Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Death of Li Shouren

A torrential downpour often washes away many traces—such as the river of blood that flowed through the Li family.

With the storm’s relentless wash, the blood spilled from the shattered bodies of those demonic cultivators was swept into the sewers.

Just like their brief and sordid lives.

Most of the legitimate heirs of the Li family had already entered the cultivation realm, thus narrowly escaping disaster.

Li Shouren did not leave.

As the current head of the family, he had to wait until all the dust settled before entering.

So, hidden deep within the underground fortress, Li Shouren watched through surveillance as his demonic cultivator kin’s bodies exploded one after another.

In that moment, a bone-chilling cold coursed through him; his scalp tingled fiercely, and his mind nearly lost all ability to think.

He knew—it was all over!

The Ancient Tianle Sect’s Patriarch Tian Songzi would never forgive the Li family for this failure!

All the legitimate heirs who had entered the cultivation realm… were doomed!

“Lu Shengfu… recluse of Hang City for decades, seldom acting, but when he does… the heavens and earth shake…” Li Shouren muttered, staring at the surveillance footage. At this point, even hatred was beyond his reach.

There is no greater sorrow than a dead heart.

The countless years of the Li family’s legacy were about to be utterly buried by his generation.

There was no chance of revival.

From the moment they set foot on this path, the Li family had no way back.

After this calamity, there would be no place left for the Li family in Huaxia.

Even the strategies he had laid out before would lose all meaning.

A family that massacred its own people would never be allowed to exist by anyone.

Li Shouren took a deep breath, retrieved an encrypted phone, and began interstellar communication.

“Do not return.”

“The family’s funds have been transferred to your side.”

“Develop well over there.”

“Never come back.”

“The Li family… deserves its fate; it has no enemies.”

“All right, say no more. Let it be. Begin anew. Do not follow this old path.”

Without giving the other side a chance to respond, Li Shouren ended the call.

Then, he took out a bottle of century-old vintage wine from the wine cabinet, its packaging intact and sealed tightly, so little had evaporated—at least half remained.

It was originally meant to be brought into the cultivation realm and opened at the victory banquet.

Silently uncorking the bottle, a rich aroma instantly filled the air.

Li Shouren poured himself a glass with elegance, set the rest aside, and carefully sliced a plate of the finest ham.

Then, he produced a top-grade Cuban cigar.

He clipped the tip, rubbed his hands together, and sparked a flame between his fingers.

Taking a drag, the cigar’s fragrance swirled through his mouth as he slowly exhaled.

He raised his glass and took a gentle sip.

“Excellent wine!” Li Shouren couldn’t help but praise.

At that moment, a shrill alarm sounded in his room, accompanied by a flood of calls.

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