Chapter 72 Unfortunately, This Life Is Too Short

Chapter 72: Alas, This Life Was Too Short

The Duke of Song, in his sleep, suddenly felt a chill on his forehead. He wiped it drowsily, turned over, and continued snoring.

At that moment, a dark stain spread on the Duke’s forehead. At first, it was large, but it gradually shrank, as if being absorbed into his skin.

Just as the last trace of the stain vanished, the Duke opened his eyes—only to immediately vomit blood. The ink mark reappeared at the center of his brow.

“What manner of demon are you?” The Duke’s voice quaked with terror. He tried to call for help, but his hands suddenly clutched his throat, silencing him.

This was Song Yan’s second time possessing someone, but it was far more difficult than the first.

The moment he succeeded in seizing control, a foreign energy surged from within the Duke, threatening to crush him. Had it not been for the power he had obtained from A Chan’s ancestor, which blocked the assault, he would've been expelled.

The clash between the two forces meant Song Yan failed to fully suppress the Duke’s body—the Duke’s consciousness remained awake.

Song Yan and the Duke clashed for control, but soon the Duke began weakening. The mysterious force within him diminished until it was completely suppressed.

When Song Yan opened his eyes again, he had complete dominion over the form. Yet he could sense that the residual energy allowed the Duke’s consciousness to remain aware. In other words, whatever he did with the Duke’s body, the Duke would be painfully aware.

Moreover, manipulating this body continuously drained the power he had inherited from A Chan’s lineage. Originally, A Chan had told him it would last seven days, but at this rate, it would last barely three.

No matter—what he needed to do could be accomplished in a single day.

Song Yan rose from the bed and, after a brief adjustment, perfectly replicated the Duke’s demeanor and movements.

He wasn’t in a hurry to act. Instead, he sat at the desk and began grinding ink with deliberate motions.

Once the ink was ready, he dipped a brush into it and began writing on the blank memorial.

No doubt, if the Duke were writing a memorial now, it would be a memorial of contrition. Since Song Yan had taken over his body, he might as well finish what the Duke had left undone.

When the memorial was complete and the ink dry, Song Yan closed it and raised his voice. “Attendant!”

“Your Grace.” A maid outside immediately responded.

“Summon the steward.”

“At once.” The maid hurried off to fetch him.

Before long, the Duke’s chief steward arrived in haste. “Your Grace, what are your orders?”

Song Yan slid the memorial onto the desk. “Deliver this to His Majesty’s desk tomorrow morning. No one else is to see its contents. Understood?”

The steward secretly sighed in relief, thinking to himself that the Duke had finally written his memorial of repentance—likely fearing ridicule, hence the secrecy.

He quickly took the memorial and bowed. “Rest assured, Your Grace. This humble servant will see to it personally. His Majesty will receive it by morning.”

“Good.” Song Yan gave a satisfied hum, then asked, “Where is the Heir?”

“The Heir is training at the martial grounds. Does Your Grace wish to go?”

“No. Select a jar of his favorite wine and bring it here. Tonight, I’ll share a few cups with Xi’er.”

The steward smiled at once. “The Heir prefers fiery spirits, just like the Late Duke. This humble servant will fetch a jar of Dragon Blood Brew.”

Seeing Song Yan’s approving nod, the steward knew he’d touched upon his fondness.

Perhaps the image the Late Duke had left on the current Duke was too imposing, for ever since the Heir’s birth, the Duke had seen traces of the Late Duke in him at every turn.

In truth, the steward thought the Heir’s temperament resembled the current Duke’s more. The Duke might not recall, but the Late Duke rarely indulged in drink either. Not that it mattered—the Duke enjoyed hearing it.

Not long after the steward left, a servant arrived carrying a sizeable wine jar to the study.

Once dismissed, Song Yan walked to the jar, strained slightly to lift it, and placed it beneath the Pine Painting.

After breaking the clay seal and removing the lid, a pungent aroma of spirits wafted out, underlain by metallic notes. Dragon Blood Brew wasn’t actually made with dragon blood, but it did contain spiritual beast's blood—a potent tonic for ordinary folk.

