Chapter 29: What Is Truth

The hall erupted in thunderous applause, yet it was impossible to tell how many were genuinely excited for these seven who had passed. Most, it seemed, were cheering for their own narrow survival. Night Qianling found it difficult to trust anyone now; the incident with Wan Feng had utterly shattered her faith in people.

Si Yan noticed the luminous quality of Night Qianling's eyes as she looked at him—eyes that could not conceal the sorrow buried deep within. He knew he had inherited his looks from his mother; eight out of ten girls who met him would fall for him. He had always found this tiresome, even wishing to avoid such romantic entanglements. But when faced with those eyes, he could not bring himself to look away.

Their gazes met and lingered longer than intended. Night Qianling’s face, slick with cold sweat from pain, had lost the earlier brilliance in her reddened eyes. Where once there was spirit, now there was only calm indifference. Amidst the surrounding jubilation, she alone remained untouched, emotionless. Si Yan was taken aback by this sudden transformation. This should have been a moment to rejoice, yet her despair stood in stark contrast to the celebratory atmosphere, making her seem utterly out of place.

“Congratulations to these seven candidates,” announced the young man in charge, turning to the group after receiving a subtle nod from Ke Li. “You’ve successfully passed the third round.”

“Well done!” Jian Suifei exclaimed, clapping Sui Ying’ai on the shoulder. She turned to him with a look of annoyance, and only then did Jian Suifei realize his mistake—she was a girl. Awkwardly, he waved his hand, apologizing, “Sorry, my mistake.”

Sui Ying’ai shot him a cold glance, then turned away, paying him no further mind and instead focusing on the other candidates who were celebrating their survival.

Jian Suifei had anticipated such a reaction and said nothing more. As he turned back, he noticed blood seeping from the hem of Night Qianling’s trousers and saw the slight tremor in her body. The playboy mask faded from his face.

Jian Suifei hailed from a once-prominent family in Night Country, but his mother had died of grief after his father brought home a new concubine, and his father’s cruelty toward him became notorious. As the saying goes, a stepmother brings a stepfather’s heart. Over time, Jian Suifei became a carefree libertine. The final blow came when his father, having colluded with foreign enemies and caused the deaths of hundreds, was executed and the family ruined overnight. Jian Suifei was sent to the Southern Gardens in the Western Suburbs, a desperate attempt by his mother’s kin to keep him safe.

Though notorious for his loose ways—nearly a hundred lovers before his family’s downfall—it was a miracle he had not fallen ill. From the start, he had noticed Sui Ying’ai, whose cool, aloof demeanor was exactly his type. His attempt just now to get closer to her had been deliberate, and her reaction was as expected, so he paid it little mind. But seeing Night Qianling enduring pain nearby, he could not help but wonder what kind of life had left such deep scars on so beautiful a girl.

He had intended to get to know Night Qianling, his habit of flirting with any attractive girl kicking in as always. But then, by chance, he caught sight of the look in Si Yan’s eyes as he watched Night Qianling. A veteran of countless romantic entanglements, Jian Suifei instantly understood and could almost foresee the future between the two. He abandoned his initial designs.

The young man in charge raised his voice to the crowd. “Eighty-two of you have passed the third round. You may now enter our inner compound, where accommodations will be provided. Your sole task is to rest and prepare yourselves for the far more challenging trials ahead.”

A boy of sixteen or seventeen mustered his courage, scanning the crowd before raising his hand. Upon receiving permission, he asked hesitantly, “May I withdraw now? I don’t think I’m strong enough for the Southern Gardens. I’d like to go back and train more, if that’s allowed?”

“At the start of the third round, you were all given the chance to withdraw,” replied the man overseeing the trial. “By staying, you showed faith in your abilities. Now, you must see that faith through to the end. Here, only defeat or death releases you.” With that, any hope of going home was extinguished; all that remained was to pray the next round would not threaten their lives.

The man led them to the door from which Night Qianling had emerged not long before. The crowd buzzed with opinions about their new lodgings. Some former aristocrats, despite their fall from grace, looked down on the accommodations, while those from humble backgrounds found the place far superior to their own homes and felt the hardship more bearable.

