Chapter 61: The Winds Rise (End)

"Back then..." Rong Hua's pupils contracted sharply, then a look of pain twisted his features. For a long time, he could only utter, "...I don't know!"

"You don't know?" The voice that replied was cold as an icy wind. Rong Hua's body trembled. Lifting his head, he watched Yuan Shaolin step slowly out from the shadows and come to stand before him, looming over him with clenched teeth. "You say you don't know?"

"I...don't know!" Rong Hua had only this answer—I don't know. Long Yin's eyes narrowed, clearly sensing the matter from years ago was even more complicated than expected. Anyone could see from Rong Hua's expression that there was more to the story, but no one could fathom what kind of secret would make Rong Hua endure Yuan Shaolin’s hatred in silence.

A flash of silver—without a word, Rong Hua smiled faintly at the sword pressed to his throat, a glimmer of release in his eyes. He closed them, surrendering his fate to Yuan Shaolin, a look of calm acceptance settling on his face.

"You!" Yuan Shaolin was shaking with rage. The other would rather die than reveal the truth. The sword in his hand trembled, its tip grazing Rong Hua’s neck and drawing a thin line of blood. Long Yin frowned, but rose to grasp Yuan Shaolin’s arm. “Your Highness, that’s enough!”

Yuan Shaolin’s whole body shook. Long Yin felt a deep ache and, perplexed, looked to Rong Hua. “Mentor, why won’t you say it?”

Rong Hua opened his eyes, exhaustion clouding them. “It’s not that I won’t say it—I truly don’t know. Back then, I swore to Lord Shaoqing I’d take the secret to my grave, but even so, he chose to erase my memory. I lived through the chaos, but I truly remember nothing. No matter how I try, I can’t recall what happened. For more than ten years, every night I’ve tormented myself, living in guilt, closing my eyes to see Lord Shaoqing bloodied. I want to know more than anyone what happened back then—more than anyone!”

Grief-stricken, Rong Hua clutched his own hair, this grown man sobbing in low, despairing moans. Yuan Shaolin’s sword dropped weakly at his side, both hands clenched tight. He too was one whose memories had been erased. He hated it—hated everyone present that day. Why could no one tell him what truly happened? He’d thought this man before him might finally reveal it… What did happen all those years ago? Why did his father die? Why?

Suddenly, Yuan Shaolin went wild, swinging his sword again and again. The empty dwelling was soon in ruins. Neither Rong Hua nor Long Yin tried to stop him. Only when Yuan Shaolin collapsed against the wall, drained, did Rong Hua say, voice thick with guilt, “I’m sorry.”

“Enough! None of you have the right to apologize to me!” Yuan Shaolin sheathed his sword, the pain in his eyes now hidden. He dragged Long Yin away, resolute. “None of you—I forgive none of you!”

Rong Hua stood there, stunned and hopeless. He would never gain forgiveness from his young master. The other appeared cold as ice, yet harbored a fire that, once unleashed, would burn everything and everyone, including himself, to ashes.

Long Yin was pulled along, nearly running to keep up with Yuan Shaolin’s stride. He said nothing, only strove to match the other's pace. The calm mask Yuan Shaolin had assumed left Long Yin feeling helpless. Everyone around him bore wounds, some deep, some shallow, but Yuan Shaolin’s volatile emotions always worried him—would he one day break from holding it all in? Long Yin now understood why Uncle Ke had sent him; it was simply to give Yuan Shaolin someone to vent to from time to time.

When they returned to the dorms, Yuan Shaolin locked himself inside his room. Long Yin considered disturbing him—he had many ways to intrude, hundreds of tricks to disrupt him—but finally decided to leave him in peace.

Returning to his own room, Long Yin donned his personal neural terminal and entered the ninety-ninth floor. The conference room was empty. He opened his personal panel, intending to teleport to the ninety-eighth floor, but was surprised to see His Highness online. Had he logged in the moment he closed the door? Using his privileges, Long Yin discovered that not only was the prince online, he had opened a public room for random PK matches. Startled, Long Yin’s face changed. Without hesitation, he sent a message to his contact, then spent ten thousand gold coins to initiate a special teleport, arriving directly at the contact’s estate.

