Chapter 59: Twilight Bloodline

"This Twilight Bloodline is terrifying indeed, which explains why Father warned me to always conceal my true identity when venturing out into the world," Zhang Deshuai muttered quietly to himself.

Watching Zhang Deshuai emerge, Wang Yan quickly pulled back his gaze and offered an awkward, apologetic smile. "I came to call you for dinner earlier, but seeing that you were bathing, I brought you a set of clean clothes instead."

Noticing the youth before him, who looked utterly different from yesterday, he added in surprise, "My dear nephew seems to have grown taller and much more robust."

Indeed, if one were to place yesterday's Zhang Deshuai side by side with the present one, no one would ever suspect they were the same person.

Previously, Zhang Deshuai had possessed a rather delicate, chubby-cheeked face, coupled with a modest height, a skinny frame, and slightly hunched shoulders. His overall appearance was that of a pathetic loser student—the kind who would sneakily bring worn-out adult comic books to school, letting just a corner stick out during class, too cowardly to look at them himself while waiting for the surrounding boys to notice and beg him for a glimpse.

Yet the current Zhang Deshuai had shot up by at least seven centimeters since yesterday. Though his face remained that of a refined youth, it now radiated a striking aura of vigor and resilience. The muscles on his body had grown firm and defined, and his posture had shifted from caved-in to open and commanding.

The sunlight from outside streamed through the door frame, casting its glow upon him and outlining the boy's physique in breathtaking detail. His gaze flickered fluidly, and a few stray locks of messy hair fell across his brow and eyes. Seen from afar, he looked like a hunting leopard sprinting beneath the twilight, gazing down with haughty disdain upon the setting sun.

Peering through the crack in the door, Wang Shuhan found her breath hitching and her face flushing crimson at the sight of the youth.

"Thank you, Uncle Wang," Zhang Deshuai replied with a smile.

At that moment, a bizarre idea sparked once more in Zhang Deshuai's mind.

"Uncle Wang, punch me."

"What?" Wang Yan looked at the young man in bewilderment, wondering what madness had seized him this time.

"Punch me," Zhang Deshuai said, holding his breath and focusing his mind as he channeled his internal strength, activating the Twilight Secret Art—Resilience.

Instantly, the muscular contours of his body became even more pronounced, tightening so intensely they seemed almost intertwined. A majestic surge of force erupted from within the youth, transforming into a protective aura that clung tightly to the surface of his skin like a second layer of clothing.

Release!

"Good lad, make sure you take it!" Seeing Zhang Deshuai's serious expression, Wang Yan laughed heartily. Then, clenching his right fist, he let out a sharp shout—"Hah!"—and a mass of black malevolent energy instantly condensed directly over his knuckles.

In a flash, Wang Yan moved with instantaneous speed, appearing right before Zhang Deshuai.

His entire body contorted into a strange, twisted angle, resembling a fully drawn bowstring, before his blackened fist drove straight into Zhang Deshuai's stomach.

The two forces collided with a muffled, heavy thud. Both figures remained rooted in place, Wang Yan's fist resting squarely against Zhang Deshuai's abdomen.

...

"Is... that it?"

Wang Shuhan stared in bewilderment at the two figures standing frozen like statues inside the room. The violent clash of energy she had anticipated never happened; instead, there was a deathly silence.

Her eyes grew strained from watching, and just as she was about to stand up to stretch, she witnessed a scene that left her utterly dumbfounded.

The bathroom behind Zhang Deshuai began to rapidly disintegrate, shattering into dust and debris, leaving only the empty space directly behind Zhang Deshuai standing intact.

The showerhead inside the bathroom suddenly burst apart, sending dark, rusty water spilling across the wooden floorboards.

Wang Shuhan suddenly realized a terrifying truth:

Her father's attack had met with zero resistance, yet the youth before her had absorbed the entire blow completely bare.

Was this really the same boy from a year ago who had been beaten to his knees, begging for mercy?

The two inside the room remained in silence, until Zhang Deshuai finally broke the stillness.

"Uncle, let me ask you one last time: did my father do you a great kindness, or did he harbor a deep hatred toward you?"

The moment he finished speaking, a streak of dark blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Then, staggering unsteadily, he fell straight backward.

"Nephew! My dear nephew!"

Quietly, Zhang Deshuai cracked open his eyes. He could sense that Wang Yan was currently channeling his cultivation energy right behind him.

That's right—he was faking it.

Of course he couldn't fully withstand a punch of that magnitude; the moment the blow landed, Zhang Deshuai had tasted a sickening sweetness in his mouth, feeling as though all his internal organs had been violently displaced, though it was still far from enough to knock him out.

He had deliberately forced the congested blood up his throat and feigned unconsciousness.

He simply wanted to see everyone's reaction once he passed out.

Peering through half-closed eyes, he watched as Wang Yan rushed anxiously to steady him, saw Wang Shuhan cry out in alarm as she hurried into the room, and watched as they propped him up to channel healing energy into his body.

Their gazes lingered hesitantly and fleetingly upon the manual of the Twilight Secret Art—Resilience, but neither of them reached out to touch or read it.

...

A sense of reassurance washed over Zhang Deshuai—toward the cultivation manual, and toward the father and daughter before him.

Most importantly, he had known all along that Wang Shuhan was peeking through the doorway. Whether due to being in her own home or because of a subconscious belief that he was still utterly useless, she hadn't bothered to conceal her presence at all.

Ah yes, he was about to make a fool of himself once again.

That peculiar blend of love and hate was engraved deep within the bones of the Zhang family.

Feeling the warm current circulating through his body, Zhang Deshuai couldn't help but wear a mischievous, sly smile.

Sensing the formidable force behind him, Zhang Deshuai intentionally let out two heavy coughs before staggering forward and collapsing flat onto the floor once more.

"Damn it, this act of making a fool of myself was a bit too seamless and subtle."

"Next time something like this happens, I need to unbuckle my belt beforehand, roll around a couple of times, and finally face upward with my backside in the air," Zhang Deshuai mused inwardly.

"Oh dear nephew, you're awake!" Seeing Zhang Deshuai stir back to consciousness, the weight finally lifted from Wang Yan's heart, and he hurriedly helped him up.

"Cough, cough, cough... Uncle Wang, your punch was truly ruthless. I feel as though all my internal organs were shattered by you," Zhang Deshuai flattered him, deliberately lowering his voice into a raspy croak.

"Hah, well, our sect is actually renowned for assassination and combat techniques; fist arts are already our weakest suit," Wang Yan replied, evidently unaccustomed to being flattered. Hearing those words, a surge of secret satisfaction welled up inside him, and a smile involuntarily crept across his face.

"Not bad, rather simple-minded," Zhang Deshuai thought with satisfaction. Then, hastening to fake a couple more coughs, he spoke in a deliberately weak tone:

"Tomorrow is the day we head into the Beast Forest. If this injury of mine doesn't heal, I'll truly suffer when we get inside. I wonder if Uncle Wang, aside from using cultivation techniques to heal me, might also have some external treasures you could lend me to ensure my safety?"

Dense as Wang Yan might be, even he could hear that this brat was blatantly fishing for handouts. However, since Zhang Deshuai's father had bestowed a massive kindness upon him, and he himself had beaten the man's son to this state, he did feel a genuine prick of conscience.

He scratched his head awkwardly. "Ah, if my nephew hadn't brought it up, I would have almost forgotten. Shuhan, take this key and go to the iron box in my room to fetch the item."

With that, he unclasped a ring of heavy iron keys from his waist and handed them to Wang Shuhan.