Something was wrong!
Amidst the abruptly halted memory, Ji Jue looked up and carefully scrutinized the caretaker, whose features had long since blurred with the passage of time.
Unfortunately, he could discern nothing.
Bustamante stood dumbfounded. He had never imagined that the ambition he had clung to for a lifetime had merely originated from an unheeded afternoon chat in an art gallery.
He even began to doubt himself.
"Did I... did I remember it wrong?" Bustamante asked stiffly. "Could my memory have gotten muddled? It's been so many years..."
"Perhaps. Details might differ, but your obsession certainly sprouted from this."
Yan Chang's figure manifested. "Human memory is volatile, far too prone to altering and romanticizing itself. Yet out of all your hazy recollections, this segment alone remains so vivid."
His footsteps paused opposite Theseus, on the other side of the gallery, before another ancient oil painting. He looked up, gazing at it. "If your memory of Theseus is mistaken, how do you explain this painting?"
Bustamante turned his head stiffly to look behind him.
Directly across from *Theseus* hung another ancient piece from the collection.
A forged replica.
Tones of pitch black and crimson bore down on him.
And so, he finally realized: these were the only two crystal-clear focal points in his hazy memories—things that even he had subconsciously avoided, unwilling to ever recall.
He had harbored a subconscious aversion and resistance toward them, yet in this memory, they were starkly distinct.
In the painting, a grotesque giant opened its gaping maw to devour the headless corpse in its hands... Yet why were the eyes of such a cruel, monstrous giant filled with sheer terror?
Beneath the canvas, a bronze plaque gleamed brightly in the memory:
*Saturn Devouring His Son*
"In ancient legends, the harvest god Saturnus killed his own father to usurp the throne of the king of gods, only to be cursed by him in the end: he would fall into the very same plight and be slain by his own child..."
Yan Chang sighed softly, caressing the plaque. "And so, from then on, the god was consumed day and night by anxiety and fear. Driven completely mad trying to avert the prophecy, he stopped at nothing, swallowing his own children whole.
"Is this not also the inescapable curse and prophecy of the Chopra family?"
"I..."
Bustamante's voice grew dry and rigid.
He looked bewilderedly to his left and right.
The earliest epiphany and the earliest nightmare stood directly opposite each other.
The epiphany had shown the path; the nightmare had revealed the end.
Perhaps to the Bustamante of that time, this had merely been a casual stroll, an inconsequential way to kill an afternoon.
He had even believed he had forgotten it all.
Never had he imagined that from that very moment, the seeds of ambition and terror had already been sown in his heart.
***
After withdrawing from the memory, Bustamante sank into silence.
For an ambitious man, failure was acceptable, falling into the abyss was acceptable, being incompetent or foolish was acceptable—the one thing he could never accept was that a lifetime of blood, sweat, and toil had been nothing more than the futile dance of a marionette in someone else's palm.
The gallery had been incinerated in an accident decades ago.
According to archival records, the caretaker had worked for the Chopra family his entire life. When the gallery burned down, he had suffered severe burns and died of illness just a few years later.
He had left behind no descendants.
"However, the location of his grave is still in the records." Flipping through the documents inside the family head's secret chamber, Minkler turned around and asked, "Should we dig up the grave to verify?"
"No need."
Ji Jue shook his head. "Don't do anything superfluous either."
If the other party had prepared for this, the moment the grave was disturbed, they would likely sense it and immediately realize Ji Jue was making a move.
Besides, if they were truly prepared, how could they not have arranged a flawless set of remains?
No answers would be found in that grave.
In fact, this might simply be Ji Jue overthinking things.
After all, human beings weren't spherical chickens grown in a vacuum flask. A person was the totality and embodiment of all their social relations; living in this world, one inevitably was influenced by others, and Ji Jue was no exception.
What if the caretaker had acted with good intentions, and it was Bustamante who had simply gone astray on his own?
Could you commit countless atrocities and then blame it on an artist painting too well?
After all, in the entire memory, the caretaker hadn't done anything extraneous. He had merely fulfilled his duty by explaining the artwork.
Yet could it really be such a coincidence?
At a youth's most bewildered moment, subtly pointing the way and planting the seed;
Seizing the momentum to fan the flames, effortlessly placing that flash of inspiration into Bustamante's hands at the exact right moment, leading him to a sudden revelation;
And then, all the ancient tomes and secret texts required for his subsequent work—how had he managed to buy them all?
Could every single one have been a stroke of chance?
Among such a vast collection, the good and bad were mixed together. The trash was utterly worthless, but the genuine treasures were extraordinarily valuable, including numerous unique copies. Yet somehow, Bustamante had managed to find them all. How was that possible?
Even the filler junk among them had, more or less, contributed some minor utility toward modifying the House God.
Could it really be that coincidental?
Ji Jue sank into contemplation, staring at the memory crystal in his hand.
If this had all been orchestrated intentionally, everything clicked into place. Perhaps from the moment Minkler threw his arms around Ji Jue's legs, Ji Jue had become a thorn in the mastermind's side.
Such a profound, protracted scheme, hidden in the shadows, subtly nudging Bustamante forward along a predetermined path...
