Chapter 35: The Annihilation of the Yang Residence! Only One Remains!-From Servant to Saint: The Path to Enlightenment(The mountains rise high beneath a small, distant moon.)

“It’s me.”
Shen Yan released the Serpent’s Breath Concealment Technique, and his figure appeared instantly in the center of the main hall.

“It’s you?!”
The lady of the house, whose face had been brimming with fury, froze at the sight of Shen Yan.

“Shen... Shen... Shen Yan?”
Someone else recognized him at that moment.

“The Shen Yan who left with Yang Yun to cultivate immortality?”
“Why has he returned? Could it be Yun sent him back?”
“Yang Yun is an immortal. If the Duke was murdered, she would surely know.”
“Nonsense. If the eldest lady knew, would she have allowed our father to be killed?”
“Enough arguing. I suspect Yun foresaw the master’s death and sent Shen Yan here to investigate.”

For a moment, everyone who saw Shen Yan instinctively assumed he’d been sent by Yang Yun. After all, barely a year had passed. Nearly everyone present had once gone to bid Yang Yun farewell; though they were unfamiliar with Shen Yan, they knew of him. As for the possibility that Shen Yan had killed the Duke himself, such a thought hadn’t crossed their minds. He was a servant born in the household, overshadowed by Yang Yun—how could he possibly rebel?

“Everyone else, be silent. Shen Yan, you speak! Do you know what happened regarding the Duke’s death?”
The lady of the house thought the same. She addressed Shen Yan with her usual air of superiority.

“Of course I know what happened, because I killed Yang Ze myself.”

As soon as his words fell, every face in the great hall turned to Shen Yan in utter shock. A few quick-witted ones edged backward, hoping to slip away in the chaos.

“Silence! You, a mere servant, dare spout such madness? Have you lost your mind? It seems you won’t speak the truth unless I teach you a lesson!”
The lady’s voice turned cold, her gaze sharp with menace.

“Look.”

Unperturbed by her bluster, Shen Yan reached into his storage pouch, retrieved a stone box containing Yang Ze’s head, opened it, and smiled at her.

“A fresh head—the blood hasn’t even dried yet.”

Screams rang out.

“Guards! Guards! Kill him and avenge the Duke!”
“Treason! Seize him! I’ll see him executed by a thousand cuts!”

At once, the hall erupted into chaos. Some fainted in fright, others seethed with indignation, some were uncertain, but most were clamoring for Shen Yan’s death. These people, accustomed to wielding power, felt a natural advantage over someone born a servant. Even though he’d just killed the Duke, most did not feel the least bit afraid.

Shen Yan was hardly surprised by their reaction. This world, after all, was one that devoured its own. The immortal realm preyed upon people, but so did the mundane world. The Yang household was just a small, ravenous circle.

The lady of the house, staring at her husband’s severed head, looked deeply into Shen Yan’s eyes.

“Shen Yan, you sneaked back into the Yang household and killed the Duke. Aren’t you afraid that Yun will hold you accountable?”

“No wonder you shared a bed with Yang Ze—even your questions are identical.”

Shen Yan chuckled, but had no desire to argue further.

“I won’t explain my reasons. After you’re all dead, you can ask Yang Ze yourselves.”

Hearing Shen Yan’s intent to slaughter them all, genuine terror finally flickered across the lady’s face.

“You mean to kill everyone in the Yang family? Aren’t you afraid of heaven’s retribution?”
Her tone, by the end, held a faint note of supplication.

Shen Yan was unmoved. Instead, he looked at her with curiosity.

“You Yangs have committed countless evils. How many people in Jinzhou Prefecture have suffered and died at your hands with no retribution from heaven? Yet now that I mean to kill you all, I’ll be punished? I’m carrying out heaven’s justice!”

With those words, Shen Yan raised a hand and pointed at a Yang clansman who had nearly reached the door. In the next instant, the man’s body exploded in a spray of blood and flesh, drenching those nearby.

Shrieks of terror resounded through the hall as pandemonium broke out. Some even knocked over the wooden bed on which Yang Ze’s corpse lay.

Witnessing their kin reduced to a pile of gore, even the ever-composed lady of the house could not prevent her pupils from contracting.

“Ladies of the family, do not worry. I will only kill the men, not the women.”

Shen Yan spoke languidly to the terrified Yangs. The women in the household let out an involuntary sigh of relief, only for their hearts to clench again. These men were their family, their support. If all the men died, what would become of them?

At this moment, a young woman, gathering her damp skirt, looked at Shen Yan through a mask of tears and terror.

“Master Shen... please, don’t kill me. I’m not of the Yang family—I’m only a relative. I can give you money... please, let me go?”

She was a relative of the Yangs, not a true clanswoman, and stammered out her plea.

Shen Yan glanced at her, realization dawning on his face.

“So, you’re the cousin. I already said—I don’t kill women.”

At this, the cousin relaxed. What did the deaths of the Yangs matter to her, as long as she herself was safe? Inwardly, she cursed the Yang family—if not for these bastards, would she have been so frightened she lost control of herself?

Having received Shen Yan’s assurance, hope dawned in her eyes.

“Then may I leave?”

But Shen Yan’s next words chilled her to the core.

“No.”

“Why?”
Her voice was shrill with despair, and other women stared at Shen Yan in horror.

“Why? Heh. I remember your arrogance in the household perfectly. A maid failed to bow to you once, and you gouged out her eyes in a fit of anger—said if she couldn’t see who to bow to, she didn’t need eyes. Did it happen or not?”

Without waiting for her reply, Shen Yan turned to the others.

“The lady of the house is so merciful—she neither beat nor scolded errant servants, merely had them buried as fertilizer in the gardens. The fourth miss, no less cruel, kept thirty great dogs that devoured countless servants alive...”

“And the seventh young master—truly admirable. Every servant in his rooms had their tongues cut out and eardrums pierced, because he disliked noise...”

Shen Yan recited the household’s daily cruelties in a slow, steady voice, his expression calm. Yet as he spoke, everyone shivered with dread, unable to flee under the restraints of his magic.

Bang! Bang! Bang!
Splat! Splat! Splat!

With each name Shen Yan called, the man in question turned to a pile of pulp. For each woman named, her tongue was cut out, her eyes gouged, her ears pierced.

Half an hour later, Shen Yan’s mouth was dry, and most in the main hall had been dealt with—only a handful remained, those whose crimes were few or nonexistent.