SES Chapter 42 V2

He stepped back, pulled out the wrapped torch from behind his waist, and lit it. Some people had already started running toward him, but he waited until they were close, then hurled the torch with all his rage.

The fire burst forth, stunningly beautiful, like flowers blooming on the ocean’s surface—wild and brilliant. That image burned into his memory forever.

Someone screamed, “It’s that bastard Jiang Zhao!”

He ran.

In his plan, the villagers would focus on putting out the fire. He’d use the chaos to grab his buried stash and hit the road.

He was young, fearless, even. The world outside still filled him with wonder.

But he miscalculated. Not everyone went to fight the fire—about half of them came after him instead. Another mistake: adults run faster than kids.

The ancestral hall was locked—no way in. But there was a pile of scrap wood by the wall. He grabbed a hammer for defense, climbed onto the pile, and made his way to the roof. Looking back, it was a reckless escape plan that only pushed him deeper into danger.

From the rooftop, he tore off roof tiles and hurled them down. More and more people gathered, screaming below.

The old clan head shouted up, “Jiang Zhao! Have you gone mad? Come down now!”

Yi Wansan threw even harder. “You killed my dad! You saw him drowning and let him die!”

The clan head, sounding like a self-taught negotiator, called up, “Jiang Zhao, it wasn’t that we didn’t help. No one saw him fall into the water. We understand your anger… just come down. The ancestral hall’s roof isn’t something you can just destroy—”

He didn’t finish. A shout rang out behind Yi Wansan, and a villager who’d climbed up grabbed his ankle and yanked him down.

What was this—distraction tactics? That scheming old bastard had talked to throw him off while others snuck up?

Yi Wansan cursed nonstop, clawing at the tiles around him. Suddenly, he felt the hammer in his grip. Without thinking, he swung it down at the crowd.

Bang!

The ornamental beast on the roof’s ridge—his favorite one, shaped like the Monkey King—snapped off and fell with the hammer into the screaming crowd.

He didn’t know if anyone got hit.

The night was thick. The headlights lit only a small patch of road, and no matter how long they drove, it always stayed just that small patch.

It was like this road had no end.

Luo Ren said quietly, “Yi Wansan, you were something.”

Yi Wansan grinned. “I thought the old clan head was gonna skin me alive. But he didn’t. Maybe he felt guilty about my dad. Or maybe he was afraid of my dead parents watching from above.”

He remembered clearly—the morning they kicked him out. It was chilly. The whole village gathered at the entrance. He was walking with them, then someone shoved him out of the circle.

And just like that, he was on the outside.

One kid, beaten and bruised, staring down a mob of furious adults.

The old clan head said, “Jiang Zhao, from this day forward, you are no longer a part of Wuzhu Village. If you ever set foot here again, don’t blame us for what happens.”

Yeah, no kidding. A whole year’s income—gone. He looked into their eyes, red with hate, gleaming like wolves.

He spat on the ground. “Fine! I don’t wanna come back anyway.”

That autumn morning, wearing tattered clothes and holding his head high, he walked out of their sight.

He never returned. Some people suffer and long for home. Not him. He never missed it. When he thought of it, only one phrase came to mind: that cursed place.

He patted Luo Ren’s seat. “Luo Ren, remember—you have to keep me safe. I burned the Old Clams, ruined their income, and tore up the ancestral hall roof. That’s like ripping off the Jiang family’s ancestors’ skin. Those old bastards weren’t bluffing.”

Luo Ren chuckled. “You were just a kid. It’s been over ten years. They might not even recognize you now.”

Really?

Yi Wansan felt a flicker of nervousness. He muttered to himself,
“Maybe I should change my look… Where’s the next convenience store? I need a wig or something.”