If this was indeed deliberate, then perhaps Bustamante wasn't the only one; all his siblings might have been influenced as well.
Unfortunately, Bustamante had slaughtered every last one of his siblings, leaving no trace of evidence to be found.
If not for Ji Jue—or rather, if no accidents had occurred—the Bustamante of today would still be sprinting down this road without looking back, right until he fully completed the modification of the House God.
And the one who had truly caused an accident in this plan, even bringing it to an abrupt end...
Was actually Boggio, who had long since died in the belly of the House God!
A single bottle of red wine had poisoned his own father, forcing Bustamante to accelerate his plans. To muddy the waters, Bustamante had dragged Minkler—who was treated as nothing more than a mascot and decorative fixture—into the mire.
And in the end, through a bizarre twist of fate, Ji Jue had been pulled into the conflict.
If that was the case, it was truly tragic.
Ji Jue couldn't help but chuckle.
Quite possibly, all of Xiangzhou, the entire Chopra family, and the House God itself had been the fruits of a fellow practitioner's covert cultivation for who knew how many years.
Yet now, Ji Jue had pocketed it all and remodeled it beyond recognition.
Just like Luo Island and the Tyrant: years of painstaking plotting, only for an outsider artisan to swoop in and pluck the fruit...
...Wait!
Ji Jue froze in sudden alarm.
Involuntarily, he sat up straight, his hand tightening around the armrest: Could it truly be that coincidental?
First Xiangzhou, then Luo Island. One watched over by Wulou Temple from the shadows, the other concealing the Tyrant behind the scenes. Had he really managed to step on the only two landmines among the Seven Cities?
Even if his luck had always been dreadful, it couldn't possibly be this absurd, could it?
Or could it be...
That the remaining five each held their own vicious tricks?!
Imagine if he hadn't intervened—if Ji Jue hadn't barged in—what would have become of the Seven Cities, transformed completely into an isolated country manor cut off from the world during this blizzard season when the Blightwind roared and severed all transit?
Once Minkler died without a grave, Boggio would have taken the mantle of family head, and the Chopras would have fallen under the control of Wulou Temple.
Meanwhile, the Sukarno family would have expanded step by step, the Tyrant watching from the shadows, waiting for the day they could clutch the entirety of Luo Island in their grasp...
Once the Blightwind had swept past, what would the Seven Cities left behind in the Endless Sea have looked like?
It was unimaginable, and there was no longer any need to imagine it.
He looked up at the massive screen before him. On the vast nautical chart, the seven city-states scattered across the Endless Sea shimmered with light.
It was as though he had finally lifted his head from the chessboard and caught a glimpse of the figure lurking in the gloom across from him.
He could no longer contain a silent laugh.
*At last, I've found you!*
***
"Things have come to this; the hidden threat on Luo Island must be dealt with."
Inside Pucheng's council chamber, within a secret room completely shielded from all electronic devices, the representatives gathered from various factions wore grave, grim expressions.
The first to speak was an old crone from Macheng. Devoid of her past gentle and dignified demeanor, she gave a cold sneer. "That man named Ji is bursting with ambition—he isn't even bothering to hide it anymore. Even if the rest of you harbor thoughts of muddling along in your own little corners, he might not give you the chance."
"The venerable lady's words are amiss. We are all family here; what hurdle is too great to overcome?" The ruler of Yamen let out a soft sigh. "I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding. Once we clear the air, everything will be fine. Why make things so tense and combative?"
For a moment, the other attendees turned their gazes toward him, their expressions cold, mocking, or disdainful, making no attempt to conceal it.
Who didn't know what medicine he was brewing in his gourd? He had simply been scared out of his wits by Ji Jue and didn't dare stick his neck out, putting on an act here. If a real opportunity arose, he would likely charge ahead faster than anyone.
As for that old witch from Macheng, she was hardly any better.
Her current impassioned display was purely because Macheng was closest to Luo Island. Once Ji Jue finished sharpening his blades, nine times out of ten she would be the first on the chopping block. Right now, she was just frantically looking for meat shields to take the fall for her.
She conveniently omitted mentioning who had grabbed the lion's share and stuffed themselves fullest when Luo Island discarded those illicit businesses and market shares.
"Those words... actually aren't entirely unreasonable."
Callisto sighed indifferently. "I lean toward a peaceful resolution. We're all family; there's no need to make things unsightly."
The moment he said this, everyone in the room, including the old crone, was amused—this old dog was the heaviest caliber of them all, yet here he was, simply barking for show.
As the original instigator of the anti-Ji Jue alliance, he was now the first to beat a retreat.
Once certain things were seen through, everything naturally became clear.
Take Dancheng, for instance. So long as he gave up vying for the position of alliance leader and looked back, wasn't the life of a wealthy local lord quite comfortable?
In any case, he was backed by the Empire's Holy Tree. No matter how overbearing Ji Jue was, he wouldn't completely fall out with the Holy Tree family.
His master had face, so he, the dog, could naturally land safely on his feet.
Out of everyone present, he alone could afford to talk big without skin in the game. So long as he lay flat, he wouldn't be harmed even if all the others dropped dead. What did he have to fear?
A shameless, disgraceful creature!
Chapter 764