Chapter 17: To Destroy a Person, One Must First Shatter the Heart

The funeral for the eldest son of the Yu family was conducted with great solemnity.

Many understood that given the current state of the Yu family, the death of the heir would bring tremendous upheaval. This was the topic most whispered about among the assembled guests.

Another figure attracting intense attention was the widow, Suo Chanzhi.

Dressed in pure white linen, her appearance was saintly and delicate, leaving a profound impression on all who came to pay their respects.

Especially among the younger attendees, the newlywed bride who became a widow so soon was the subject of much discussion.

Yu Xinglong, the patriarch, had limited occasions to appear publicly during his son’s funeral.

That very evening, he met privately with the third steward, Yi She, in his study.

No one outside knew what Yi She had conveyed to the family head, but the guards stationed outside first heard a beast-like roar, followed by the sound of a teacup shattering heavily on the floor.

The meeting was brief, lasting less than half an hour, after which Yi She quietly departed.

Yet, the study’s light remained on throughout the night until dawn.

The next morning, Yu Xinglong summoned several senior elders of the Yu clan to accompany him to the water prison.

These elders were venerable figures from various branches of the family, all senior in rank to Yu Xinglong—one even two generations above.

They had come to Phoenix Mountain knowing that the heir’s death would necessitate urgent family deliberations. Without waiting for an invitation, they had arrived on their own accord.

Since its construction, the water prison at Phoenix Mountain Villa had rarely been used.

After all, those who committed grave crimes warranting confinement there were few and far between.

At present, two were held inside: a bandit and a man known as Leopard Head.

Leopard Head’s hands were shackled to the stone wall, half his body submerged in the icy water.

The water was drawn from an underground river, bone-chillingly cold year-round.

Despite his robust physique, Leopard Head’s lips had turned purple, and numbness had overtaken him.

By the flickering torchlight, he widened his eyes at the procession of dignitaries entering.

Having served the main branch for thirty years, he recognized these elders immediately.

They were indeed a formidable gathering, more complete than even during the annual ancestor rites.

Yu Xinglong’s steward, Deng Xun, held a lantern and stood by the water prison, slightly bowing to prevent any elder from accidentally falling in.

Deng was about Yu Xinglong’s age, having grown up as the patriarch’s attendant and trusted confidant.

Only once the elders had all passed did Deng straighten, glance at Leopard Head, nod slightly, and stride after Yu Xinglong.

Leopard Head, understanding this gesture, felt a surge of hope.

Following Yang Can’s advice, upon arriving on the mountain and before his freedom was curtailed, he had immediately handed over his long-accumulated savings to Deng Xun, the steward Yu Xinglong trusted most.

Deng was fiercely loyal to the patriarch. If something harmed Yu Xinglong or the Yu family, no amount of bribe could sway him.

But if within Deng’s moral boundaries, and the reward was sufficient, he would not hesitate to speak on one’s behalf.

Leopard Head’s request was modest: to have Deng mention to the patriarch the two fierce clashes he had endured with the Suo family on the return journey.

By normal channels, escape or exoneration was impossible. Cornered, he could only follow Yang Can’s counsel and brand himself as antagonistic to the Suo family.

Deng’s slight nod moments ago was clearly in response to Leopard Head’s plea, and Deng had already done as requested.

Whether it would prove effective remained uncertain.

Yang had said that to truly clear his name, the decisive moment would come only when Yang himself was summoned by the patriarch.

Leopard Head worried that he might freeze to death in the water prison before that summons ever arrived.

The bandit, wrapped like a mummy, had long been broken by torture and lost all fighting spirit.

Such endurance relies on sheer will; once broken, resistance ceases.

Seeing so many elders—most elderly and gray-haired—had made clear that these were the Yu family’s important figures.

He now prayed only for a swift death and no longer resisted interrogation, confessing all readily.

When the bandit named the mastermind behind the assassination of Yu Chengye, the heir, as Yu Huanhu, head of the second branch, the elders’ expressions darkened instantly.

Only then did they understand why the patriarch had summoned them here—to bear witness.

