When Wang Jianqiang finished speaking, he pointed toward the fragment of the soul.
The sealed memories within the remnant burst forth, manifesting as a projection suspended in midair.
Forming factions, suppressing dissenters.
Bullying fellow disciples.
Plotting the ambush and murder of Wang Yuyao and Qian Yu.
Scheming against Wang Yuyao.
…
Scene after scene flashed rapidly before everyone's eyes.
Even the shameful ones—his fondness for handsome men and the way he coerced talented male disciples—were laid bare on this "high-definition screen."
When the memory ended, the entire audience fell silent.
Si Nantong truly had done every vile deed imaginable.
From the memories, it became clear—Qian Yu wasn't the only one who'd died by his hand.
Several others had as well—each one a gifted outer disciple who had once competed with him for rank.
In order to secure the title of Outer Sect's Number One, Si Nantong had lured them out of the sect, one by one, into traps he had set in advance—and killed them all.
No wonder people called him the "sect's parasite." The title fit perfectly.
At this thought, many eyes turned toward Yan Biao in unison.
From beginning to end, Yan Biao's expression remained calm.
"This is your so-called evidence?" he asked coldly, glancing at Wang Jianqiang.
"Oh? You don't call this evidence?"
Wang Jianqiang's tone sharpened.
Yan Biao shook his head. "Just a projection. Who's to say you didn't fabricate it through some trick?"
"Fabricate?"
Wang Jianqiang sneered. "Ridiculous!"
"If I could fake the images, do you think I could also forge Si Nantong's soul aura?"
"There are countless secret arts in the world. You never know."
"This Hall Master doesn't have time to waste words with you. If you wish to defend yourself, do it before the Hall of Justice."
As he spoke, a cold gleam flashed in his eyes. He raised his hand, reaching to seize Wang Jianqiang.
"Stop!"
A clear, commanding voice cut through the air.
A moment later, a young woman appeared at Wang Jianqiang's side—Mu Lingxi.
Before killing Si Nantong, Wang Jianqiang had already learned his true identity through the man's memories.
To be safe, he had sent out three distress signals.
He hadn't expected Mu Lingxi to arrive first.
When Yan Biao saw her, his heart gave a jolt, and he instinctively retracted some of his spiritual pressure.
Mu Lingxi herself wasn't someone he feared—but her aunt was another story. That woman was terrifyingly powerful and notoriously protective of her kin.
To provoke her would be far worse than crossing Yan Qingxuan.
Thinking of this, Yan Biao secretly sent a transmission message.
Mu Lingxi nodded briefly to Wang Jianqiang, then turned toward Yan Biao and said coolly, "Master Yan, I saw everything. The memory projection is genuine."
"Si Nantong murdered his peers out of jealousy and greed. Wang Jianqiang killed him to purge the sect of filth. He's done a service, not a crime."
"You should not lay a hand on him."
Yan Biao swept his gaze around at the crowd, then looked at Mu Lingxi with narrowed eyes. His voice didn't move his lips—it was a soundless transmission.
"The man he killed was the son of the Grandmaster of the Hall of Justice. Miss Mu, I advise you not to meddle in this matter."
Mu Lingxi's heart tightened.
Wang Jianqiang had sent her a distress message but hadn't mentioned who he'd killed.
The Hall of Justice's Grandmaster was not someone easily swayed. He might not care about her background.
Her fingers brushed the jade talisman at her waist.
At that very moment, Yan Biao received a reply to his message—A single word:
"Kill."
Confidence surged through him.
When he looked back at Mu Lingxi, the fear in his eyes had completely vanished.
"Miss Mu," he said softly, "have you made your decision?"
Mu Lingxi bit her lip but stood her ground without flinching. Her silence spoke volumes.
"So be it. Forgive me for offending you."
Yan Biao's eyes gleamed coldly.
He clenched his hand, and a cage of spiritual energy formed around Mu Lingxi, trapping her within.
"Boy," he said darkly, "I told you—no one can save you today!"
He thrust out a hand, and a massive spiritual palm shot toward Wang Jianqiang.
Wang Jianqiang's expression hardened. The small golden chick on his shoulder chirped fiercely, eager to retaliate—
But before it could move, a blazing surge of spiritual force streaked across the air, shattering the giant palm.
An icy voice followed:
"Yan Biao—do you want me to break that filthy claw of yours?"
Before the words even faded, a figure in a crimson gown appeared in the sky.
"Yan Qingxuan—again!"
Yan Biao's face changed. He quickly stepped back, putting distance between them.
"This execution order came from the Grandmaster himself," he shouted hastily. "You can't change the outcome!"
Yan Qingxuan's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
She simply struck with a single punch.
A blazing dragon of spiritual flame roared forth, surging toward Yan Biao like a living beast.
The power it radiated made Yan Biao's face go pale.
"Presumptuous!"
A cold, thunderous voice split the air.
The fire dragon froze midair, then disintegrated without a sound.
A tall, imposing figure materialized.
The moment he appeared, the world itself seemed to warp—an invisible domain expanded outward.
Within that domain, all spiritual power was suppressed.
Wang Jianqiang immediately felt his energy sealed. No matter how he tried, he couldn't mobilize even a thread of his spiritual force.
Shock flashed across the faces of Wang Yuyao and the surrounding disciples—they were experiencing the same.
Only two people stood unaffected: Yan Biao and Yan Qingxuan.
Yan Biao because the domain excluded him entirely; Yan Qingxuan because she was resisting it head-on.
Even so, she was visibly strained, her complexion pale.
"Si Tianyong," she said, eyes narrowing, her voice grave for the first time.
Wang Jianqiang's heart jolted.
So this was him—the Grandmaster of the Hall of Justice, Si Tianyong.
A Nascent Soul cultivator!
It was Wang Jianqiang's first time facing such a powerhouse, and the sheer might was unimaginable—his aura alone could suppress everyone present.
Si Tianyong glanced past Yan Qingxuan and fixed his gaze on Wang Jianqiang.
Instantly, the pressure multiplied.
The ground cracked beneath Wang Jianqiang's feet as he sank half a step into the earth.
"Oh?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Si Tianyong's eyes.
He had only released a trace of his aura—enough to make an ordinary disciple collapse to the ground. Yet this one remained standing.
A hint of cold amusement touched his lips.
"A stubborn one, I see."
Then, in a voice as calm as judgment itself, he said,"You have slain a fellow disciple. By sect law, you must pay with your life."
"Do you admit your guilt?"
"I do not." Wang Jianqiang's tone was steady. He lifted the fragment of Si Nantong's soul. "I have proof of my innocence."
Si Tianyong's gaze hardened.
"Just another illusion forged through disgraceful tricks. Do you think you can deceive me?"
Before Wang Jianqiang could respond, the soul fragment in his hand exploded into dust.