Under Song Yan’s gaze, the Pine Painting once again seeped thick streams of dark liquid. Black droplets dripped steadily into the wine jar.

Soon, the ink dissolved into the liquor without a trace, leaving the wine’s color unchanged.

When the last drop fell, Song Yan dipped a cupful of wine with a clean teacup, sniffed it, then threw it back.

“This is indeed strong. Your Heir will surely appreciate this.” These words were directed at the Duke, whose consciousness remained intact.

He wanted the Duke to witness, with his own eyes, how his beloved son would walk step by step toward ruin.

By evening, a drizzle began to fall outside.

The sound of droplets tapping against the eaves was soft, not at all grating—instead, it brought an inexplicable sense of calm.

Song Yan gazed at the rain through the window, his expression tranquil.

After a while, the study darkened. A maid slipped in quietly to light the candles, while the steward sent servants to deliver a sumptuous spread freshly prepared by the kitchen.

Once the dishes were laid out, the steward dismissed the attendants and addressed Song Yan, who sat with a detached demeanor. “Your Grace, the Heir might be fetching the young master. He should arrive shortly.”

Song Yan gave a faint hum.

The Duke had many children, but officially, he only acknowledged two legitimate sons—the Heir and a younger son named Song Che, who was not yet ten.

Among all the Duke’s offspring, Song Xi’s cultivation talent was the most extraordinary.

Normally, the Duke was distant toward his illegitimate children. Now, with the family in turmoil, even on his birthday, none of them dared to approach the main house for fear of displeasing him.

Before long, the voices of boys echoed outside the study. Soon after, Song Xi entered, leading a younger boy who bore his likeness.

Song Xi hadn’t brought an umbrella, yet neither he nor Song Che bore a single drop of rain.

“Father.”

As Song Xi greeted him, Song Che scampered over and looked up. “Father, is there no roasted lamb leg tonight?”

Song Yan lowered his gaze and scolded, as the Duke often did, “Remember your place.”

Song Che pouted. He was used to being reprimanded—his father only ever smiled when he saw his eldest brother.

Song Xi stepped forward, patted his brother’s head, and led him to sit across from Song Yan.

Once the family was seated, Song Yan picked up his chopsticks, and only then did Song Xi and Song Che begin eating.

The atmosphere in the study was subdued. Afraid of another scolding, Song Che ate quietly. Neither Song Xi nor Song Yan were talkative, so no one spoke.

Halfway through the meal, Song Yan finally gestured to the wine jar beside him and said to Song Xi, “Your favorite—Dragon Blood Brew.”

Song Xi froze, a glimmer of feeling crossing his eyes.

After the incident with Song Yu, he had assumed his father would nurse resentment and distance himself. He never expected that, on his father’s birthday, the Duke would still remember his preferences—even preparing the wine he often drank.

Song Xi stood up and poured a bowl of wine for Song Yan, then filled one for himself. The pungent aroma of liquor instantly filled the study.

Song Che’s eyes darted around, tempted by the scent of the wine. But before his chopsticks could even touch the bowl, Song Yan struck his hand with his chopsticks.

He immediately withdrew his hand and obediently sat back in his chair, not daring to look at his elder brother’s wine bowl again.

After toasting Song Yan with a bowl of wine, Song Yan drank only half, while Song Xi downed his entire bowl in one gulp.

Setting down the empty bowl, he finally spoke, “Father, I've been unfilial and brought trouble upon the Duke of Song’s household.”

Song Yan said nothing in response. Instead, he stood up and refilled Song Xi’s bowl before saying, “The past is past. There’s no need to dwell on it. I am old now, and the future of the Duke of Song’s household falls to you.”

With that, they clinked bowls again, and Song Xi drank another full bowl.

For some reason, Song Xi felt that his father was much calmer today. Every word he spoke struck a chord.

So all these years, his father had seen his cultivation struggles and the efforts he had made for the Duke of Song’s household.

