He gave one of his men a look, instructing him to hit the target, but not to kill him.
Chen Hede stepped into the depths of the ancestral hall. The heavy wooden door behind him creaked and groaned, shutting out most of the noise from outside.
In the very center, the pitch-black coffin lay silently on the ground. The ebony's luster was dimmed by the incense smoke, like a silent boulder, making the air in the ancestral hall feel heavy.
Chen Hede's gaze fell on the coffin, and for a moment, it overlapped with the scene in the teahouse a few days ago—Hu Moli was sitting by the window then, her slender body wrapped in a plain cheongsam, her fingertips holding a teacup, listening quietly to him speak, the tranquility in her eyes somewhat overlapping with the deathly silence emanating from this coffin now.
My heart clenched suddenly, and it felt as if my feet were suddenly bound by a thousand pounds of iron, and every step I took required all my strength.
He recalled the cold skin his fingertips touched when he took the jade pendant with her name engraved on Hu Moli's body, and her face disfigured by smoke.
Those images are like a red-hot branding iron, burning fiercely into my mind.
A metallic sweetness surged in his throat, and Chen Hede felt his knees buckle, unable to support himself any longer, and he knelt heavily in front of the coffin with a thud.
My knee slammed against the hard blue brick, sending a piercing pain through me, but it was nothing compared to the countless needles pricking my heart.
I'm sorry, Hu Moli.
He repeated it to himself over and over, and guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, almost drowning him.
It was him; he was the one who sent her to the Cheng mansion, and he was the one who personally pushed her into that disaster.
But he could only keep this regret to himself.
Facing the coffin and the entire Cheng family, he couldn't even utter a word of condolence, let alone acknowledge his connection to the deceased.
He could only lower his head, letting the stray hairs on his forehead cover his eyes, hiding all his surging emotions in silence, even his breathing was heavy with an indescribable weight.
A servant from the Cheng family came over carrying a copper tray, holding three sticks of incense covered in gold powder between her fingertips. She handed them to Chen Hede with such gentle movements that it was as if she was afraid of disturbing something.
Another old woman squatted in the corner, throwing stacks of yellow paper into the brazier. The flames shot up half a foot high, licking the damp air and casting flickering light on the faces of those around her.
The leaping flame was like a mirror, suddenly reflecting the most horrific image in Chen Hede's mind—exploded doors and windows, towering flames, and blackened beams in the ruins.
His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his fingertips almost snapped the slender wooden stick as he took the incense. He struck several matches before he could finally light it.
The heat from the incense burned his fingertips, but he was completely unaware.
He straightened his back and bowed deeply to the black coffin. His Adam's apple bobbed during the first bow, his eyes reddened during the second bow, and his shoulders trembled slightly during the third bow.
The voice in my heart shattered into pieces: I'm sorry, Hu Moli. From now on, every Qingming Festival, I will come to burn paper money for you, set up a memorial tablet for you at the temple, and ask the best master to perform a ritual for your soul...
These words stuck in his throat, burning him with pain, yet he couldn't utter a single one.
The moment the incense stick was inserted into the incense burner, Chen Hede lowered his head, looked at his white knuckles, and tears fell unexpectedly, landing on the bluestone slab with a "plop," leaving a small dark water stain.
Then came the second and the third drop, like beads from a broken string, mingling with the ashes of incense, silently seeping into the dust.
Chen Hede's gaze passed over the swirling incense smoke and landed on Cheng Muyun.
The setting sun slanted in through the carved window of the ancestral hall, gilding the man with a golden-red hue, but it couldn't hide the streaks of tears on his face.
Those eyes, which always carried a hint of nonchalance, were now brimming with tears, her eyelashes sticking together wetly. She looked like a piece of shattered glass, her whole being exuding a fragile, easily broken quality in the light and shadow.
Cheng Muyun slowly bent down, his forehead almost touching the coffin.
He reached out, his fingertips gently touching the mask covering the corpse, and placed a kiss as light as a sigh.
“Zhuohua,” his voice was hoarse as if it had been sanded, each word dripping with blood, “I will avenge you.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the darkening sky outside the ancestral hall. He emphasized the last few words, as if squeezing them out from between his teeth: "Watch closely, I will make everyone pay the price."
Chen Hede's heart sank suddenly, as if a block of ice had fallen on it.
The ruthlessness in his tone was so clear; it wasn't just ordinary venting, but a resolute determination to destroy everything in the process. He was almost certain that what Cheng Muyun was about to do had crossed the boundaries of the rules.
Cheng Muyun's fingertips gently caressed the cloud patterns on the burial shroud inside the coffin, his movements as tender as if he were touching fragile porcelain. The lingering affection in his eyes was almost tangible.
He patted the coffin one last time, as if saying goodbye to someone, or perhaps encouraging himself.
The moment I turned around, that bit of warmth vanished.
A fierce flame suddenly ignited in Cheng Muyun's eyes, burning from the depths of his eyes to the tips of his eyebrows, making the surrounding air seem scorching hot.
His gaze, like a poisoned arrow, shot straight into the courtyard—Xu Jixin had already stopped, while Li Qirui lay on the ground, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, still twitching slightly.
Cheng Muyun's footsteps were swift, and the dust he kicked up as he stepped over the threshold was filled with hostility.
Li Qirui scrambled forward on the ground like a fish out of water, using both hands and feet, but Cheng Muyun grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him up like a chick, dragging him into the ancestral hall.
The couplets on the wooden pillars swayed, causing a few specks of dust to fall.
With a dull thud, Li Qirui was slammed hard onto the cold blue brick floor. The moment his cheek hit the ground, a burst of stars exploded before his eyes, and a metallic taste mixed with blood and foam surged into his mouth.
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