HNYWEF -Chapter 165 Words That Shocked Everyone

The main hall stayed silent for a long time.

Long enough for the last wisp of steam in the teacups to fade away. Long enough for the sunlight on the window lattice to shift half an inch.

The three men sat where they were, none of them moving.

The fire in Zhou Xiong’s eyes was still burning, but it was no longer the kind that looked ready to burn straight through someone.

It was the kind left behind after the blaze had already passed—no longer fierce, but still scorching.

Changsun Wuji’s hands rested on his knees. They were still trembling.

He lowered his head and stared at the bowl of tea gone completely cold on the table for a long while.

Then he looked up at Zhou Xiong.

The expression on his face had changed—not fear, not anger, but something harder to describe.

Like someone had peeled off a layer of skin, exposing what lay underneath before even he himself had the chance to see it clearly.

He spoke. His voice came out softer than he expected.

“You have every right not to forgive me…”

Something shifted in Zhou Xiong’s eyes.

Changsun Wuji paused.

What was he waiting for?

For Zhou Xiong to say, “I don’t forgive you”?

For Zhou Xiong to stand up and walk away?

Or for Zhou Xiong to curse him out again?

He didn’t know.

He only knew that once the words were spoken, there was still more he had to say—but he hadn’t gotten the chance yet.

“The hell’s wrong with you? You plotting something again?”

Zhou Xiong’s voice exploded through the room.

He shot up from his chair again. The chair slammed backward and tilted crookedly, though it didn’t fall.

He stood there pointing at Changsun Wuji, his finger trembling again.

“Who are you trying to hurt this time? What are you scheming now? Are you—”

His voice came faster and faster, more frantic with every word, like a crack opening in a dam, water surging out faster than anyone could stop it.

“Weren’t you going to kill Li Ke? Weren’t you going to kill Fang Yiai? Weren’t you planning to get rid of everyone standing in your way?”

The color drained instantly from Changsun Wuji’s face.

Not the pale of someone being scolded—the pale of someone who had just heard something he absolutely should not have heard.

He sat there staring at Zhou Xiong’s twisted expression, at the finger pointed straight at him, at those eyes blazing through the fog.

What was this man talking about? Li Ke? Fang Yiai?

Those names burst from Zhou Xiong’s mouth like stones hurled into water, sending ripples spreading outward.

How did he know about Li Ke? How did he know about Fang Yiai?

Changsun Wuji suddenly sprang to his feet.

He moved too fast. His knee slammed into the edge of the table. A teacup jumped, tipped over, and spilled tea across the tabletop.

He didn’t even notice.

He crossed the distance in one stride, reached out, and clamped a hand over Zhou Xiong’s mouth.

Zhou Xiong’s voice was muffled, but his eyes were not.

Those eyes glared at Changsun Wuji, something inside them still surging violently, still spilling outward as though every hidden thing buried underneath was about to be dragged into the open.

“Are you trying to get me killed?!”

Changsun Wuji’s voice cracked.

He kept it low, but he couldn’t suppress the strain leaking from his throat.

His hand pressed over Zhou Xiong’s mouth, his palm slick with sweat.

He could feel Zhou Xiong’s lips still moving beneath it, still speaking those words he could neither hear clearly nor wanted to hear clearly.

“What are you even talking about? Li Ke? Fang Yiai? You—”

He couldn’t continue.

Because those names kept circling in his mind until his head hurt.

How could this man know them? How could he connect those names to him? On what grounds?

And yet, there was a voice in the back of his mind—small, faint, like something drifting in from very far away.

That voice said:

You are capable of doing something like that.

Changsun Wuji’s hand trembled.

He didn’t know why he would think such a thing.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even thought about it.

But that voice remained there, like a thorn buried in his mind that he could not pull out.

He looked into Zhou Xiong’s eyes. The fire inside them still burned, burning so fiercely it made his whole body turn cold.

And suddenly, Zhou Xiong’s words no longer sounded like madness.

At least not like fabricated madness.

It sounded more like he was looking through Changsun Wuji’s face and seeing something even Changsun Wuji himself had never seen.

He suddenly turned his head toward Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi was still seated in his chair, unmoving since the very beginning.

His face was pale too—just as pale as Changsun Wuji’s.

