Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 160 Lonely Xilun, Twisted Xilun

After saying goodbye to Lund, Xiren returned to the hotel, washed up, and changed into clean clothes.

As night fell, he felt hungry, so he went to the restaurant on the first floor, found a secluded spot to sit down, and ordered some food.

The restaurant was bustling with noise, and the conversations of other travelers could be heard, including some competitors in training uniforms.

Just then, an elderly man at the next table, his face flushed from drinking, suddenly raised his voice and whispered mysteriously, "Hey, have you heard? One of the contestants died!"

The others were immediately intrigued and crowded around, asking, "Who was it? How did they die?"

Seeing that everyone was looking at him, the old man became smug and began to show off: "If you ask others, it's hard to say."

But my old man has a son who works in the Metropolitan Police Department, and he actually figured this out.

There are many unknown inside stories behind this, and I'll tell you about them.

He lowered his voice, but it was enough for everyone around him to hear: "The unarmed combat contestant who died was named Robert. He was a representative of the Iron Cross Fighting Club, and I heard he was the son of some noble baron!"

But this very person, so important, was brutally murdered by his junior, Xilen!

Everyone was shocked and gasped, saying, "He actually killed a senior from the same club? This guy named Xilun is too cruel!"

The old man took a sip of his wine with a smug look on his face and continued to reveal more: "Not only that, Xiren and this deceased Robert are also opponents in tomorrow's quarterfinals!"

Now that Robert is dead, Celen will advance to the semifinals without any pressure!

Someone muttered, "This guy really got a huge bargain."

Another person wondered, "Why would they make a move before the match?"

The old man laughed and said, "I wouldn't tell others if they asked me, but I'm in a good mood today, so I'll tell you all about it."

"Who do you think would win if Robert and Celan actually fought head-to-head in the ring?"

Some people said matter-of-factly, "Didn't Celen kill Robert outside? If they fight again in the ring, Celen will definitely win."

The old man shook his head dismissively, saying repeatedly, "No, no! This Robert is not only a nobleman with abundant resources, but his breathing techniques and fighting skills are also extremely profound. He has also practiced for much longer than that Siren. How could he die so easily at the hands of his junior?"

"But I, the old man, have figured out the trick to it."

Do you know that Siren came from the lowest slums?

Upon hearing this, the others immediately understood, and some even showed a disdainful look of "I knew it."

The old man became even more excited upon seeing this and laughed, "What kind of good stuff do you think comes from the slums?"

My son has thoroughly investigated this person's background.

His father ran away before he was born, and his mother was a dancer who sold smiles.

Tell me, what kind of well-mannered child can parents like these raise?

At this point, the old man seemed to laugh mockingly: "No, I misspoke. This Xilun has no parental upbringing at all!"

No wonder, given his desire to advance to the semi-finals and claim the prize money, he was even willing to resort to despicable means to kill his senior for personal grudges.

A slightly more rational person nearby asked in surprise, "But I heard that Robert was killed because he lost control and turned into a monster?"

The old man was furious when he saw someone dare to challenge his authority. He slammed down his wine glass and shouted, "Things aren't that simple! My son works for the Metropolitan Police Department. Would I lie to you?"

I wasn't mixing in any personal feelings; I was simply stating the facts.

Why did the senior lose control so coincidentally before the competition? Was there any secret involvement from Xilun?

Moreover, I heard that Robert only had a mild loss of control and there was a good chance of him being saved.

But Xilun was extremely ruthless, killing him with a single blow!

"Do you think there's such a coincidence?"

"Doesn't that guy named Xilun harbor even the slightest thought of using this opportunity to eliminate his strongest rival?"

At this point, the doubts from before were immediately silenced, and everyone nodded in agreement.

The old man chuckled smugly, "Besides, we all know what a filthy place the slums are."

Everywhere there were stinking garbage dumps, and the people inside were foul-mouthed, uneducated, and doing only the lowest-level manual labor.

"You're saying this kind of lowly person has no right to participate in a competition of this level?"

"How could he possibly beat Robert in the ring? It's because he learned some underhanded and vile tricks in the slums."

He knew he couldn't win fair and square on stage, so he resorted to these despicable underhanded tactics offstage!

