The old man nodded his head in silence, but before Ye Baiyi could ask, he said, “I can’t speak of it. Rong Xuan and his wife are benefactors who saved my life. I promised Madam Rong this. I can’t speak of it.”

Ye Baiyi replied coldly, “This is not up to you.”

The old man laughed, and moved his leg over with strenuous effort. Feeling around for the metal chain that had been pierced through his kneecap, he lifted it for Ye Baiyi to see, and continued to make light of it, “What else can you do to me? Long Xiao, that little beast...has already kept me captive for three years. What else can you do to me?”

Looking at this old man, for whom even exhaling was a chore, lean against the bedpost with a faint, barely-there hint of a smile and a languorous demeanour, Zhou Zishu was suddenly reminded of those words that General Fan Kuai[32] of a past era had uttered, “I am afraid of not even death; why would I refuse a mere cup of wine?”, and he could not help himself from speculating what kind of person this Long Que was.

He was shockingly talented, yet, for one person, he would seclude himself from the bustle of humanity, and single-handedly construct the highly mysterious and perilous Puppet Manor; for a promise, to keep a secret, he lived through three years of Hell on Earth, and not even his own biological son could loosen his tongue...Zhou Zishu suddenly felt that because there was this old man--who was clinging onto his last breath of life--before his eyes, no one else in the whole jianghu was fit to be called a “noble hero”.

The arm that Wen Kexing was hugging him with tightened abruptly, as though he wanted to press Zhou Zishu’s whole body into his own. Zhou Zishu frowned slightly. Turning to look at him, he found Wen Kexing staring numbly at Long Que. There was no trace of laughter on his face, and for one moment, Zhou Zishu even thought that a glint of moisture might have flashed past in those incredibly dark eyes of his. But it was there for only a brief instant, and then it was gone.

He heard him tell Ye Baiyi. “Hey, old freak, since he’s not willing to speak, stop asking for people to dislike you.”

Ye Baiyi ignored him. Grabbing Long Que’s arm, he said coldly, “I don’t want to know about the Lapis Armour or the key or whatever it is. I only want to ask, how did Rong Xuan and his wife die all those years ago?”

He was gripping him so tightly that the veins on the back of his hands were bulging. An expression of pain showed on Long Que’s face at the overly-tight grip, but still he insisted, “I’m not…”