At this, the expressions of those who were in the know changed immediately as whispers broke out. Zhou Zishu took note of Gao Chong seemingly turn to glance Abbot Ci Mu with a grave expression. In contrast, Monk Gu’s young disciple who was sitting near Gao Chong paid no attention, his posture and attitude resembling a detached immortal.

Zhang Chengling, sitting beside Zhao Jing, sneaked a look at the elder. He saw Zhao Jing’s face turned into a mix of rage, contemplation and something else rather scary after “Lapis Armor” was uttered.

The boy’s impending question was stuck in his throat.

In this relatively short amount of time, he had come to understand a lot of things. Zhang Chengling could see the contempt and pity in people’s eyes and read it in their words – that’s right, how could the famous Sir Zhang Yusen have such a coward for a son? He once heard the Zhao’s servants gossiping in secret about whether it was worth it for hundreds of people to lay down their lives just for a kid.

With him being incompetent in every aspect, how could they expect him to avenge Sir Zhang and rebuild the Zhang family?

They only saw him as a mascot to express their hatred for the Ghost Valley; then they would turn to him and said “Ah, the Zhang orphan. Don’t worry, kid, we will seek justice for your father and family.”

A helpless, pitiful mascot.

Zhang Chengling’s thought strayed to the sickly and quiet man he met in the abandoned shrine that day. Ever since that horrific night, he could never sleep without encountering nightmares, but who would care if he told them? Even uncle Zhao would tell him to straighten his spine and stop it from getting to him; that everyone would stand beside him to avenge the Zhangs. There was no one else who would embrace his shoulders and talked to him softly, that “It’s alright, sleep all you want. I’ll wake you if there’s a nightmare.”

Seeing that chaos had broken out, Feng Xiaofeng’s smirked remained as he requested that Gao Chong gave everyone an explanation about the Lapis Armor. Zhang Chengling lowered his head and was kneading his temples when there was a stealthy rush of wind flew at him, carrying a tiny ball of paper to hit his palm directly. Zhang Chengling startled, and after seeing that no one was noticing him, he bent down and picked up the paper ball.

Written on it was simply: Follow me if you want to know the truth.

When Zhang Chengling looked up, in the crowd there was a man in dark clothes who was staring at him without blinking. A cruel sneer seemed to be hung at the corner of his lips, his gaze dark and disdainful as if he was sure that the boy wouldn’t follow him.