently pressed it against Wen Lingyun’s palm—the one that had been hurtling toward Wen Mochen’s forehead with unstoppable force.
In that instant, Wen Lingyun’s seemingly unstoppable right hand froze mid-air, as if under a spell. No matter how much strength he exerted, he could not move it another inch.
At the same time, a faint but heart-stopping pressure emanated from the elder’s seemingly frail frame—like a spring breeze, gentle yet irresistible, smoothing out all the violent chaos in the room.
“Lingyun, hold!”
The elder finally spoke. His voice was not loud, but carried an authority that Wen Lingyun could not defy.
“Ancestor!”
Wen Lingyun recognized the hunched elder at once. Suppressing his shock, he dropped to his knees without hesitation, kowtowing reverently at the old man’s feet.
“Lingyun greets the Ancestor!”
All traces of his earlier ferocity vanished, replaced by sheer deference.
Wen Mochen, having narrowly escaped death, collapsed like a heap of mud, legs giving out beneath him. After a long moment, he struggled to prop himself up on trembling hands, crawling desperately to the elder’s feet.
“Ancestor!” he wailed, clinging to the old man’s embroidered boots as if they were his last lifeline.
“Save me!”
Tears and snot streamed down his face, his voice trembling with terror and despair. “He killed my mother, and now he wants to kill me too!”
The identity of this elder was unmistakable—Wen Fengyuan, the Wen family’s founding ancestor.
Wen Fengyuan gazed down at the kneeling Wen Lingyun, his eyes deep and composed, and spoke slowly.
“Lingyun, I have my own plans for this matter. You’ve traveled far and must be exhausted—go rest for a few days. In three days, you will accompany me to receive some guests from certain places.”
A moment later, Wen Lingyun suddenly looked up, his face pale and distraught.
Just now, the Ancestor had secretly used his Primordial Spirit power to reveal the identities of those people to him.
And to his utter shock, they were representatives from the Eight Great Clans and those transcendent powers.
At this moment, Wen Lingyun’s expression was one of utter desolation. His body slowly leaned backward until he lay sprawled limply on the floor, his mind churning with tangled thoughts—yet gradually, the answer became painfully clear.
He finally understood.
Behind all of this, the true mastermind was none other than his own Ancestor.
Why?!
For what purpose?!