At this point, the old man burst into unrestrained laughter, and the people around him joined in with bursts of jeers.

Suddenly, Xiren, who was sitting in the shadows in the corner, put down his knife and fork.

He stood up, picked up a napkin from the table, slowly wiped his mouth, and then walked steadily toward the nearby area.

The old man was smiling happily when he glanced at the approaching young man out of the corner of his eye. He subconsciously felt that the young man looked familiar, as if he had seen him many times in the photos of some file book that his son had brought back.

Suddenly, the old man's laughter stopped abruptly.

He was completely stunned. His forehead instantly broke out in a cold sweat, his lips trembled violently, and he stared at the person in front of him in disbelief.

His finger, pointing at Xilun, trembled like a leaf in the wind, and he couldn't utter a complete sentence for a long time.

Seemingly sensing the old man's fearful gaze, Xilun turned around, looked down at him, and said in a completely calm tone, "You seem to know me?"

The old man was terrified, managing only a forced smile that looked more like a grimace, and stammered, "I...I don't know you..."

Xilun remained calm, but his eyes were as cold as ice: "Since we don't know each other, let me introduce myself."

I am the ill-mannered Siron you were just talking about.

As Xilun was speaking, he suddenly threw a punch without warning.

boom!

The punch landed squarely on the old man's stomach.

The old man's pupils instantly shrank to the size of pinpoints. Before he could even scream, he foamed at the mouth and arched his back like a boiled shrimp.

He slid off the chair in excruciating pain, unable to stand up, and curled up on the oil-stained floor, convulsing in agony.

Xilun slowly withdrew his fist, took out the bloodstained pocket watch from his pocket, glanced at the time, then looked down at the old man on the ground, his voice as cold as death: "Next time I hear you using that stinking mouth to talk nonsense about others, I will rip your tongue out, slice it into thin slices, fry it in oil, rinse it in cold water to make the tongue crispy, and finally stuff it down your throat myself so you can eat it yourself."

After saying that, Xilun didn't even glance at the stunned onlookers around him, turned around and strode out of the restaurant.

Until Xilun's figure completely disappeared into the night outside the door, everyone in the restaurant froze, not daring to breathe, completely unable to believe the terrifying situation unfolding before them.

After a full half minute, someone was finally terrified by the palpable killing intent Xilun exuded before leaving, and screamed in utter despair.

The night rain outside the door was getting heavier and heavier, with dense raindrops hitting the uneven bluestone street and splashing up clumps of muddy water.

Back at the hotel.

The room was filled with a faint, fresh scent, the aroma of his own personal space, which offered a slight respite to his tense nerves.

He took off his slightly damp coat, walked to the sink, and turned on the brass faucet.

The icy tap water gushed out, and Xilun scooped up a handful of the bone-chilling water with both hands and splashed it hard on his face.

Water droplets dripped down his stern jawline and landed in the white porcelain basin.

He looked up at himself in the mirror—a young, pale face that exuded a chilling indifference.

The old man's terrified and distorted face in the restaurant, along with the harsh words about slums, dancers, and illegitimate children, lingered in his mind like a persistent affliction, impossible to shake off.

Xilun turned and walked to the bedside, then lay down on his back.

The mattress beneath me made a slight creaking sound.

He didn't turn on the gas lamp, but just stared quietly at the ceiling hidden in the darkness.

Accompanied by the white noise of wind and rain pounding against the glass outside the window, those memories that he had deliberately sealed away with high-intensity training and life-or-death battles surged out like a flood breaking through a dam, forcing him to relive that unfortunate childhood filled with mud and humiliation.

He spent his childhood in a cramped attic in the slums, where sunlight never shone and the air reeked of sewage.

He heard that he had a grandmother and an uncle who also lived in the slums, was good for nothing, and made a living by extortion.

But he never saw them; in his world, there was only his mother, Avira.

Avira was a beautiful mother. Even though time and poverty had etched fine lines around her eyes, and even though her cheap silk dress had faded from washing, she still maintained an almost sickly elegance.

In Xilun's memory, that cramped room was always filled with the smell of cheap face powder and rose hair oil.

