The man stared at him, then let out an abrupt laugh, like he had just heard the funniest joke of his life. "I beg your pardon? Forgive my tone, my lord, but is this the same man who slaughtered five people just because he found their faces annoying?" His voice rose with every word, but he didn't stop there. "The same man who stole a grand cultivation gem, fully aware that its loss would cripple an entire sect?"
Jiren finally turned to face him, still looking as unbothered as ever. "Your tone is forgiven," he said smoothly. "And listen. I did not kill those five people because they looked irritating."
The man leaned in, expectant. "Oh? Then why did you kill them?"
Jiren took another sip of wine, then answered with the air of someone explaining something incredibly obvious. "I killed them because they dared to touch my sword without my permission."
Silence.
The blue-haired man stared at him, his expression blank, as if his brain had simply given up.
"And the gem?" he finally managed, voice hollow.
Jiren leaned back slightly. "Me stealing that gem has nothing to do with this conversation."
The man let out a long, suffering sigh and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if asking the heavens why he had to be the one dealing with this. After a moment, he looked back at Jiren, shaking his head.
"Fine, fine," he muttered. "I won't ask anymore. But I have to admit, I'm impressed by that girl. Who would've thought someone could actually fool you into handing over that much money?"
Jiren, still looking as bored as ever, shot him a flat look. "What do you mean, fool me? I gave it to her on my own."
The man snorted. "Right, right, of course. Totally not because she played you like a flute."
Jiren arched a brow, unimpressed.
The man just grinned. "Either way, it's a big deal. After all, how many people can say they scammed the infamous Jiren and lived to tell the tale?"
The man sitting across from him knew better than to be fooled by Jiren's lazy, half-lidded gaze and that ridiculous air of nonchalance. To outsiders, Jiren might seem like nothing more than a foolishly handsome man—someone born with a face too pretty for his own good and a mind too careless to match. But those who moved in noble circles understood the truth.
Jiren wasn't just anyone.
The third son of the Yu merchant family, he came from a lineage that appeared modest on the surface but held enough power to influence an entire country from the shadows. Merchants might not carry noble titles, but wealth could turn even emperors into beggars, and in that regard, the Yu family was untouchable. And Jiren? He wasn't just some idle son wasting away in luxury—he was the main son of the main wife. Not the eldest, but the one whose words carried weight like stone, whose casual decisions could make or break fortunes.
Of course, if you didn't know him well, you might be fooled by that permanently drowsy expression, that air of a man who looked like he could fall asleep mid-sentence. But those who had seen what lay beneath knew better.
Which is why, as his companion stared at him in disbelief, one thought ran through his mind.
If YuJiren willingly gave money to that woman, then that woman... must be something else entirely.
.
.
On the other side, there was Divya—now sitting in a rickety donkey carriage, her face frozen in a blank expression that screamed one thing: regret.
"Damn it," she muttered, gripping the wooden edge of the cart like it owed her something. "If this keeps going, I swear my bones will turn into powder before I even reach my destination."
Divya had been through some wild rides in her life—motorcycles that vibrated like they had a personal vendetta, trucks that bounced like they were on a trampoline, tractors that felt like being massaged by a demon, and don't even get her started on trains and subways during rush hour. Hell had levels, and she'd toured most of them. But this... this donkey-powered torture device was on a whole new level.
Even horse riding hadn't felt this bad. At least the horse had some dignity. This donkey, however, seemed to take joy in every pothole like it was aiming for them. Each jolt felt like her spine was playing musical chairs with her internal organs. Was that her rib in her lower back now?
"How... how am I still alive?" she whispered, tears threatening to leak out of her eyes—not from sadness, but from chronic tailbone trauma. She shifted slightly, only to wince and freeze. "I don't even know how to move anymore. Am I still human or have I turned into a pile of aching regrets?"
She had thought this trip was a good idea. Brave, even. But two days in, and she had only just gotten out of the city. According to her very generous estimation skills (which had a 60% inaccuracy rate), she'd travelled maybe forty kilometers.
"Forty," she scoffed bitterly. "That's like... two marathons. Or a really intense grocery run. And what do I have to show for it? A bruised soul and a permanent dent in my butt."
The donkey gave a loud snort, as if in agreement—or mockery. Either way, Divya was certain: next time, she was taking a damn camel.
If her siblings saw her now, they'd be wheezing with laughter, slapping each other's backs like they'd just heard the joke of the century.
"Wow, look! A donkey riding a donkey! Someone call the circus!"
Divya sat in the creaking donkey cart with the blankest expression she could manage, trying not to scream. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "If this keeps going, my bones are going to rearrange themselves permanently. I'll need a whole new skeleton by the time we reach the afterlife… forget the destination."