Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Countless Calculations of the Human Heart

Xue Wenyang and Li Dahu stood guard on either side of Yu Lang, while Xie Zhiqian went so far as to draw his Seaview Sword.

Xue Wenyang sneered coldly. “Old Master Zhang, do you think the Moon-Washing Academy is powerless? With the scant resources your Zhang family commands, do you really believe you can contend with my Wave Battalion?”

Yet, to everyone’s astonishment, as soon as Xue Wenyang’s words fell, more than half of the Wave Battalion slowly shifted to stand behind Zhang Chengxing, making it clear they would follow him come what may.

Yu Lang finally saw things clearly: Zhang Chengxing’s drunken outburst was no accident but the product of premeditated malice, and the rest of the Wave Battalion had long since been won over. Left at Yu Lang’s side were only Xue Wenyang, Li Dahu, Xie Zhiqian, Yang Xu, and Xu Qing, whose life had once been saved by Obaba.

There was no way Zhang Chengxing could have orchestrated this alone; Yu Lang and Li Dahu exchanged a look, and a single name leapt to both their minds—Zhu Yiming. It was he who fanned the flames of Zhang Chengxing’s envy and suspicion, setting this plot in motion—a single stroke to shatter the once-united Wave Battalion, doom Yu Lang, and make Huang Ying give up on Zhang Chengxing for good.

Such ruthless, decisive action made Yu Lang see the once frivolous young lord in a new light.

But the foes Yu Lang and his friends now faced were not merely the Zhang family’s retainers and their own battalion brothers—hidden in the shadows were also the men of the Yellow River Sect, waiting for their chance.

Yu Lang had not responded to Zhang Chengxing’s earlier words, but now he set down his chopsticks and spoke. “Chengxing, if you take back everything you just said, I’ll consider it drunken nonsense and let it go.”

Zhang Chengxing only sneered, making it clear there was no room for compromise.

Yu Lang stepped away from his companions, holding out empty hands. “Weren’t you going to beat me to death? Who’ll be the first to strike? Jiang Wuchen, your staff techniques are the best—especially your sweeps to the legs. Your only flaw is your lack of restraint; once you strike, you don’t know how to pull back. I showed you once—so you should know how to hit me. Go ahead.”

Jiang Wuchen hung his head.

Yu Lang stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the men of the Wave Battalion.

They all retreated a step, lowering their eyes in silence. Not one among them could claim to have never benefited from Yu Lang’s help in the past three years. Under the weight of his disappointed gaze, their courage evaporated—they wished only to sink into the floor and disappear.

The Wave Battalion might hesitate, but the Zhang family’s men would not. Several burly men moved to pin Yu Lang to the ground, only to find that, even together, they could not budge him an inch. Staves as thick as their arms broke against him as if striking iron. The young man’s body seemed made of bronze and steel.

Zhang Chengxing knew Yu Lang was formidable—his own forces combined might not be enough to prevail. So he turned his rage upon Huang Ying instead: “I’ll deal with him after reporting to Headmaster Chen tomorrow. For now, beat this wretched woman to death!”

Zhang Chengxing dared act with such impunity, and the others dared betray Yu Lang, because they relied on Yu Lang’s brotherly loyalty. No matter what his men did, Yu Lang had never punished them, at most letting Li Dahu scold them a little. Because their hearts held only gratitude, never fear, the Wave Battalion had grown loose and undisciplined. In their eyes, Yu Lang was a docile sheep.

But this time, Zhang Chengxing was gravely mistaken. The moment he spat out those venomous words, Yu Lang slapped him, knocking out a mouthful of teeth, and before he could recover, pinned him against the wall so hard his skull cracked against the bricks, leaving him dazed and seeing stars.

The others tried to help Zhang Chengxing, only to find themselves utterly unable to move.

Old Master Zhang, hoping to rely on his age and status to intervene, was stopped short by the murderous intent in Yu Lang’s eyes, stumbling back several steps. He had no doubt that the slightest move would cost him his life.