Those who had fought side by side earlier seemed to have forged the beginnings of a revolutionary camaraderie, naturally gravitating to the rear of the group. Zhou Xiaojie, who had just fought alongside Zhao Mengge and enjoyed making friends, sidled up to him. “Brother Zhao, that was close just now. Your movements are so fast—your lightness skill is amazing. Could you teach me?”

Zhao Mengge replied with scholarly grace to Zhou Xiaojie’s childlike question. After all, for a fifteen-year-old to be here was already remarkable. In a place rife with competition and brutality, where any moment could mean death, one had to remain ever vigilant. Yet Zhao Mengge valued such innocence and answered with gentle warmth, “Brother Zhou, you flatter me. I’ve only studied martial arts for a few years—such praise is undeserved. But if I can help, I certainly will.”

“That’s all I hoped for! I’ll work hard. Thank you for taking me as your apprentice,” Zhou Xiaojie blurted out, speaking without much forethought. His words left Zhao Mengge instantly embarrassed. As fellow candidates, it was improper to speak of apprenticeship, even as a jest.

“Please, I couldn’t dare,” Zhao Mengge quickly stepped back with a bow. “We are the same age—it wouldn’t be right.”

Realizing his slip, Zhou Xiaojie stammered, “No, Brother Zhao, I didn’t mean it—I was just joking.”

The clash of icy reserve and fiery enthusiasm amused Chu Zimu and Si Yan, who exchanged a helpless look. Chu Zimu couldn’t help but comment, “The conversation between Brother Zhao and Brother Zhou is truly entertaining. Brother Zhou’s liveliness and Brother Zhao’s composure are polar opposites—this is going to be interesting.”

The awkwardness was broken by Chu Zimu’s words. Zhou Xiaojie quickly tried to smooth things over. “I tend to speak before I think, Brother Zhao. I just want to learn your lightness skill—you really are amazing.”

The plaintive look on his face made even the normally stern Zhao Mengge smile. “It’s not really teaching—we can learn from each other.”

Si Yan observed the group’s interactions, as if searching for something, though the smile on his lips suited the scene so well that no one noticed his scrutiny.

Jian Suifei walked beside Sui Ying’ai, stealing glances at her. Suddenly, Si Yan seemed to notice and strode over to Jian Suifei. “Brother Jian, shall we be friends?” He extended his hand for a formal handshake.

Jian Suifei, his gaze interrupted, finally looked at Si Yan. He stared into Si Yan’s eyes for a good half-minute—so long that Si Yan’s expression began to falter—before finally grasping the hand that was about to be withdrawn. “Of course, Brother Chi,” he replied, smiling without warmth.

Had these two ever met before? Even Si Yan, a master at reading others, could not fathom why Jian Suifei’s response was so cold.

Just as Si Yan was about to withdraw his hand, Jian Suifei pulled his own away with evident distaste, his tone suddenly as somber as it had been in battle. “Brother Chi, do you remember the man you killed earlier?”

Si Yan, sharp as ever, instantly understood to whom Jian Suifei referred—the man he had deliberately killed during the unicorn hunt. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but circumstances had left him no choice.

“You mean the guard during the unicorn hunt?” Si Yan’s question was rhetorical, his tone deliberately certain. As heir to the throne, he had long since lost count of those who had died because of him. Such certainty was only meant to suggest that it had been an accident or an act of necessity. In this place, any enemy could prove fatal.

“I saw you kill him with my own eyes. For people like us, killing is trivial, but your method was too cruel—I can’t condone it,” Jian Suifei said.

“I think you misunderstand,” Si Yan replied calmly, recalling how he had, in the blink of an eye, severed the man’s limbs and rendered him a living corpse. Even though Jian Suifei had tried to save him afterward, it was too late—the man was already dead.

It was the most brutal killing Jian Suifei had ever witnessed, one that shattered his view of the world. Though skilled and capable, he had never imagined using such cruelty, not even against an enemy—let alone an innocent. He had been haunted by it ever since.

“I’ve always felt guilty about that,” Si Yan lied smoothly, his cool demeanor belying his words. “My mind was clouded at the time, and by the time I came to my senses, I realized what I’d done. I’ve been trying to make amends, searching for the man’s kin, but found he was an orphan. With no way to atone, I came here to punish myself. If you can’t accept that, Brother Jian, I understand.”

Whenever Si Yan lied, he would talk too much, a habit totally at odds with his cold appearance. His manipulations were unmatched.