Chapter 36: Regret

Under the gloomy sky, facing the contemporary Martial King Lin Zhengyang, an elderly man with snow-white hair bared his teeth, standing his ground.

For the sake of his disciple, what did it matter if he had to confront the Martial King himself?

Old Jiang shielded Lin Yin, his angry words striking like steel blades, demanding justice on Lin Yin’s behalf. Countless onlookers were stunned, unable to believe that the prodigy who stood at the pinnacle of humanity would resort to self-mutilation.

In that moment, representatives from the Royal Academies of various nations stood by Lin Yin’s side. They had no desire to interfere in the Lin family’s private affairs, nor could they. But if the cost was the fall of Lin Yin, they would no longer remain silent.

The elderly dean of Zhougong Academy threw his dragon-headed staff to the ground in a rage: "Lin Zhengyang! If you continue this relentless persecution, forcing humanity's own unicorn child into silence, do not blame me for stepping out of seclusion to intervene!"

The King of Dahan erupted with fury, his hostility undisguised: "Martial King Lin, let me offer you a piece of advice. Lin Yin is now the gospel of all humanity. I respect your achievements, but if you persist in this folly, I will not stand by and watch!"

Zhang Langxiao, a War-God-tier figure from the Fengtian Academy of Dayan, stared coldly: "Lin Zhengyang, I happen to want to test whether your title of Martial King is truly as formidable as they say!"

The King of Dali shielded Lin Yin firmly behind him, his eyes wide with rage: "The father-son relationship has deteriorated to this extent—are you still unaware of your wrongdoings, Martial King? What Elder Jiang said is true: the world never even knew you had an eldest son. Is this how you treat him? Do you truly believe Lin Yin is unworthy of being the heir of your Lin house?"

The delegation from the Qingtian Academy of Daqi also spoke softly: "Martial King Lin, leave."

Gazing at the blood-drenched Lin Yin, Lin Zhengyang’s throat worked, but he only lowered his head.

Yang Hui'er suddenly let out a cry: "Yin'er!" She moved as if to rush forward to check on him.

"Stop! No one from the Lin family is permitted to come near my disciple!" Old Jiang stood firm like a towering mountain, blocking the path.

Suddenly, Lin Yin stepped forward, and the scene gradually fell silent. Everyone watched him with bated breath—including Lin Zhengyang. A flicker of nervous anticipation crossed Lin Zhengyang’s eyes; could this rebellious son finally be turning back?

"Martial King Lin, last time I repaid you with flesh. This time..." Lin Yin tossed out the bloody mass he had just carved away—a red rib bone.

Old Jiang trembled at the sight. A rib? Did he really carve out his own rib? In the crowd, Jiang Zixun covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

"This time, I carve out my bone to return to my mother—to you, Yang Hui'er." Lin Yin looked at Yang Hui'er with weary eyes.

An unprecedented sense of despair washed over Yang Hui'er. She stared blankly at the rib on the ground, losing all strength, standing as motionless as a wooden statue.

"My earliest memory is of a farmhouse," Lin Yin’s voice echoed across the Great Wall, heard by hundreds of thousands. "When I was five, my foster parents died, and I began to survive on the charity of neighbors. It was impoverished, but free. I was tough; I did not bow to any hardship, living with strength and optimism."

"At ten, I learned I was adopted, so I set out to find my biological parents. I put up flyers, went to newspaper offices, and even visited the village where my foster parents first took me in, but I found nothing..."

The crowd fell silent, a vision forming in their minds of a young, resilient boy searching for his home. A sense of heartache spread silently through everyone present. Even the old dean of Zhougong Academy, a man who had seen the coldness of the world, looked at Lin Yin with complex eyes. This child had truly suffered.

"At fifteen, I was about to give up and accept my fate, and then you appeared. You arrived in luxurious clothes with hundreds of attendants, dragging me out of the slums. I thought I had finally found the warmth that belonged to me. But in your eyes, I saw only disgust and indifference."

"After entering the Lin house, I realized I wasn't your only child. The year after losing me, you had turned around and given birth to Lin Tianjiao."

"For three years in the Lin family, I walked on eggshells, hoping to earn your recognition, to be part of the family. But reality slapped me in the face—how could someone who joined halfway ever be considered a true member of the Lin house?"

"As for what I suffered in your home, I won't bother recounting it. What I owed you, I, Lin Yin, have now returned. The flesh that grew, the blood that flowed, and the bones I was born with. Aside from this name, everything that was yours has been returned."

"Of course, do not think of forcing me to give up my name; it was given by my foster parents, not by you."

"Go back. I, Lin Yin, have never been a member of the Lin family, nor have I ever been your so-called son."

Finally, Lin Yin finished. A cold wind blew, snapping the listeners out of their trance. Many realized, with a start, that tears were streaming down their cheeks. They had truly listened; they had felt every word.

Old Jiang slowly closed his eyes and let out a long breath. His disciple had finally laid his cards on the table. And rightly so—without this, how could his disciple be called a true dragon rising from the abyss?

Yang Hui'er and Lin Zhengyang heard these words, and a trace of tears seemed to appear on their faces as well. Was it regret? Even if it was, it was too late. Regret that comes too late is worth less than grass.

"Let's go! Heading home!" Lin Yin laughed heartily, uncaring of his wounds, and strode away.

Watching him leave, Lin Zhengyang felt as though he were watching someone who would be gone forever. Finally, gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and shouted: "Your father was wrong!"

This was the first time Lin Zhengyang had ever admitted he was wrong in public. But alas, everything was already too late.

Lin Yin disappeared around the corner, his figure and presence gone.

With a thud, Lin Zhengyang nearly fell from his Dayang Qilong beast, his face deathly pale as he gripped the reins. *I have already admitted my mistake, are you still not satisfied? What more do you want from me...?*

"Zhengyang, what do we do? What do we do?" Yang Hui'er’s face was also drained of color, her mind in a panic. She could feel that this time, Lin Yin had thoroughly severed the last remaining connection between them. She collapsed, clutching the blood-stained rib, and wept bitterly.

"Come back... Yin'er, come back... Mother cannot live without you... come back..."

Old Jiang walked past Yang Hui'er, glanced at her, and said coldly: "Know regret now? It is too late."

Jiang Zixun followed behind Old Jiang, her eyes filled with hatred; she had no desire to look at Lin Zhengyang or Yang Hui'er. The others from the Royal Academies also cast cold, disdainful glances. How to describe it? They deserved it. They held a priceless treasure in their hands, yet treated it like a mere insect.

*Just don't come out to pester Lin Yin again,* they thought. *That is all we ask of you.*