Was the Yu family on the brink of a deadly civil war?

Concern weighed heavily on the elders.

“I’ve confessed everything… I only ask for a quick death… grant me… a swift release,” the bandit whispered weakly, his eyes devoid of life.

“Bring him down, have him sign and seal the statement,” Yu Xinglong commanded coldly despite his ashen face.

The Yu guards complied, stepping forward to unlock the bandit’s shackles.

Once freed, the bandit collapsed onto the ground, breathing weakly, his vacant eyes fixed on Yu Xinglong.

Yu Xinglong’s lifeless gaze dimmed further.

At this, the bandit’s eyes brightened under the dried blood crusting his eyelids.

Summoning his remaining strength, he suddenly roared and sprang up.

The guards, assuming he was incapacitated, were caught off guard.

Alarmed that he might attack the patriarch or the elders, they interposed themselves.

Yet, the bandit made no move against anyone; instead, he charged a sharp corner of the stone wall.

The prison walls were built from massive bluestone blocks, their corners razor-sharp.

With a dull thud, the bandit’s head struck the corner forcefully.

Determined to die, he shattered his skull instantly, collapsing with a heavy thump.

His body convulsed violently for a moment before falling still, a faint look of relief on his bloodied face.

Relief—finally free.

As a death-bound soldier, his mission had ended.

The patriarch would ensure his parents and wife lived without worry.

All this he had bought with his life.

In truth, this bandit was a death operative nurtured by Yu Xinglong.

The other bandits he acted with were part of Yu Xinglong’s peripheral forces.

Great clans like theirs maintained such external factions ostensibly unrelated to the family, employed to carry out dirty work the family could not publicly endorse.

This method of maintaining henchmen was ancient, with a tightly organized system long in place.

Often, even the leaders of these peripheral forces were unaware of whom they truly served.

Yu Xinglong seemed stunned by the bandit’s suicide; he stood frozen.

The elders quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

Good—the death left no living witness.

Although the bandit had confessed publicly, making them human witnesses, he had not yet signed or sealed a statement, nor was there any other evidence.

Under these circumstances, it was impossible to convict a branch head solely on the dying words of a bandit.

No matter if the accused was the powerful head of the main branch’s second line or a minor branch leader, it could not be so easily proven.

The elders quietly hoped this would prevent a violent conflict between the main and second branches.

Unlike Yu Xinglong, mourning the loss of his only grown son, they thought of the greater good of the Yu clan.

Internal strife was acceptable, but they would never tolerate a fight to the death.

The sixth uncle of the Yu family stepped forward, addressing Yu Xinglong, “Patriarch, please calm yourself. We have all heard this man’s confession; everyone here is a witness. Whether the bandit lives or dies no longer matters.”

The sixth uncle was a senior from a minor branch and stood here only by rank.

At such a sensitive moment, it was better for someone like him to speak.

“Yes, Patriarch,” the second uncle added, coughing twice, “This is all the bandit can say. Whether he lives or dies is of little consequence. However, whether his confession is true is another matter. If Yu Huanhu truly orchestrated this, would he let a pack of dogs he kept outside know he was the mastermind? There are many inconsistencies here. I urge caution.”

This second uncle was also an elder from a smaller branch, though his house held some influence, granting him a voice.

Yu Xinglong clenched his fists so tightly that the veins stood out; his fury was barely contained.

The elders sympathized.

The patriarch’s line was not flourishing; Yu Chengye was the only grown son able to support his father.

Now, with the heir assassinated and Yu Xinglong grieving, his restraint was remarkable.

A profound silence fell over the water prison, broken only by Yu Xinglong’s heavy breathing.

After a long moment, he suddenly turned and strode out.

The elders exchanged glances but hastened to follow, fearing the patriarch might seek vengeance on Yu Huanhu and needing to restrain him.

After turning away in anger, Yu Xinglong’s expression shifted from wrathful to cold and calculating.

He would kill his younger brother eventually—but not yet.

Today’s performance was a gambit, a chip to wrest back everything Yu Huanhu had stolen from his hand.

To slay the man, he must first destroy his heart.