Zhang Song looked at Jiang Wang again, using his sorrowful eyes to gaze at Jiang Wang, "Perhaps I should have killed you while I was disintegrating. Right now might be the best opportunity... but I don’t want to kill you."

Then he sadly laughed, "Perhaps I can’t kill you. Just now my eyes told me... there are terribly powerful divine skills within you."

His eyes at this moment looked utterly ordinary, without any hint of uniqueness.

But Jiang Wang had already experienced his pupil skill and knew its fearsomeness. That night which stripped away everything, that night which took away the sword of the downtrodden noble...

"You really are in league with Cui Zhu," said Jiang Wang.

By this point, the identical state of collapse was explanation enough.

"Cui Zhu..." Zhang Song murmured, then looking at Jiang Wang said, "Jiang Wang, you too come from a small country. You should understand me."

"You ask me why."

"You say why?"

He questioned, "We too are sons, daughters, fathers, mothers. Why must we die in the mountains, the fields, by the roadside?

Why must our countrymen live in fear of fierce beasts, in dire straits, always?

Why can the people of Qi live so blissfully, allowing even the common folk to enjoy the countryside?"

Why do our warriors fight in bloody battles, yet still cannot safeguard the resources we deserve?

Why, after giving so much, does the majority of what we reap get taken by powerful countries?

Why no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, no matter how much we give! We still see no hope, no future?!"

Suddenly, Jiang Wang thought of Yang Country.

He remembered the white-haired old general, Ji Cheng.

The white-haired veteran, having witnessed how many life-and-death moments?

The entire Ji family of Tianxiong, from males to females, from young to old, all perished in battle, unable to save the fate of their nation’s downfall.

Then he thought of San Shan City.

He thought of the people who bled on Jade Balance Peak, remembered Dou Yuemei severing her own path, opening five mansions, possessing the divine skill to move mountains, yet still helpless against that very mountain!

Of course, he also recalled, outside the pine beast lair of the primordial forest by Songtao City in Xu Country, he saw an old demon clan.

Wild beasts accelerated into fierce beasts, after indulging in bloodshed to cultivate their foundation.

Then, live demon clan members were used as raw materials to breed demon beasts, thereby harvesting Channel-opening Pills.

The underlying color of the Channel-opening Pill was tainted with blood.

Strong countries captured members of the demon clan, allocating them to smaller nations. Those smaller nations established beast lairs, refining Channel-opening Pills to offer up to the stronger countries. Through this system, the powerful countries firmly controlled the growth of smaller nations...

Jiang Wang knew all these things.

He had witnessed all of it; he had seen many truths about the Channel-opening Pill—but he couldn’t answer Zhang Song... why!

Thus, all he could do was to ask, "Which country are you from?"

"Which country I am from, is not important. What is important is..."

Zhang Song said with hatred, "We must let Jiang Shu, that tyrant, know,

that there are always people who hate him. There will always be people who hate him.

Let him never rest easy for as long as he lives.

Let him never truly trust anyone for eternity!

That’s why Cui Zhu risked his life to take a stab, that’s why I!"

He didn’t finish.

His hand had already disappeared, and his legs had also disintegrated.

Jiang Wang was silent.

Zhang Song looked at him saying, "Jiang Wang, you are not the same as those people. I know it. You are different from them."

His ears were gone, but his eyes looked at Jiang Wang, a gaze craving recognition.

His mouth said, "The world shouldn’t be like this."

Then even his mouth vanished.

Just then, a commotion suddenly arose outside.

First came the guard’s voice, "Who is causing a ruckus in The Imperial Ancestral Temple?"

Followed by an urgent voice, "The Imperial City Inspection Mansion carries out imperial orders! Make way!"

Jiang Wang had already dispelled the "Voice Broadcast Immortal Style," but he still quickly caught the information conveyed by the sound.

The group that pursued into The Imperial Ancestral Temple amounted to fourteen people.