His father had even said that he resembled his grandfather the most and was surely capable of shouldering the responsibilities of the Duke of Song’s household.

After the fiery liquor settled in his stomach, Song Xi’s body grew warm, and his mind grew exhilarated. Hearing Song Yan’s words only stirred his emotions further. This setback wouldn’t defeat him—he would eventually charge across battlefields like his grandfather.

And so, father and son chatted while drinking. Before long, more than half of the jar of Dragon Blood wine had ended up in Song Xi’s belly.

Song Che, sitting to the side listening to their conversation and watching them drink, was getting fidgety but remained obediently seated.

By the time the wine was finished, the light rain outside had also gradually stopped. Though Song Xi smelled strongly of wine, his gaze remained sharp.

Seeing that it was getting late, he stood up to take his leave of Song Yan.

Song Yan didn’t keep him, just having the servants escort the two brothers out before calling the maids to clean up.

Only after the maids had cleared away the dishes and left did Song Yan close the door and return to his seat.

Though most of the Dragon Blood wine had been consumed by Song Xi, Song Yan had also downed three full bowls. Yet he felt no dizziness—apparently, the Duke of Song had a high alcohol tolerance.

He poured himself a cup of hot tea, then retrieved a tactics manual from the bookshelf and began reading by candlelight.

The manual seemed quite old, filled with annotations in handwriting that was less formal than the Duke of Song’s usual script—more fluid. Song Yan guessed that these notes had been left by the Late Duke.

Though he had written stories specifically about the Late Duke, his understanding of him was limited to written records, most of which were mere speculation. He didn’t truly know what kind of man the Late Duke of Song had been.

But the annotations in the manual bore a distinct personal touch—sometimes serious, occasionally digressing—suggesting a shrewd and humorous individual.

After finishing half the book, Song Yan closed it. If the Late Duke were still alive, perhaps Song Yu’s life wouldn’t have been so tragic.

But there were no “ifs” in this world.

What had happened had led to this outcome. Song Yu was left with nothing, and Song Yan couldn’t let him lose so completely. Someone had to pay for what they had done.

Song Yan raised his eyes, his eyes now completely black.

At this moment, his essence had split in two—one half controlling the Duke of Song’s body, while the other had fully merged into Song Xi’s flesh and blood.

Killing a Third Realm cultivator was undoubtedly extremely difficult. He had considered many methods, but none could guarantee Song Xi’s death.

Even with borrowed power, he couldn't hope to match a Third Realm cultivator. His only advantage was that he was neither an evil spirit nor a demon. If he concealed himself deliberately, no cultivator could detect him.

As long as Song Xi remained oblivious to his presence, he had a chance to execute his plan.

The best way to kill Song Xi was to destroy him from within. Though it wouldn’t be as simple as imagined, it was the closest path to success.

By now, night had grown late. After returning to his courtyard, Song Xi had his maids help him wash up before falling into bed and sleeping.

In his slumber, he failed to notice that the tainted wine he'd drunk had seeped into his blood vessels, merging with his bloodstream.

It wasn’t until a sudden suffocating sensation jerked him awake that Song Xi’s eyes flew open.

Yet the feeling of suffocation didn’t fade. Realizing he might have been poisoned, Song Xi quickly composed himself and circulated his Internal Energy to inspect his body.

But after a full cycle of energy flow, he detected nothing wrong.

Song Xi continued circulating his Internal Energy without pause. Though the suffocation eased slightly, his heartbeat grew increasingly rapid. His skull pounded, and a piercing whine filled his ears.

Amidst the physical distress, he failed to notice that the speed of his Internal Energy circulation was also accelerating.

With a dull *pop*, something seemed to explode inside him.

This was only the beginning. Several more strange noises followed from within his body, and his Internal Energy abruptly halted. Agony wracked his entire being.

Only then did Song Xi realize—something was wrong with his meridians.

*Meridian collapse?* The thought flashed through his mind, but he had little time to ponder.

The suffocation came back worse. Without the support of Internal Energy, Song Xi’s face darkened. Clutching his throat, he rolled over, trying to get out of bed.

