Chapter Thirty-Nine: Wang Hongjun

“Heh, Brother Song Yong, Brother Wang Meng, you really are here?” A hearty laugh echoed from the dense, verdant forest in the distance, as three men approached from afar.

“Hongjun!” Wang Meng, standing nearby, exclaimed excitedly upon seeing one of the men.

The man’s appearance was unremarkable, yet his bearing distinguished him—clearly not a child of an ordinary family. However, beneath his long brows, the gloom in his eyes gave an unsettling impression.

Song Cheng watched the scene unfold, his own brow furrowing. He had heard the name Wang Hongjun before: one of the four sons of the Wang family patriarch, and the most gifted among them. Yet, as the son of the patriarch and a concubine, he was constantly marginalized by the matron of the Wang family. Despite this, the patriarch seemed indifferent, allowing things to continue unchecked, and thus even the servants had grown to look down upon him.

This was no secret within the Wang household; even the servants knew the tale. What fascinated people, however, was that no matter how high his talents, Wang Hongjun always endured in silence, as if he possessed no temper at all.

He and Cai had once discussed this person. Though many within the Wang family knew of the situation, family scandals were not to be aired, so outsiders were largely ignorant. But being part of the same circle, it wasn’t difficult for Song Cheng to learn the details. He remembered Cai’s words at the time: “The human heart is as deep as the sea, unfathomable; as sharp as an arrow, impossible to evade; as dark as ink, only black, never white.”

While Song Cheng marveled at Cai’s poetic insight, he was also prompted to reconsider whether Wang Hongjun’s tolerance hid a deeper intention.

Then Cai had added, “But this guy’s just a fool. Excessive tolerance only corrodes one’s will and makes one increasingly hypocritical. He won’t live long—what use is talent if he’s destined to be played to death by others?” Cai waved dismissively, asserting that Wang Hongjun’s days were numbered.

Still, no matter the ostracism, he remained the patriarch’s son; ordinary people had no access to him, while Song Cheng, as a distant cousin, certainly did not belong to that circle. It was curious fate that brought them together, and more surprising still that they seemed so familiar.

Wang Hongjun, accompanied by his two companions, quickly joined the group by the stream, bowing in greeting and conversing with ease, his manner dignified. As Song Cheng observed the two men behind him, he was startled—not because he recognized them, but because he could clearly sense the spiritual energy radiating from them. Both had reached the peak of the seventh level of Qi Cultivation.

The two men’s faces were cold, silent, seeming little more than Wang Hongjun’s guards.

After exchanging greetings with those he had been apart from, Wang Hongjun frowned and asked, “Where is Wang Er? Why don’t I see him?”

“It’s a long story. Er Gou has fallen in battle—killed by a Crimson Crown Blood Python,” Wang Meng replied gravely, his voice tinged with sorrow.

“Crimson Crown Blood Python? You went deep into the back mountains? Didn’t we agree to stay on the outskirts?” Wang Hongjun frowned.

“We didn’t venture deep, only stayed at the periphery. But there we encountered a Crimson Crown Blood Python at the ninth stage of Qi Cultivation, possibly on the verge of breaking through to Foundation Establishment,” Wang Meng explained.

“A Crimson Crown Blood Python shouldn’t appear on the outskirts unless…” Wang Hongjun pondered for a moment, then suddenly looked at Wang Meng. “Unless something is forcing it to stay there.”

“We found a Blood Red Fruit,” Wang Meng replied solemnly, then detailed the events that had transpired.

As Wang Meng spoke of Song Cheng’s group, Wang Hongjun seemed to finally notice the silent figure in the corner. He squinted, nodded politely, and offered a warm smile, yet the gloom in his eyes remained unsettling. Song Cheng returned the gesture with an amiable smile.

A moment later, Wang Meng finished his account. Wang Hongjun stood aside, brow slightly furrowed, deep in thought; no one else spoke.

“So, we shouldn’t have invited Wang Er in the first place,” Wang Hongjun sighed, regret and remorse heavy in his voice, lamenting Wang Er’s death.

Song Cheng quietly contemplated his next move, knowing he could not simply wait idly and would not foolishly trust Wang Hongjun’s facade, nor believe him to be some paragon of virtue. Anyone who could survive under the Wang matron’s rule for so long, however timid or dull, was surely no ordinary man.

“Song Yong, aren’t you going to introduce us? I have a bad habit—when I meet someone who catches my eye, I can’t help but want to make their acquaintance. This must be Brother Song Cheng,” Wang Hongjun said as he approached Song Cheng.

“No need for introductions, Wang. You can just call me by name, as those close to me do,” Song Cheng replied, grinning brilliantly in the sunlight. If not for his squinting eyes, he would have made a charming impression.

“Haha, Brother Song Cheng is indeed straightforward. But why are you alone here? Wang Meng said there should be three others.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Song Cheng felt Wang Hongjun’s eagerness when mentioning the others.

Song Cheng remained silent. Wang Hongjun then heard Duan Yuxuan say, “The other three have not yet returned. We found this spot and left marks so they could find us, but after so much time, I fear…”

Duan Yuxuan did not finish; his tone was heavy. He, his sister, and others had been saved by those four, but now it seemed three of them would forever remain behind—a sigh of regret.

“Is that so?” Wang Hongjun’s gaze flickered with regret and sorrow, but he did not doubt their words. A ninth-stage Qi Cultivation Crimson Crown Blood Python about to break through to Foundation Establishment would not be easily dispatched. After so long, it was highly likely they had become the python’s prey.

Song Cheng, meanwhile, felt uneasy. From what he knew, neither his sister nor Yu Yunfan were easy to get along with, and Cai was a peculiar fellow. They shouldn’t have known Wang Hongjun, yet his urgency and regret seemed out of place.

Wang Hongjun’s performance seemed overdone. Were those people so likable? One was cold, another arrogant, and Cai was infuriating enough to make anyone want to hit him.

Then, Song Cheng sensed Wang Hongjun glance at him again, but this time the look was different—cold, as if regarding a dead man. Yet moments later, Wang Hongjun resumed his gentle demeanor, his ordinary face now exuding warmth.

“Everyone, let’s speak plainly. You’ve barely escaped the python’s maw—can you bear such humiliation?” Wang Hongjun finally spoke after a long silence.

“Wang Er came with us for experience and met disaster, and Brother Song Cheng’s loved ones remain missing. The Crimson Crown Blood Python is the culprit, and it is now severely wounded, at the very least not restored to its ninth-stage strength. I believe now is the best time to slay it. What do you all think?”

“As for the rest, I trust I need not spell it out.”

Everyone understood that “the rest” referred to the Blood Red Fruit, a rare treasure that would tempt anyone present.

How hypocritical, Song Cheng thought. He believed everyone could see Wang Hongjun’s true intentions, but none would speak up. Even he, if not for the chance encounter with the python and Song Yong, would likely have simply walked away.

In this world of cultivation, indifference abounded; brotherhood was declared openly, yet knives were ready behind backs.

No one here was a fool. Precisely because they weren’t, they understood the importance of the Blood Red Fruit. If Wang Hongjun had announced his pursuit of it, everyone would have agreed to go.

But instead, he voiced their shared thoughts in another way, standing on the moral high ground where none could accuse him.

What he said was true, yet if anyone refused him, their first regret would be missing out on the fruit—not failing to avenge another.

No one here cared for others; only for what was familiar to themselves. The deeper one sank into this hypocritical world of cultivation, the more people sought the moral high ground, basking in the false exhilaration of being a leader.