And that hurried, leading voice was a familiar one he had encountered before. It was the Fourth-Rank Green Badge Constable Ma Xiong, who had once decided life and death against Wang the Coroner with the execution of a severe criminal punishment.

It was the team of Green Badge catchers!

Almost as soon as the sound ceased, the rustle of the wind neared his ears.

Before his words had ended, Ma Xiong had already charged in foremost on his horse, into the Guarding the Nation Hall, into this spirit shrine of the Ninth Rank Marquis.

At this moment, Zhang Song had disintegrated to nothing but a pair of eyes, which he used to look outside the spirit shrine for one last time.

That look carried scorn.

But the eyes too disappeared.

In his state of disintegration, he still possessed the power for one strike, yet he did not use it against Jiang Wang. If Ma Xiong had arrived earlier, perhaps he could have left something behind, but now it was no longer possible.

Nor was there a need to continue.

Jiang Wang had not yet figured out what that final scornful look in Zhang Song’s eyes represented.

But in the instant that the eyes vanished,

He suddenly understood what that familiar feeling he had long ago sensed in Zhang Song was...

It was the desolation of mountains and rivers he experienced as if it were his own, the aimlessness of leaving one’s home with no branch to rely on, the grief of a shattered homeland that brought tears to his face.

As Zhang Song had said, he had not been controlling Jiang Wang with a Pupil Skill, but rather had stirred the emotions deep within Jiang Wang’s heart. Including empathy, including compassion, including familiarity...

Therefore... Zhang Song, like him, was a man who had lost his homeland, a guest bereft of family.

Now, with the death of Zhang Song, the effect of the Pupil Skill had also vanished.

That is why Jiang Wang was now able to think more clearly about certain matters.

Zhang Song was indeed not here today waiting for him. He had simply happened upon the scene.

Then why had Zhang Song come here?

Merely because he had assumed the identity of "Zhang Song," so he came to pay tribute to his ancestors?

That was not right.

Jiang Wang suddenly smelled a faint scent of blood—Zhang Song’s disintegrated flesh, soul, and life should not emit any smell of blood.

That was not right...

The scent of blood had always been present; it was just that previously, it had been concealed by Zhang Song’s Pupil Skill.

Jiang Wang suddenly looked up, his gaze directed at the statue of the Ninth Rank Marquis.

And Ma Xiong, who was more adept at case investigations, already stepped forward swiftly and pulled off the purple robe from the Ninth Rank Marquis’s body!

Thus, everyone who entered the spirit shrine saw what Zhang Song had left behind before his death.

It was an accusation written in blood on the body of the Ninth Rank Marquis’s statue.

It was a poem that Jiang Wang remembered profoundly.

The blood inscription read—

"Fighting death in tender embrace, opulence lasts, a nameless general’s sacrifice!" 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"All hail Shimen Li, renowned in every land, but who knows of Feng Xian Zhang?"

It was a poem written by Mo Ya, the Great Scholar of Qingya Academy.

This great scholar, who loathed evil as if it were a personal enemy, would scold whomsoever he wished without mercy.

The first time Jiang Wang heard it was when Xu Xiangqian, unable to tolerate injustice, defended Zhang Song and recited it to mock Jinghai Gao’s Gao Jing.

Speaking of which, although this poem was merciless, it was not really a significant matter.

Mo Ya himself did not need to make a living in Qi Country, and Emperor Qi would not likely send assassins after Mo Ya just for one poem. There were plenty of eccentric scholars in the world.

And the world being so vast, power had its limits. Even a farmer in the Chu countryside, who dared not touch the foul mood of the village bully, could still curse the Qin Emperor for days on end.

So a satirical poem was truly not a big deal.

But the crux of the matter was...

This poem was written in fresh blood on the statue of the Ninth Rank Marquis.

And the person who wrote down this poem was the last bloodline of the Ninth Rank Marquis!