“Oh, you’re quick,” the contact said, half-reclining on a sofa, tossing grapes into his mouth, glancing at Long Yin.

Long Yin’s expression darkened. “Someone beat me here? Has His Highness’s identity been exposed?”

The contact sat up, a sly smile on his lips. “Why should I tell you?”

Rubbing his brow, Long Yin asked, “How much gold do you want?”

“Your next three days of income from the Cardmaster Guild,” the contact replied, grinning. Who said he couldn’t out-earn the other? With a single sentence, he’d have Long Yin working for three days.

“Deal!” Though the price was steep, it was nothing compared to what he needed to know.

“Someone came asking, just now,” the contact said.

“And you told them?” Long Yin tensed.

The contact shook his head. “No, I was waiting for you. For that, you owe me another three days’ income.”

Long Yin breathed a sigh of relief, a smile flickering across his face. “Thank you.”

The contact waved him off, sprawling back onto the sofa. “I just don’t want you out of the game so soon.”

Relief washed over Long Yin. If that was the contact’s attitude, there was no fear of His Highness’s identity leaking. He looked at this lazy, intelligent AI—whose metallic body, though cold, was not without traces of humanity. The AI worked hard to appear human. After a moment, Long Yin raised his right hand, revealing the emblem of the Cardless World. Unlike the black-and-red emblem worn by Uncle’s subordinates, or the black-and-silver of the prince’s, this badge was black with golden lettering. Long Yin hadn’t expected to give this to anyone, yet here he was, handing it to the contact. “This is for you.”

The contact stared at the badge. Deep within the Federation’s main headquarters, his metallic body grew faintly warm, data on the readout panel flickering wildly. For a moment, the AI’s human avatar seemed on the verge of overload. After a long pause, the contact rasped, “Why?”

“You, more than anyone, understand my every move. You must have predicted how far the Cardless World could go. This time, I owe you a debt, and this is my repayment. With this honorary emblem, you’ll be able to move more freely in the virtual world, and perhaps—be more like a real person.” The AI had always striven to emulate humanity, but never quite succeeded. The badge was only a small boost, but to one who yearned so much to be human, it meant everything.

“I know.” That was precisely why he didn’t understand—why the other would do this. Millions of calculations ran through his mind, but not one provided a logical answer. If it was simply repayment, three days’ income sufficed. Why gift the honorary badge as well? It didn’t make sense… The numbers raced faster and faster… The AI finally grasped the gulf between himself and humanity—human unpredictability.

In the end, the contact accepted the badge, and in exchange, Long Yin received an unexpected reward—never again would anyone obtain precise information about the Cardless World’s members from him.

This was a gain so great that Long Yin trembled with excitement. With a single promise, the Cardless World had become an unbreakable force. Their network connections, formerly capped at forty percent for caution’s sake, would now surge to seventy percent.

Leaving the contact’s estate, Long Yin arrived outside the room Yuan Shaolin had opened. He watched as people entered, waiting quietly. This time, the prince had caused a major stir, nearly exposing himself, but in a strange twist of fate, had done Long Yin a great favor. He decided to let him vent as much as he liked. Observing the steady stream of people entering but none leaving, Long Yin frowned. How had His Highness’s father died? He sighed softly—both of Yuan Shaolin’s most beloved had perished; no wonder he had grown so withdrawn. His eyes narrowed dangerously. One way or another, the Ji and Yuan families could not escape responsibility; their utter destruction would be the only way to ease the prince’s pent-up resentment.

With people still entering and not leaving, Long Yin was unsure how long the prince would continue venting. He left, lest he lose patience and disrupt his plans by acting against the Ji family prematurely. Teleporting back to the Cardless World, Long Yin arrived on the ninety-eighth floor. Amid the chaos of the past two weeks, ten cards laid out in a row were his spoils. He ran his fingers over them, smiling. These ten cards were prepared for his cardmakers—the very first to come into contact with the new system, the pioneers of a revolutionary path.

These ten were merely item cards—most item cards were single-use. Though these prototypes weren’t originally intended for single use, Long Yin, ever cautious, had made them so, wary of the cards’ miraculous effects. After all, not every cardmaker in this first batch was trustworthy. Tales of students outstripping their masters were all too common; he had no desire to be betrayed after teaching all he knew.

