“Existence justifies itself!” Xiaoyu thought, a grim smile touching his lips as he recalled the bloody scenes. What kind of justification is this? he wondered. A world not governed by the masters of life was about to be born from the struggle and rivalry between two great factions.

Seeing Xiaoyu remain silent, the old woman descended step by step from the white jade platform, leaning on her wooden staff. As she neared him, she raised the staff and pointed it at him. “Many years ago, I knew this day would come. The moment I became the Puppet King, the Spring of Immortality gave me a revelation: your arrival was destined, and your return to your roots was equally fated. Therefore, I found your mother at the ends of the earth, allowing her to live peacefully here, untouched. Your father, once a colleague of Li Tai, learned his secret by chance and was silenced. If you don't believe my words, you can ask your mother; she is currently drying grain in the village threshing ground. Wang Jue will stay here; go up and find her yourself. If her words confirm mine, you will return here to do what you must. If not, feel free to flee or join forces with the Li family against us. But always remember that your friend traveled a thousand miles to be here, solely to save you.”

At these words, Xiaoyu’s eyes widened, fixed on the wrinkled elder, his heart a tumult of emotions—he didn't know whether to feel gratitude or resentment.

“Go on; I should be safe here,” Wang Jue said, stepping up beside Xiaoyu while he was lost in thought, patting his shoulder. “I will take care of myself. Just remember one thing: when you meet the mermaid, slap yourself twice across the face to see if you are dreaming. If not, slap her twice to see what she truly is.” With that, Wang Jue pulled Xiaoyu up and escorted him out. As they parted, he quietly passed the dagger Zhang Yuqiu had just given him back to Xiaoyu, then took Xiaoyu’s place on the stone stool, staring unmoving at the two elders opposite him.

Xiaoyu was sent away in a daze, Wang Jue’s words echoing incessantly in his mind. He couldn't decipher the message Wang Jue intended to convey, yet he sensed the warning embedded within his speech.

After they were gone, the old woman settled back onto her throne, gazing at Wang Jue with a knowing smile. “You are clever, but he may not grasp your meaning.”

Hearing this, Wang Jue closed his eyes. “It depends on human effort; don't decide so quickly.” Silence then descended upon the hall. Only Fan Jia, who had been forced by the Puppet King to stab Zhang Yuqiu, remained, trembling all over. He worried about the danger she might face on her injured journey back, who would treat her wounds, whether she would fall in love with that person, or whether she would end up hating him for having stabbed her. Intense remorse fermented in Fan Jia’s heart, much like Li Bingyu, drowning in the agony of love and betrayal. Casting one last look at Li Bingyu’s body, curled into a ball, he thought that if only he could pull the spike from her chest and finish off these two old pests, a blinding pain erupted in his head, threatening to crush him like an avalanche. He frowned, glancing at the two elders opposite, who were whispering to each other, seemingly unaware of his sudden, violent thoughts. So, Fan Jia imitated Wang Jue’s posture, sat down on the floor, closed his eyes, and resolutely stopped thinking about those chaotic matters.