The child's soft crying stirred Yusheng before Tang Hao could rise.
He stepped gently across the dim room and lifted the boy with practiced ease. The baby, no more than a few months old, whimpered once — then quieted, eyes closing in peace as he nestled into Yusheng's arms.
Tang Hao watched from the doorway, dry laughter in his throat.
"Hah. Maybe I should hand him over to you," he muttered. "Cries all day with me. But one touch from you, and he sleeps like a leaf on water."
Yusheng looked down at the sleeping child. "Children," he said softly, "are the purest creatures in this world. They don't lie. They feel what you carry inside."
He turned, eyes meeting Tang Hao's. "And right now, my friend… you carry death. You're living as if you're still in Slaughter City. In mind, in breath, in heart."
Tang Hao's face darkened. "You try living after what I've lost," he said bitterly. "See how well you walk out of it."
"I have," Yusheng said, quiet as dusk. "And I'm still walking."
He laid the child gently on a cot, then joined Tang Hao outside, where the evening wind carried the scent of soil and smoke.
The wine gourd passed between them without ceremony. Each drank in silence.
Midway through the second round, Yusheng looked up at the night sky and said, "You know… I never told you my real name."
Tang Hao, already heavy with drink, chuckled. "No. You always had that monk's mystery. Like you'd vanish if someone said your name aloud."
"So I will," Yusheng smiled faintly. "But you've earned it."
He paused, then spoke:
"My name is Qian Yucheng."
The air changed.
Tang Hao stiffened, then shot to his feet, wine sloshing. His martial soul burst from his body — raw, reflexive, protective.
The force of it woke the child, who began crying in terror at the sudden pressure.
Yusheng didn't flinch. He simply exhaled — and the pressure around them vanished, dissolved by a gentle wave of his spiritual power. The child calmed. The air grew still again.
"You'll scare him like that," Yusheng said. "He's not a soldier."
Tang Hao stood frozen, his body tense, eyes locked on Yusheng as if waiting for the killing blow.
But it never came.
"I'm not here to kill you," Yusheng said. "If I wanted that… I knew about Ah Yin long before Qian Xunji did. I could've struck then. But I didn't."
Tang Hao said nothing — but the tension began to melt from his shoulders. He stepped back, slow, still wary. Still watching.
Yusheng tossed him the wine gourd. "Sit."
Tang Hao obeyed, but put space between them.
They drank again.
"I won't harm you or your son," Yusheng said. "But… the Clear Sky Clan will have to disband."
Tang Hao closed his eyes. "Is there really no other way?"
"To earn their trust? No," Yusheng said. "But it'll be done without violence. The family will be separated from its loyalists. Quietly. I will handle it."
Tang Hao nodded once. He understood.
"And you," Yusheng continued, "will remain in hiding. Raise him well. I feel your spirit in him… and Ah Yin's."
Tang Hao blinked — slow, guarded.
"I can protect her seedling," Yusheng said. "Ah Yin was a plant-type soul beast. I have land — spiritual land — where she can grow again. In peace."
That was too far.
Tang Hao's killing intent surged again, hot and defensive. "She's my wife," he growled. "Don't you dare put her in a pot like a trophy. She deserves more than that."
Yusheng didn't fight the anger. He let it pass like thunder over still water.
"I'm not asking to own her, Tang Hao," he said. "I'm asking to honor her."
"She was your wife — yes. But she was also my friend."
A silence grew, long and uncertain.
Then, finally, Tang Hao lowered his head.
"...A favor, then," he said. "Not a leash."
Yusheng smiled, and this time, Tang Hao did too — just a little.
They drank again — not as enemies.
But as men who had buried too much, and were still learning how to carry what remained.