He looked at Zhou Xiong, then at Changsun Wuji, then at the hand clumsily covering his father’s mouth.

His entire body seemed frozen in place.

Zhou Yi did not move.

But very quickly, Zhou Xiong kicked Zhangsun Wuji away with just the right amount of force and broke free.

“Are you fucking panicking now? Trying to silence me on the spot, huh?!”

“Your father’s started talking nonsense!”

Zhangsun Wuji roared himself hoarse.

“Hurry up and take your father home first!”

He did not even know why he was shouting. He only knew that this man absolutely could not stay here any longer.

If he stayed any longer, what else would he say?

What else could he possibly say?

Zhou Yi finally snapped back to his senses and walked over to pull Zhou Xiong away.

Dragged along by him, Zhou Xiong slowly walked toward the doorway step by step.

But when he reached the threshold, he suddenly stopped.

He did not turn around. He just stood there with his back to Zhangsun Wuji, motionless.

Zhou Yi tugged at him once. He did not move.

“Dad, let’s go home first. Let’s go home.”

He pulled again.

This time, Zhou Xiong moved.

He stepped over the threshold and walked out.

Their footsteps echoed through the corridor for a while before gradually fading into the distance.

The main hall fell silent again.

Zhangsun Wuji stood where he was without moving.

His hand was still suspended in midair, frozen in the posture of covering someone’s mouth.

Slowly, he lowered it. His palm was drenched in sweat. He glanced at it once before letting it fall to his side.

He stood there, chest still heaving violently.

Li Ke. Fang Yiai. People blocking the road. Kill them.

Those words buzzed in his mind like flies, impossible to drive away.

He took a deep breath, then turned around and walked to the doorway, shouting outside—

“Someone! Clean this place up!”

Zhangsun Wuji’s voice was as cold as ice.

A servant answered and hurriedly crouched down to pick up the shattered porcelain pieces.

Zhangsun Wuji stared at the servant for a long time.

Then he lifted his foot and kicked over the crooked chair beside him.

The chair rolled twice across the floor before slamming into the threshold with a crack, one of its legs snapping clean off.

“What the fuck is all this bullshit?!”

He roared again.

His voice echoed through the main hall, making even the window paper tremble.

The servant was so frightened that he instantly dropped to his knees, lowering his head so far it nearly touched the ground. His body curled into itself as he dared neither move nor speak, even suppressing his breathing to the faintest whisper.

“Out of goodwill? The fuck kind of goodwill is this?!”

“I served him tea! I apologized to him! I fucking—”

Suddenly, he could not continue.

He stood amid the wreckage, chest rising and falling violently, mouth open, yet no sound came out.

Looking down at the shattered porcelain, the dried tea stains on the floor, and the servant curled into a trembling ball on the ground, he suddenly felt weak all over.

Those names still spun inside his head, spinning until it hurt.

He raised a hand and rubbed at his temples several times.

Li Ke. Fang Yiai.

That man had pointed at his face and spoken with absolute certainty, as if those things had already happened, as if he had already done them.

The servant was still kneeling there, not even daring to breathe loudly.

Suddenly, Zhangsun Wuji spoke. His voice was so low it sounded like it leaked out from the depths of his throat.

“Get out.”

The servant raised his head and looked at him.

But Zhangsun Wuji did not look back. He remained standing there, staring at the puddle-like tea stain on the floor.

“GET OUT!”

As if granted amnesty, the servant scrambled to his feet. The broken porcelain in his hands almost slipped and shattered again.

He staggered toward the doorway, nearly crashing into the frame. He did not dare look back as he fled.

The footsteps faded away, and silence once again settled over the main hall.

Zhangsun Wuji stood there motionless.

Broken porcelain littered the ground—by his feet, beside the table legs, in the corners of the room.

Those words still spun in his head until it hurt.

But he no longer cared. He simply stood there and let them spin.

Standing in the middle of the hall, he stared at the doorway.

Dusk seeped through the cracks of the door and spread across the floor in a dim gray haze.

He watched for a while before turning around and walking inward. After two steps, he suddenly stopped.

Without turning back, he stood there for a single breath.

Then he continued forward.

His footsteps echoed through the corridor for a while before gradually fading away.

The main hall was left empty, with only the pile of shattered porcelain in the corner and the tea stains covering the floor.