Zhao Fan’s voice was as light as a spring breeze, yet carried a weight that crushed the air itself.
"Even if you break all of these recording jade, the records shall forever remain within thousands, if not hundreds of thousands within my hand... Insignificant worm,"
How stupid can one’s intelligence to able to think, others won’t have a backup.
"Ggg..." Zhao Yung screamed, but the sound was not his own, It was as if every echo of his voice had been replaced with a laugh, mocking, and coldness.
He hated it as much as certain painter hated greedy goblins.
His limbs trembled with fear, blood boiling like a pool of lava.
Zhao Fan’s words had struck not his flesh, but something deeper, something that made him shudder.
He felt the earth beneath him shake, not with his own power, but with the weight of a humiliation he could not comprehend.
He knelt, not by choice, but by a force beyond his control. A force that made his knees bend as if they were made of water, flowing to the ground.
Zhao Yung wanted to scream, to fight back. But his voice was gone, stolen by the laughter that filled the air.
All he could do was kneel, his face pressed into the
Cold floor, his hands clawing in a futile attempt to rise.
Is this the difference between heaven and earth?
The greatness of a proud mountain that most scholars can’t fathom?
Twenty more recording jade hung in the air like spectral moons, their gentle glow casting down an eerie light that painted Zhao Yung’s bruised and battered form in hues of revelation and ridicule.
His eyes were blue, blood already dropping to the chin area, with tips trembling.
Each fragment of spiritual recording unfolded slowly, methodically, and historically, as if heaven itself wished to savor the betrayal frame by frame.
Zhao Fan did not speak further right away, for the words had already spoken themselves.
Let the psychological inferiority take place, do not slay a man once and be done, but rend his spirit again and again through endless cruelty of mind.
Such was the creed of the Once Profound Immortal Venerable, who once laughed in Sun Wukong’s face, bent the stone monkey to his knees with a single mock, and shamed him in ways even the Buddha dared not contemplate, by spanking him in the grand meeting of gods.
The humiliation was so vastly rooted in the very core that, to this date, monkeys are born with crimson monkey mounds. ( buttocks )
An ancestral shame, that can’t be washed away with time.
If one doubts the authenticity of this world, feel free to roam the vast world and figure it out.
And that Immortal Venerable was none other than Zhao Fan in his last life.
He merely turned his gaze toward his big brother, a gaze neither hot with fury nor cold with contempt, but simply disinterested, like a sage regarding a fly struggling in tea fighting for its very life.
"Yet you forgot the first principle of rebellion, that even a script written in the blood cannot outpace the hand that holds the brush," He did not shout or scoff.
His voice was gentle, almost tired, like a scholar explaining to a child why the stars cannot be plucked with ladders.
"Do you have anything to say?" The tone as cold as a snow mountain, with a heavy blizzard.
Zhao Yung couldn’t speak.
Seeing this, Zhao Fan smirked.
The sound echoed through the silent hall like the breaking of the very heavens themselves, Zhao Yung’s body convulsed, chest heaving as fresh blood spilled from his mouth, staining the cold stone floor a deep crimson.
His limbs trembled violently, yet he remained on his knees, unable to summon even the faintest flicker of defiance, having his Dao heart shattered.
Zhao Fan’s gaze never wavered. It was as if he was observing a mere flicker of dust dancing in the breeze, unworthy of his ire or mercy.
Yet beneath that calm exterior, a storm brewed, a quiet tempest of contempt and unshakable dominance.
"You called yourself a son of the Zhao family," Zhao Fan murmured, his voice calm but laced with the weight of an ancient judgment.
"But you have neither the will nor the strength to bear its name. You crumble under the shadow of your own weakness... Tch, Tch, Tch,"
Each word was a blade, slicing deeper into Zhao Yung’s shattered spirit.
The once proud Young Master now felt himself drowning in a sea of humiliation, the bitter tides pulling him further beneath the surface of despair.
Zhao Fan extended a hand, the cold light from the jade scrolls reflecting in his piercing eyes.
"Now you will also commit an act that no son shall ever commit... If you want to live and want to repair your Dao heart, This Zhao shall help you, but I want you to go and beg your mother... " He got closer, almost whispering the stories of sin within those ears.
"Yes, go and inform your mother to dual cultivate with me, spread those fine jade legs apart, and show me the very Yin garden from where you descend to this mundane world, and I shall erase the recordings and recover your Dao heart, I will give you three days worth of time, if you fail, you can commit suicide, if not, I will make sure even your soul won’t be spared,"
"Now Scram!!! Your presence ruins the very air around me," with a snap, a fake breath of the first stage of nascent soul cultivation was in Zhao Yung’s body, far better than his previous cultivation.
Zhao Yung, gaining the energy to run, hurriedly got up and ran away, holding his tail.
Zhao Fan turned to look at Maid Yi, who was also shaking in fear.
So brutal... She can’t help but get more wet between her thighs, watering the scared Yin-garden.
The legends has it, the better the watering the better the fertilization.
( Oh constellations comment down your thoughts on it )