Avira always put on makeup in front of that broken mirror with its oxidized and blackened edges, applying bright lipstick again and again, dressing herself up like a noblewoman about to attend a banquet.

She would pinch Xilen's shoulders with her sharp nails, forcing him to straighten his back, and with an almost hysterical attitude, teach him those tedious, hypocritical, and out-of-place upper-class etiquettes.

"You must laugh, Siren, you must laugh like a true little gentleman."

Noble blood flows in your veins; you cannot be as coarse as those peasants outside!

Avira's shrill voice seemed to echo in my ears again.

Then, she would lead young Siren through alleys filled with sewage and dead rats to board the long steam train that spewed acrid black smoke.

The train traveled from the dilapidated downtown area to the bustling affluent district. The scenery outside the window changed from low shacks to villas covered with ivy, and finally stopped in front of a magnificent manor.

That was the Storm Duke's manor.

Each time, they would stand outside that huge, ornately carved iron gate.

Avira would put on a pitiful and mournful expression and have Siron knock on the door.

And each time they were greeted by the butler, who wore a tailcoat and whose eyes were colder than ice.

The butler didn't even want to look at them, and just like chasing away stray dogs, he used the coldest and harshest language to drive them off the steps of the manor.

"His Excellency the Duke does not see any unauthorized persons; please do not soil the stone paths of the manor."

At that moment, Avira's disguise will instantly crumble.

On the train back, or after returning to that dark attic, she would completely lose control.

She would grab anything she could get her hands on—a comb, a clothes hanger, even the wooden handle of a kettle—and beat and verbally abuse Xilun furiously.

Why aren't you crying! Why aren't you hugging his legs!

You useless piece of trash, you don't even know how to please others!

You and your cold-blooded father are both heartless monsters!

The sharp curses, accompanied by excruciating pain, became the most profound mark of Xilun's childhood.

However, once her anger subsided and the night was quiet, Avira would crawl to Siron's bedside with tears streaming down her face, tightly embrace his bruised body, and painfully confess her sins.

"I'm sorry, Celen, Mom didn't mean it."

"You're all I have left, I love you so much, all I want is for us to have a good life —"

Avira taught Celen what performance was, and she also taught him what trading was.

She used that seemingly grand, self-indulgent performance to love Xilen, and then used that heavy love to control Xilen tightly.

She sent Xilen to negotiate with the duke's butler, whom she had never met, to fawn over him and use her face, which bore a resemblance to the duke, to ask for enough money to sustain them.

Xilun closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling slightly.

An extremely complex emotion churned in his mind, like a tangled mess that only grew tighter the more he tried to unravel it.

He felt deeply ashamed of his shameful illegitimate status and the years he spent begging for favors, yet deep down he was also arrogant, believing that he possessed the blood of a high-ranking extraordinary being and that one day he would gloriously trample those high and mighty people under his feet.

In this vast and indifferent city of Saint Laurent, he suddenly felt a profound loneliness for his solitary actions.

He lived a solitary life, fighting in blood and fire every day. No one could share his fears, and no one could understand his ambitions.

However, as soon as this feeling of loneliness arose, he instinctively and extremely resisted outsiders interfering in his life.

No one can do it.

Was it his mentor, Raine, who had high hopes for him? Or was it Mr. Yuri, who valued his potential?

Is it Lord Lund, who is aloof and only cares about exchanging interests?

Is it still that Finn who is far away overseas and whose fate is unknown?

Or perhaps it's Daisy, who always carries a touch of innocence and kindness?

No, absolutely none of them will work.

Xiren clenched his fist in the darkness, his nails digging deep into his palm.

He felt a little contempt for himself, not understanding how he had become such an extremely twisted person.

He craves power and revenge, but for him to rediscover his love for life and to trust someone unconditionally seems to be a million times more difficult than extraordinary cultivation or breaking through the limits.

Xiren felt like a little goblin hiding in a dark cave, only able to peek at others' warmth and happiness under the sun with envious and wary eyes from the cracks in the shadows.

But if one day, the brilliant sunlight really does pierce through the clouds and shine into his cave, he will huddle together in terror, like a hedgehog covered in sharp quills, mercilessly pricking anyone who tries to approach him or offer him warmth.

"call----"