Mana flowed, and Wang Yu’s Divine Sense surged into Qin De’s soul like a tide.

Qin De was in unbearable pain but gritted his teeth, refusing to let out a scream.

Wang Yu was indifferent to his plight, focusing completely on observing his memories.

A frail child was studying diligently under the dim light of an oil lamp. His mother sat beside him, mending clothes in the faint light, occasionally glancing at him, her eyes full of expectation.

"De’er, study well. In the future, when you are accomplished, you won’t have to work as hard as your mother."

Though young Qin De was naive, he nodded vigorously, rubbed his weary eyes, and continued memorizing with his head down.

...

Mrs. Qin relocated for the third time.

She carried a simple bag, holding young Qin De’s small hand, as they walked through street after street.

"Mother, why do we have to move?"

"Because this place isn’t good. Mother wants to find you a good place to study."

This time, Qin De’s life finally settled down after the move. The academy was nearby their residence. Mrs. Qin did laundry and mending work here to barely make a living.

...

At the academy, he was surrounded by a few older students.

"A wild bastard without a father, and you think you can read the books of sages?"

"Get lost, don’t sully our place!"

He bit his teeth and endured.

He remembered his mother’s words—"De’er, you must learn to endure. If you endure, it will pass. We have no background, we can’t afford to offend them."

But endurance only invited more aggression and escalation.

Once, the people troubling him brought up Qin De’s mother.

"Your mother is just a washerwoman; how can she let you study? Maybe it’s stolen money!"

"You are not allowed to slander my mother!" Qin De was furious beyond measure.

"Oh? You dare talk back?!" The few were intrigued and surrounded him, "We’re talking about your mother, so what do you want to do about it?"

"Ahhh!" Qin De was overwhelmed with rage, unable to endure anymore, his mind a blank.

When he came back to his senses, he was already on top of that classmate, punching them one after another. The surrounding screams and shouts were unheard by him. He only heard his own heartbeat—thump, thump, thump.

He was given a severe punishment recorded on his file.

His mother exchanged their family’s savings for a basket of eggs, secretly delivering them to the teacher’s doorstep.

Qin De deeply realized one truth: how important strength is! Whether it’s fighting ability, knowledge, reputation, or wealth, they’re all important, extremely important!

Scene after scene flashed in Wang Yu’s Divine Sense.

Qin De’s childhood poverty, his striving youth, his diligence in young adulthood, his middle-aged setbacks... each scene, vividly clear.

He saw how Qin De gradually emerged, how he was held in high regard by his teachers, how he studied diligently by the lamp on countless late nights.

He saw the moment Qin De completed the "Saint Thief Scripture"—what a moment of ecstasy! Alone in a quiet room, holding the freshly completed manuscript, his hands trembling, eyes brimming with tears, convinced it was the truth of Confucian Cultivation, and the future’s guiding principle.

He saw the nervousness and excitement of Qin De’s first act of thievery. It was the storeroom of a wealthy family, where he lay hidden in the shadows, his palms sweaty, heart pounding like a drum. When he succeeded, an unprecedented pleasure surged through him.

"I’ve made it... I’ve made it..."

"My theory is not wrong!"

He also saw the cultivators from the Evil Slaying Hall break in, Qin De reflexively resisted, ultimately subdued on the ground, his hands bound, shackles added to his body. He struggled, he roared, he pleaded—it was all in vain.

He saw again the scene on the day of his trial.

"Qin De, for writing a heretical book and committing theft, your crimes are grave, sentenced to life imprisonment, confined in the Cloud Prison!"

Qin De struggled hard, wanting to argue, but his body and soul were restricted, unable to make a sound.

His eager gaze swept across the audience below.

Duanmu Zhang had a face full of regret, other Confucian Cultivators were either angry, contemptuous, regretful, or indifferent.

Not a single person stood up to speak for him.

...

Deep in the Cloud Prison, Qin De fell into endless solitude.

In the first few years, some people came to debate scripture with him. Duanmu Zhang came, Chu Xuangu came, Song Taosheng came. Each time, he gave his all.

He wanted to prove that he was right.

"I have a point."

"If it were pointless, how could the ’Saint Thief Scripture’ have been accomplished!"

And it was exactly because of its accomplishment that the Confucian Cultivators hated him.

Every debate, he won.

After each victory, he would review, reflect, deduce, and improve. The questions brought by the Confucian Cultivators became his best nourishment.

Gradually, no one came anymore.

In the cell, only he remained, day after day, year after year.

The boundless desolation was enough to drive most people insane.

But he did not go mad.

He used every moment of leisure to reminisce, ponder, deduce. Those classics recited in his youth, those cultivation techniques pondered in young adulthood, all the books read into his mind in middle age (including, of course, the Demon Cultivation Technique)—all circulated repeatedly in his mind.

One year, two years... five years, ten years... twenty years, thirty years...

The ’Saint Thief Scripture’ reached a new height through countless improvements, refinements, and deductions.

Then, Zhao Hansheng came.

Wang Yu continued to observe the entire debate process between Qin De and Zhao Hansheng—Qin De clearly had the strength, but initially feigned weakness, discovered the key points of Heart Learning as if finding a treasure, and immediately utilized them to perfect his ’Saint Thief Scripture.’ Zhao Hansheng, who was full of confidence and aiming for final victory, ended up fleeing in embarrassment, arousing lamentation.

The first round of Soul Search ended.

Wang Yu withdrew his palm, gently exhaled a breath.