Chapter 184: Chapter 184: The Weight of a Soul

He was only eighteen years old.

In the grand scheme of existence, eighteen was merely the blossoming of youth. However, within the unforgiving and cutthroat ecosystem of the aristocracy, age was often just a number masking a terrifying maturity. In this rarefied world, more than ninety percent of the scions born into such immense wealth had already been tempered by their families into sharp weapons. By the time they reached adulthood, they were often already masters of manipulation, cunning schemers who could read the subtlest shift in a person’s expression and calculate their next move with the precision of a chess grandmaster. They were groomed to rule, to deceive, and to conquer.

But Julian Sterling was an anomaly in this gilded cage. He had not been cultivated in the hothouse of high society, nor had he received the systematic, rigorous education designed to strip away empathy in favor of efficiency. He had grown up wild and untended, like a tenacious weed sprouting through the cracks of a roadside pavement, left to survive or perish by the whims of the elements. He had been forced to rely on his own grit, withstanding the wind and rain without the shelter of a family crest.

To Ethan Caldwell’s eyes, the young man standing before him seemed too young, too raw, and heartbreakingly tender to be shouldering such a colossal burden. Julian was carrying a weight of secrets and responsibilities that would crush grown men. Although Ethan had not yet had the opportunity to explain in minute detail exactly what kind of organization CORE was, or the sheer magnitude of the danger it represented, the fragments of truth revealed in Dahlia Thorne’s dossier were devastating enough. The harrowing information Julian had just absorbed from that document was likely sufficient to shatter his entire worldview, forcing him to reconstruct his understanding of reality and the darkness that underpinned their society.

“Are you grieving for Dahlia Thorne?” Ethan asked softly, breaking the silence: “Is it regret for the inevitable decline of the Thorne family? Or is it…”

The man paused for a long, heavy moment. His dark, intense gaze drifted past Julian, looking out into the endless, suffocating expanse of the night. When he finally spoke the last few words, they were released so gently that they seemed to be caught by the wind, drifting aimlessly to dissolve into the vastness between heaven and earth.

“…or do you mourn for human nature itself?”

Human nature. Man is born good. It was a phrase taught to children, a comforting lie whispered to keep the terrors of the world at bay.

Yet, somewhere along the way, amidst the chaotic currents of life, that simple, innate kindness had become an endangered species. It had transformed into a rare gem, a luxury item that few could afford to keep in a world stained with filth. That original purity was constantly being buried under layers of insatiable greed, rampant selfishness, cruelty, authoritarianism, and a myriad of other ugly traits that lurked deep within the recesses of the human soul.

It seemed to be a cruel law of the universe, the rarer and more pristine a thing was, the more radiantly it shone, the more it incited a violent desire in those who dwelled in the darkness. The corrupt wanted to seize that purity, to drag it down into the mire with them. They yearned to stain it until it was as black as they were, or to shatter it into a million irreparable pieces, simply to satisfy their own burning jealousy.

Kindness, in their world, was often a concept too distant, too fragile to survive.

“No.” Julian whispered, his voice trembling slightly: “I am only feeling sorry for myself.”

Julian turned his body fully, burying his face into the solid, reassuring wall of the man’s chest. He inhaled greedily, filling his lungs with the faint, crisp scent of cedarwood that lingered on Ethan’s coat. It was a grounding scent, one that anchored him to the present.

Julian had lived two lifetimes now. He had traversed enough peaks and valleys to fill a dozen biographies. There were things that, upon first encounter, might have shocked him or left him bewildered, unable to fully process their cruelty. But by now, after years of emotional callouses building up over his heart, such revelations rarely had a significant impact on his psychological state. He was supposed to be numb. He was supposed to be hardened.

And yet, in that fleeting moment, facing the profound silence of the wilderness, a sudden wave of panic washed over Julian. He felt untethered, drifting in a void of uncertainty.

What, ultimately, did people struggle for?

In his previous life, he had worked himself to death, sacrificing his health and happiness for a career, for what? In this life, he was frantically pursuing a grand plan of revenge, for what purpose? It was agonizingly clear that his original desire, the very first thought he had upon waking up in this body, was simply to find peace. He had wanted to stay far away from trouble. So why was he sinking deeper and deeper into this inescapable quagmire of power, rights, and fame?

What happens after the revenge is complete? Are money and power, when finally gripped in one’s hand, truly as satisfying as they promise to be? Do they bring genuine happiness?

Julian found his thoughts drifting back to Dahlia Thorne. Her ideology was strange, twisted, even grotesque. She felt no pity for her own flesh and blood, nor did she shed a tear for the four innocent lives that had been extinguished as collateral damage in these schemes. Yet, the venomous questions she had thrown back at him earlier felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, shocking him into a re-evaluation of his own moral standing.

Her sharp, cutting voice still echoed in his mind, refusing to fade.

“Tell me, Julian. If the Sterling family suffered the same fate, if they were tragically murdered by someone’s scheme, what would you do? Would you clap your hands and laugh heartily, declaring that they reaped what they sowed, that they deserved it? Or would you put on a mask of hypocrisy, stand up and scream, crying fake tears of grief while demanding justice and revenge for the people who treated you like dirt?”

“The first option sounds cruel and cold-blooded, but the second option feels excessively fake. It reeks of moral superiority and hypocrisy.”

“So, I choose to view them as nothing. Whether they live or die, it is their destiny. It has nothing to do with me, nor is it directly caused by my hands. So why do you, and your powerful husband, look at me as if I am an inhumane murderer? Why do you look at me as if I am a monster?”

“They died because of their own stupid greed. They invited disaster upon themselves. What does that have to do with me? There are things that look one way on the surface, but only those inside the storm know how rotten the core truly is.”

Julian remembered vividly how Dahlia had leaned forward across the table, staring straight into his soul as she delivered words that sliced like a knife.

“Julian, think about it. If you hadn’t been rescued in time back then, if you had died, you certainly wouldn’t be sitting here preaching morality to me. And what of Ethan Caldwell? What would he be doing? Perhaps he would marry someone else, someone of equal status, a perfect match for his empire. Or perhaps he would remain a happy bachelor. But ask yourself, would he truly grieve forever for a small, insignificant life like yours?”

The memory of her words spiraled in his head, growing louder.

“Would those relatives of yours, the ones who share your bloodline, the ones who carry the same DNA, would they shed a single tear of genuine pain? And what of the faceless masses? The people hiding behind computer screens, scrolling through social media, always appointing themselves as judges and executioners of justice, would they stand up and demand fairness for you?”

“Or…” Dahlia’s voice had dropped to a cruel whisper in his memory: “Would they laugh? Would they mock you mercilessly? Would they say you were just a useless waste of space? An illegitimate child raised on the outside? A stray dog wandering the streets? After all, how could a stray dog ever compare to the golden branches and jade leaves, the cherished, heaven-sent children of legitimate lineage?”

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