Chapter Seventy-Two: The Price of a Secret?

Descending Mount Song, Yang Wenhao’s mind was weighed down with heavy thoughts.

When it came to Yilin, it was best to sever any lingering hopes early.

All entanglements should end here.

He would have to make his final decision once he returned to Blackwood Cliff.

He had spent nearly half a year in this world of Smiling Proud Wanderer, and Yang Wenhao still couldn’t change his appearance. As time passed, he grew ever more mature.

Half a year—when Yang Wenhao hadn’t yet reached the Foundation Establishment stage, how many more half-years would await him?

Therefore, breaking through to Foundation Establishment as soon as possible was the wisest course.

On Blackwood Cliff, the entire Sun and Moon Divine Cult remained tranquil as always.

The cult leader, Dongfang Bubai, sat at the head seat, reviewing the documents submitted by the various hall masters below.

Suddenly, a cult member rushed in from outside, knelt on one knee in the center of the hall, and saluted Dongfang Bubai: “Reporting, Cult Leader, Elder Yang has returned to Blackwood Cliff.”

Hearing this, Dongfang Bubai immediately set aside the papers and looked at the cultist: “Where is he now?”

“In the dungeon,” the cultist replied.

When he raised his head again, Dongfang Bubai had already vanished.

Blackwood Cliff was the headquarters of the Sun and Moon Divine Cult. Its dungeon held those who had betrayed the cult or were its enemies.

“Elder Yang.” The cultists guarding the dungeon quickly rose and greeted Yang Wenhao respectfully.

Within the cult, status was strictly observed.

Though Yang Wenhao was newly inducted, he was deeply appreciated by the Cult Leader. Even veteran elders treated him with utmost politeness.

“Open the door,” Yang Wenhao said calmly.

“Yes, sir.” The cultist nodded and opened the dungeon gate.

Dongfang Bubai had declared that Yang Wenhao’s words represented her own. Normally, entry required a token, but now a single command from Yang Wenhao sufficed.

Entering the dungeon, he found it shrouded in darkness. Weak sunlight filtered in, yet could not dispel the gloom.

“Let us out!”

“Dongfang Bubai, I’m innocent!”

“I have always been loyal to the cult, I am wronged!”

Voices filled with hatred and grievances echoed around, occasionally reaching Yang Wenhao’s ears.

His expression remained cold. With a flick of his fingers, several cold flashes shot forth.

Those criminals who had been shouting suddenly widened their eyes, their faces contorting as they fell to the ground, their hearts ceasing to beat.

Witnessing this, the cultists trailing him were stunned.

They hadn’t expected Yang Wenhao to kill those prisoners so decisively, just for this reason.

Even those who considered themselves hardened and bloodstained felt their hair stand on end.

Their gaze toward Yang Wenhao grew even more respectful, fearing that a moment’s displeasure might cost them their lives. If that happened, no one would dare avenge them.

Yang Wenhao walked deeper into the dungeon. At each cell, he dispatched those inside with a single finger.

In the eyes of the cultists, Yang Wenhao was like a merciless demon, far more deserving of the term “devil” than their infamous cult.

By the time he reached the inner recesses of the dungeon, nearly all the prisoners had been killed.

Here, the conditions were somewhat better than outside, but it was still a dungeon, so not by much.

At least there were proper beds, tables, and chairs. If something was needed, a call would bring supplies.

Yang Wenhao stopped here. Seeing this, the cultist hurried forward, unlocked the cell, and pushed open the iron gate: “Elder Yang, please.”

He stepped into the cell. Hearing footsteps, the man lying on the bed slowly sat up.

“Is it mealtime?”

The man rubbed his eyes as if just waking.

When he saw Yang Wenhao, he rubbed his eyes again, then looked surprised: “Brother Yang.”

Yang Wenhao smiled slightly: “How have you been these past days, Brother Linghu?”

Linghu Chong gave a bitter smile: “Apart from being unable to move freely, everything else is fine.”

With Yang Wenhao’s word, no one dared show Linghu Chong any disrespect.

“Please, have a seat.” Linghu Chong welcomed Yang Wenhao as if he were a guest in his own home.

Sitting on the wooden chair, Yang Wenhao noticed an unfinished wine jar on the table.

“There’s no tea here, only wine. Let’s use wine in place of tea.” Linghu Chong raised the jar and poured wine for Yang Wenhao.

Filling the bowl to the brim, Linghu Chong lifted his own: “Come, Brother Yang, cheers.”

Yang Wenhao drained the bowl in one gulp. Ancient white spirits burned the throat, their strength considerable.

Yet this amount wasn’t enough to intoxicate Yang Wenhao.

As he poured more wine, Linghu Chong said, “I still remember the first time I met you, Brother Yang—it was at a wedding banquet. We were there to rescue Yilin. At the time, I couldn’t defeat Tian Boguang, so I had to resort to tricks. But when you intervened, you killed the notorious flower thief Tian Boguang in an instant.”

Linghu Chong paused briefly, then continued, “Who would have thought that in just half a year, you’ve become the second most powerful elder in the Sun and Moon Divine Cult, while I... am nothing more than a discarded disciple of Mount Hua.”

His tone was full of emotion.

Yang Wenhao replied, “Sometimes, being an ordinary person isn’t so bad.”

“Yes, it’s not bad. But life only happens once—once a choice is made, there’s no going back,” Linghu Chong nodded.

Yang Wenhao said, “Don’t worry. I will keep my promise.”

Linghu Chong smiled, raised his bowl: “With your word, Brother Yang, I am at ease.”

“Someone, bring the best food and wine,” Yang Wenhao called, looking at Linghu Chong. “Today, I’ll drink with Brother Linghu until we’re both satisfied.”

“Drink until satisfied? Why not include me as well?”

Hearing the voice, Linghu Chong turned and, upon seeing the newcomer, replied nonchalantly, “If you wish, join us.”

The newcomer took a seat and looked at Yang Wenhao: “Does Brother Yang agree?”

Yang Wenhao said, “With the Cult Leader’s invitation, how could I refuse?”

The newcomer was none other than Dongfang Bubai, just arrived from the main hall.

Soon, the attendants brought an array of fine dishes and wine.

The feast was so lavish that Linghu Chong’s mouth watered. For a prisoner to receive such treatment—only Linghu Chong could be so fortunate.

“Come, let’s drink until satisfied.”

“But before that, I have a question.” Dongfang Bubai looked at Yang Wenhao. “Brother Yang, you killed all the prisoners in my dungeon today. Shouldn’t you give me an explanation?”