For the first time, Zhang Chengxing felt the terror of death. All those years of following Yu Lang on missions, no matter the danger, he had always been shielded. Only now did he understand why both bandits and Tibetan soldiers alike had feared Yu Lang—he was a demon from hell to his enemies, all cruelty and no mercy. Any warmth he possessed was reserved for his friends—an opportunity Zhang Chengxing had forever squandered.

Yu Lang pressed Zhang Chengxing’s face beneath his foot, unflinching. “Do you remember how shy you were the first time you told me you liked Huang Ying? Thinking back, it’s revolting. All you ever wanted was her body. Someone like you knows nothing of love, nor do you possess a shred of manly responsibility.”

By now, Yu Lang had seen Zhang Chengxing’s true nature—a man who loved to play the champion of justice, who would endlessly harp on Headmaster Chen’s past misdeeds, who raged at others’ faults but held himself to a different standard entirely. The world is full of such people: quick to judge, quick to preach sacrifice, but when it comes to themselves, they act with shameless self-interest. Their sense of justice is nothing but a performance.

The more Yu Lang thought, the angrier he became. The darkness in his heart stirred, and he pressed down harder.

Zhang Chengxing’s head felt ready to split. Desperate, he cried out, “Brother Lang! Brother Lang! I was wrong! Give me another chance!”

Yu Lang was unmoved.

Zhang Chengxing burst into tears. “Brother Lang, you promised to protect us!”

Suddenly, Yu Lang’s heart softened. Scenes of their camaraderie flashed before his eyes. Zhang Chengxing was still young—perhaps, with this lesson, he might yet change.

Feeling the pressure on his face lessen, Zhang Chengxing scrambled away, shouting, “Patriarch! Patriarch! I’ve seen the light! I want to join the Yellow River Patriarch—come out and kill them all for me!”

Zhu Yiming entered the Zhang family’s rear courtyard, followers in tow, his face radiant with satisfaction at the drama’s outcome.

But when he saw Huang Ying’s shattered expression, he showed a rare gentleness, stepping forward to draw her into a gentle embrace. “Yingying, don’t be afraid. Come with me to the Yellow River Sword Sect. No one will ever hurt you again.”

Huang Ying was already on the verge of collapse. Suddenly reunited with Zhu Yiming, feeling the warmth of his arms, she let down her final defenses and wept bitterly on his shoulder.

If Zhang Chengxing had truly cherished her, she might never have turned to Zhu Yiming. But at this moment, she was so fragile she needed only a shoulder to lean on.

Zhu Yiming’s appearance was timed to perfection—every detail calculated. To abduct Huang Ying by force would win only her body, never her heart. But by amplifying Zhang Chengxing’s darkness until she lost hope, then appearing at the perfect moment, everything fell into place as planned.

Zhang Chengxing beamed obsequiously. “Patriarch, I’ve done everything you asked. Yu Lang is right here—kill them! Kill those two!”

But Zhang Chengxing’s smile froze on his face. A tool that had outlived its use had only one fate—death. He gasped for breath, incredulous, touching his wounds again and again, gazing with longing at the courtyard where he had grown up, his life draining away.

Zhu Yiming was flushed with triumph. Tonight, he had finally outmaneuvered Yu Lang. Years of painstaking study of his rival had paid off—Yu Lang’s weakness was his soft heart. Play the emotional card, and sooner or later, Yu Lang would show a flaw.

Suddenly, Zhu Yiming noticed the strange, pitying looks others were casting his way. Confused—he was certain he was the victor—he glanced down and saw Huang Ying, lips pressed tight, driving a dagger into his chest.

The blade was double-edged—one side buried in Huang Ying’s heart, the other in Zhu Yiming’s.

The double-edged dagger was Huang Ying’s personal weapon.

And so, this pair of ill-fated lovers died entwined, both wretched and inextricably bound.

In his final moments, Zhu Yiming gave a tragic laugh. All those years and countless nights of harsh training, all the beautiful smiles that had haunted his dreams, now merged with the lifeless face before him.

This was the worst of endings; this was the best of resting places. At last, his bitterness faded and was gone.