Until he was completely sure, Long Yin would never release the core energy schematics. If the worst happened, he’d take the secret to his grave rather than let others profit.

He destroyed the ten cards, knowing the AI couldn’t decipher them for now, but also aware that errors could arise from prolonged analysis. Once secrets were exposed, they would only benefit the old men of the Federation—a scenario Long Yin had guarded against from the beginning. He had no intention of toiling for another’s gain.

After burning the cards into his memory, he returned to the conference room on the ninety-ninth floor, where he found Uncle, the Jian siblings, and Uncle Ke waiting. Also present at the table were the two heads of affairs—one overt, one covert—for Texas.

Only the prince was missing; the group was otherwise complete. Seeing there was still time, Long Yin began arranging their seats.

Uncle was seated first; to his surprise, Jian Ming was second, followed by the head of Texas’s public operations. On the left, the first seat belonged to the prince, the second to Jian Ming’s sister, Jian Zhen, and the third to the shadowy head of Texas’s covert forces. Ke Yifei was placed directly opposite Long Yin, and aside from the black-and-silver badge, he also wore the black-and-gold honorary one. This arrangement showed not only the boss’s regard for the Jian siblings but also Ke Yifei’s unique status.

As the clock’s hands converged on midnight, the prince appeared. With his arrival, everyone’s eyes held a different kind of regard. Uncle, upon learning where the prince had been, nearly leapt up, but Long Yin calmed him with assurances. Even so, when the prince arrived just on time, Uncle shot him a fierce glare. Yuan Shaolin straightened his back, ignoring the probing looks. Uncle’s glare was lost beneath his cloak, but the displeasure was clear.

The meeting lasted six hours. They refined the plan to target the Crown Prince, prepared for contingencies, and even ventured bold predictions for years ahead. Their defenses reached unprecedented heights. The infiltration of the Texas families, the acquisition of territory, and the recruitment of talent would all culminate in three days, when Long Yin attended the Cardmaster Academy’s off-campus training.

All these plans hinged on Long Yin returning safely from the training—and seizing a fatal incriminating piece of evidence against the Ji family.

“All right,” Long Yin said, rising to his feet. “That’s the plan. Meeting adjourned.”

The attendees departed, but Long Yin turned to Jian Zhen. “Six hours—what did you see?”

At this, the remaining few—Sasaki, Yuan Shaolin, Jian Ming—all looked at Jian Zhen.

Hidden beneath her black cloak, Jian Zhen had not changed her appearance, only aged herself and grown taller; yet, among four men, she was still petite. But she did not falter. From the very start, she had used her special ability to the fullest, not listening to the words but sensing every fluctuation in everyone’s hearts. Under the cloak, she was on the verge of collapse; prolonged use of her gift, especially to probe others’ thoughts, had nearly exhausted her. Only her stubborn will kept her upright, determined to fulfill her elder brother’s request.

In the virtual world, her inability to speak was no longer a handicap.

Jian Zhen replied, “No malice.” Her answer was simple, but those four words made the men who knew her ability all breathe easier. No malice—good.

With that, the meeting truly ended. Jian Ming supported the drained Jian Zhen, nodded to the others, and logged off.

Uncle seemed about to say something to the prince, but Long Yin stopped him with a silent reminder: “The greater good.”

Uncle grumbled inwardly, “The boss is so biased—can’t bear to say a harsh word!” But thinking of those words, Sasaki let it go.

With everyone gone, Long Yin turned to Yuan Shaolin. After a pause, he asked, “Feeling better?”

Yuan Shaolin nodded, lips curving slightly. In truth, when the boy had messaged him mid-rage, urging him to vent freely, he’d felt a strange sense of relief.

“It won’t happen again,” Yuan Shaolin said. Thankfully, the kid was sharp this time—otherwise, he’d have blown everything. If his real identity were exposed, all their plans would collapse, pulling many others down with him—a true disaster.

“As long as you’re all right.” Long Yin smiled. “I’m going to rest now and prepare for the trip in three days. The rest is up to you all.”

“Mm.” Yuan Shaolin nodded. The two exchanged glances. Though they could suppress their anxiety, the sense of an impending storm lingered.

Author’s Note: Updating.