The moment his feet touched the ground, a white-hot pain lanced through his soles, causing him to stagger and collapse onto the floor.

Since he disliked having servants attend to him at night, no servants were nearby to witness his distress.

Curled up on the ground, Song Xi felt his veins bursting one after another. Had his meridians been intact, he might have endured longer—but now, his time was short.

Frantically, he wondered—*Who did this? When? How did I not notice anything wrong?*

Was it the Marquis of the North? Or the Prince of Xiling? He had already left Xiling—why would they still want him dead?

Just then, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure entered silently.

It was his father.

In his current state, he couldn't begin to question why the Duke of Song would appear in his room at this hour.

Desperate hope flashed in his eyes as he gazed at the figure, hoping against hope his father would call for help. But the man approached slowly, making no sound.

Using most of his power to destroy Song Xi’s body was no simple task. Song Xi was too strong—the recoil from his power caused the borrowed power within Song Yan to dissipate rapidly.

He could sense that soon, he would lose his grip on the Duke of Song entirely.

But it no longer mattered. Everything that needed to be done was finished.

Song Yan crouched beside Song Xi, his voice unnaturally calm as he asked, “Xi’er, after killing Song Yu, did you ever feel even a moment of regret?”

Song Xi stared at Song Yan, his face purpling, unable to utter a single word.

At this moment, he finally realized—the one who had orchestrated this was none other than his father, the Duke of Song.

Song Xi’s heart filled with despair. He tried to convey his confusion through his eyes—*Why?*

Hadn’t his father said Song Yu didn’t matter?

Yet his father gave him no response, only the icy voice ringing out: "It seems not. Then you shall pay with your life for Song Yu."

Song Xi's vision blurred. His father had clearly said he didn’t blame him, had clearly promised to hand him the dukedom—why do this?

Before his consciousness faded completely, Song Xi still couldn’t accept it. He hadn’t made a name for himself in court, hadn’t proven himself in battle. He thought he had so much time left, yet in the end, he died so pitifully at home.

Watching the rise and fall of Song Xi’s chest cease, blood mixed with black fluid oozing from his nose, mouth and eyes, Song Yan reached out to touch his face, only to find his own cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t noticed.

"Just one son dead—hardly worth such grief from the Duke of Song," Song Yan said, using the Duke’s body to laugh.

But the tears wouldn’t stop.

Song Yan stood. "Did the Duke of Song grieve when Song Yu died?"

After a pause, he added, "I suppose not. But I did. The Duke must wonder—what manner of being am I?"

Song Yan pulled a chair over. He untied the belt from Song Xi’s robe, then the one around the Duke’s waist, joined them with a death knot.

"I am an Ink Spirit, one given life by Song Yu’s ink."

As he spoke, Song Yan stepped onto the chair, threw the belt over the beam and securing it with more knots.

He fitted the noose around his neck and chuckled. "The Duke was truly blessed to sire such a gifted son. Too bad you never appreciated his brilliance. His death was so... worthless."

Song Yan’s voice grew faint. After killing Song Xi, his true form and power were destroyed alongside him.

His awareness grew dim, knowing he would soon vanish.

Looking back on his short life—the handful of people he'd known, the many things he’d seen—his one purpose was now complete.

Perhaps... this life wasn't lived in vain.

Would Song Yu rejoice at the Duke’s fate? He was one who followed the rules—likely not. But if it angered him, no matter. Song Yan was satisfied.

The human world was beautiful. Only a shame his time was so short.

With a thud, the chair toppled.

As the Duke’s body swung from the beam, the consciousness controlling it dissipated entirely. The Duke regained control—but too late.

He dangled, struggling wildly, yet never loosened the noose.

Gradually, his struggles ceased. The Duke hung still, swaying faintly before motionless.

At his feet lay his favorite son’s corpse.

Midnight. A Chan jolted awake.

Barefoot, she rushed to her dressing table, pulling out the inkstone Song Yan had left behind.

Now dull and lifeless, it had fractured beyond repair.