86: From Chapter 86 onwards, your name is Wang Qingxin.

The old man called Uncle Pang widened his eyes, and the muscles on his face twitched violently.

"Lightning, lightning techniques, lightning cultivator..."

"You are Wang Shou—"

Before he could finish his words, a crimson-gold flash of lightning had pierced through his chest, pinning his entire body to the wall of the earthen house. The wall cracked, and dust fell in a rustle.

The old man lowered his head to look at the scorched, massive hole in his chest, his lips quivered slightly, his head tilted to the side, and he breathed his last.

Yan Haifang's trousers were wet.

A foul, pungent stench spread. He collapsed onto the ground, his legs trembling so much that he couldn't even stand up, yet he still stiffened his neck and screamed in a shrill voice that was a front for his cowardice.

"You! You dare kill my men! Do you know who I am? My father is a kinsman of Head of the Yan Family Yan Bosong! My eldest uncle is the head of the Yan Family! You're done for! Even if you're from the Wang family, you're done for! My father will certainly not spare you!"

Wang Shouren looked at this little chubby fellow in speechlessness.

He had dealt with the Yan Family before, and their impression on him was that they were slippery as eels and never did unprofitable business; they even had to deliberate repeatedly before joining hands with the Ning Family to suppress the Wang family—how could they raise a junior who turned out to be such trash?

Too lazy to pay attention to Yan Haifang's clamoring, he turned around, squatted down, and looked at the girl who was still desperately stuffing steamed buns into her mouth.

The girl had already eaten the steamed bun down to its last small piece.

Her cheeks were puffed up high, and a labored swallowing sound came from her throat. She was choked to the point of tearing up, yet she still tightly clutched that small piece of bun skin without letting go.

She glanced at Wang Shouren through the gaps in her disheveled hair. In that gaze, there was no gratitude, no fear, not even curiosity—only a hollow bewilderment.

Dead bodies lay scattered across her feet, and the blood from the corpses was still flowing outward, soaking the hem of her tattered linen tunic.

She didn't even glance at those corpses, simply stuffing the last piece of bun skin into her mouth like a starved wildcat, caring about nothing else except the food right in front of her.

Looking into those eyes, something in Wang Shouren's heart was suddenly gently stirred.

He didn't rush her, but quietly waited for her to swallow the last bite of the bun before asking, "What is your name?"

The girl looked at him with hollow eyes.

"Name?"

A name. No one had ever asked for her name; her adoptive parents called her "money-losing good-for-nothing", the villagers called her "little beggar", and the Yan Family's young master called her "hey, beggar".

No one had ever asked what she was called, because no one felt that she needed to have a name.

"Are you willing to follow me from now on?" Wang Shouren softened his voice and reached out a hand toward her. "My name is Wang Shouren."

Behind him, Yan Haifang, who was collapsed on the ground, shuddered violently, his eyes—squeezed into slits by fat—suddenly widening into round circles.

Wang Shouren, that Wang Shouren who led people to destroy the Dadao Sect, the ruthless Young Lord of the Wang Family.

The color on that fat face instantly drained completely. His lips trembled as he wanted to say something, but he only managed to emit a string of indistinct clicking sounds.

He wanted to get up and run, but his legs felt as if they were filled with lead and simply refused to obey. After kicking the ground a few times, he only managed to scrape two urine-soaked drag marks on the ground, finally screaming out in a breakdown: "Wang Shouren! You are Wang Shouren! You are not allowed to come over, I haven't offended you, my father is—"

Wang Shouren didn't look back, merely flicking an extremely tiny lightning arc behind him.

The lightning arc struck the ground in front of Yan Haifang's toes, blasting open a small pit and scattering gravel all over his face.

Yan Haifang's screams abruptly stopped. His entire body curled up into a ball, shivering and trembling, not daring to utter another half a word.

The girl climbed up from the ground, wiped the bun crumbs from the corner of her mouth with the back of her blackened hand, and raised her head to look at Wang Shouren.

She didn't ask what kind of person he was, didn't ask why he killed those people, and didn't even look back at the Yan Family young master who had wanted to kill her just moments ago.

She simply asked with a flat tone, as if confirming the terms of a transaction, "Can I eat my fill?"

"Yes," Wang Shouren nodded. "You'll be fed until you're full."

Hearing this, the girl knelt down without the slightest hesitation, knocking her forehead against the ground: "Master."

Wang Shouren raised his hand, and a gentle stream of spiritual power supported her knees and forehead, gently lifting her up.

The girl raised her head blankly, not understanding why this new master wouldn't let her kowtow.

Looking into her hollow eyes, Wang Shouren unconsciously softened his voice: "I don't need you to kneel. Following me from now on, you don't need to call me master, and you don't need to kowtow."

"You are a human, not anyone's servant. I give you food to eat because you need food, not because you kneel well."

The girl fell silent for a long time.

Her adoptive parents made her work on her knees, made her call them master, and made her eat leftovers.

The villagers called her a little beggar, told her to get lost, and tossed her a spoiled flatbread just like dismissing a dog.

Having lived to this age, everyone who gave her food made her kneel, and everyone who made her kneel said she was a servant.

She had never known how else one could live besides being a servant.

"Why?" Her voice was hoarse and dry when she spoke, as if she hadn't spoken in a very long time. Every word carried an instinctive bewilderment. Looking up at Wang Shouren, a trace of emotion other than bewilderment appeared in those hollow eyes for the very first time: "Master, do you not want me anymore?"

Wang Shouren supported his forehead and sighed silently—he had said all that for nothing.

He squatted down, looked directly into the girl's hollow eyes, and repeated, "I said, you don't need to call me master. It's not that I don't want you, it's that I don't want you to be a servant. Do you understand?"

The girl tilted her head and looked at him for a long while, seeming to painstakingly digest these words.

After a long while, she softly let out an "Oh", and then timidly added, "Then... can I kill people too?"

Wang Shouren fell silent for a moment. "Yes."

The girl turned around, walked to the edge of the earthen pit blasted open by the lightning arc, and picked up the Magical Artifact long saber dropped by the old man surnamed Pang.

The blade body was fully four feet long, and standing it up made it taller than her by a good margin.

She gripped the hilt with both hands and dragged the saber as she walked toward Yan Haifang.

The tip of the blade scraped a crooked trace across the muddy ground, producing a harsh, grating sound.

Yan Haifang watched the blood-stained little beggar drag the saber toward him, his fat face distorting into a fear that bordered on the comical.

He kicked his legs frantically to back away, his back hitting the wooden chest, leaving him with no further retreat.

He opened his mouth, wanting to cry for help, wanting to call for his father, wanting to call for his eldest uncle, but only a muffled, rattling sound came from his throat.

The girl raised the long saber and slashed down with all her might.