Chapter Ninety-Four: The Fine Line Between Good and Evil

Chapter Ninety-Four: The Fine Line Between Good and Evil

“Ah! Heaven! Tell me, who am I? Am I a villain or a righteous man? Who can give me the answer?” Wu Hong screamed at the sky, his voice wild and desperate.

“Brother, wake up! You are a good man!” Wu Songran pleaded, her voice trembling. Wu Hong’s bloodshot eyes suddenly flashed coldly as he looked at her.

With a splutter, Wu Songran staggered back several steps, coughing up a mouthful of blood. Wu Hong, lost in madness, barked at her, “You say I’m a good man? Then why is it that the more good I do, the more people die because of my deeds? Tell me why!”

“Young master, you are a good man. But…” Li Ruolan’s calm voice sounded beside Wu Hong.

His attention was instantly drawn to Li Ruolan. “But what?” Wu Hong demanded angrily, though his tone lacked its earlier ferocity. Li Ruolan only stepped back a few paces, unaffected.

Despite her inner turmoil and worry, Li Ruolan forced herself to maintain a calm expression. As the leader of a band of robbers, her composure was unshakable.

“But, young master, you are also a villain,” Li Ruolan said softly.

“You say I’m good, then say I’m evil? Which is it?” Wu Hong’s voice softened, confusion settling in his heart as his mind raced.

Li Ruolan noticed his uncertainty and hurried to explain, “You are good to your friends, to strangers, to those in need of help, to all who are kind. In all those moments, you are a good man.”

She continued before Wu Hong could interrupt, “But when you treat villains kindly, you become a villain yourself. If a villain seeks revenge and you spare them, more innocents will suffer because you let the villain go free. In this way, when you show mercy to evil, you become a villain in the eyes of the righteous.”

Her words were subtly dialectical, and for ordinary martial artists lost in madness, it would be nearly impossible to escape such confusion. Yet Wu Hong’s mind was protected by the Great Sun Tathagata’s true doctrine, and a trace of clarity remained.

After listening to Li Ruolan, Wu Hong quieted, carefully analyzing her words. A faint understanding dawned within him.

Suddenly, Wu Hong sat cross-legged on the ground, right outside the south gate of Bianjing, less than five hundred meters away.

He sat exactly where townsfolk usually entered the city, blocking the main road. The chaotic true energy within his body suddenly became orderly, radiating out and forcing the two women to retreat far away.

Wu Hong entered a state of neither joy nor sorrow, letting his internal energy flow naturally. The spiritual energy of heaven and earth visibly surged towards him, pouring into his body.

Kun Kun awoke from slumber, crawled out from Wu Hong’s sleeve, and nestled between his legs. Threads of the Great Sun Tathagata’s true energy entered Kun Kun’s body, cleansing his bones and marrow.

Outside Bianjing, only martial experts had survived. Seeing Wu Hong boldly meditating in the middle of the official road, their faces filled with astonishment. Many quietly retreated back into the city.

Li Ruolan and Wu Songran guarded Wu Hong for three days, yet he showed no sign of finishing his cultivation. Both grew anxious, unsure whether to wake him or continue waiting in worry.

Wu Songran was like an ant on a hot pan, and even the usually composed Li Ruolan paced back and forth, her brows furrowed in concern.

During these three days, more and more martial artists passed the south gate of Bianjing, most investigating the identity of the master who had crossed the tribulation at West Lake. Li Ruolan and Wu Songran became tense.

Wu Hong’s reputation was well-known to them; yet these martial artists were mostly hypocrites, remembering only a man’s faults, never his virtues.

“Hey—isn’t that Wu Hong? Why is he cultivating here?” Some martial artists gathered to watch, though the energy swirling around Wu Hong was powerful.

They stood about ten meters away, unharmed, since Wu Hong had no conscious control over his released energy.

Li Ruolan and Wu Songran were anxious; these people were all experts. News of another master ascending at West Lake had drawn those capable of uncovering the truth, not the weak.

Though perfect postnatal experts were rare, martial artists at the marrow refining stage were plentiful.

“Haha! Isn’t that Wu Hong? Heaven surely favors me!” An old man suddenly stepped forward from the crowd, laughing upon seeing Wu Hong meditating on the official road outside Bianjing’s south gate.

Some kind-hearted martial artists wanted to rebuke him, but when they recognized him, they all fell silent.

This speaker was none other than Zhao Luo, the former master of Heaven’s Net.

“Zhao Luo—what are you planning? My brother is at a critical point of his cultivation. Are you trying to take advantage?” Wu Songran said, her voice burning with shame and anger.

Li Ruolan, startled by Wu Songran’s words, thought, “This is bad!”

Sure enough, after Wu Songran spoke, Zhao Luo’s face lit up with glee. “Thank you, Miss Wu. I thought Wu Hong was crafty, pretending to meditate to lure me in and catch me off guard!”

“Ha! As if you could ever touch a single hair on my brother’s head. Your old fishing net, famous in the martial world, was taken by him. How dare you bluster here?” Wu Songran recounted the battle at Blackwood Cliff between Wu Hong and Zhao Luo.

The news had not left Blackwood Cliff, and those not involved began to discuss in surprise.

“Wu Hong is truly formidable! To think he took Zhao Luo’s Heaven’s Net by such unusual means!”

Zhao Luo’s face turned green with rage. He growled, “Very well, little girl, you certainly have a sharp tongue. Today, I will meet your lover brother once more!”

Zhao Luo dared not harm Wu Songran, since she was the only daughter of the King of Martial Might.

But Wu Hong was different. With the reputation of patricide and a fugitive, perhaps dealing with Wu Hong would even earn him a reward.

Zhao Luo drew a long blade and turned toward Wu Hong, but suddenly felt a rush of wind behind him.

Though Zhao Luo had been renowned in the martial world for years, and could not see his attacker, he knew they were no true expert.

Without turning, Zhao Luo swept his blade behind him, wrapping it in true energy, and blocked the strike. “Clang!” came the sound, accompanied by Wu Songran’s cry. As a young noblewoman, she was no match for a veteran martial artist, but Zhao Luo had clearly held back, wary of the power of Martial Might’s palace.

“Little girl, today no one can stop me from slaying this villain!” Zhao Luo deflected Wu Songran’s sword and pressed forward, attacking Wu Hong again.