Chapter 1682: Chapter 1682: No Need to Waste Words on the Dead

Jiang Fula’s hands trembled as he held the small coffin, he didn’t even dare to present it to Song Zhiyuan, his face pale, and his legs weak.

He swallowed hard and spoke with difficulty, "Prime Minister..."

When Song Zhiyuan saw the small coffin, his mind went blank, as if something had exploded inside, his heart was gripped by an invisible hand, making it hard to breathe.

He reached out his hand, his fingertips slightly trembling.

Jiang Fula opened his mouth, wanting to suggest not opening it, as it was too foul.

The Evil Technique, too ruthless.

But Song Zhiyuan had already taken the small coffin, staring intently at it, his eyes seemingly dyed by the color of Zhu Sha, a bloody red like a demon.

He almost trembled as he tore open the Talisman sealing the coffin, forcefully opening the small coffin, inside lay a lifelike small puppet, matching the size of the coffin, exquisitely made.

The puppet had a head of silver-white hair, a kind face, its appearance quite similar to Song Ci, but most importantly, its attire was exactly what Song Ci would usually wear, and the cloth seemed familiar, but that wasn’t important, the important thing was that the puppet was pierced with needles.

Clang.

The small coffin fell to the ground, Song Zhiyuan held the puppet and turned it over, on the back of the puppet, there was a birthdate written in Zhu Sha, nailed to the body by the coffin nails.

Thud.

Song Zhiyuan’s throat went sweet, a mouthful of heart blood was spat out, splattering onto the puppet, and he staggered a bit.

"Prime Minister." Jiang Fula was shocked, leaping forward to support Song Zhiyuan, tears rolling down his cheeks.

This was the first time he saw Song Zhiyuan spitting blood, heart blood.

Song Zhiyuan squeezed the puppet, turned his head, and looked at Song Zhiqing, wanting to ask, was it worth it?

This puppet, who if not Song Ci, and this birthdate, who if not Song Ci’s, and the handwriting on this paper, could he not recognize whose it was?

Was it worth it?

But as he opened his lips, not a word came out.

Song Zhiqing’s face was ashen, even after seeing Song Zhiyuan spit blood, he showed no excitement, instead growing more and more panic-stricken.

He was finished.

"I, I just wanted the real mother to return." Song Zhiqing gritted his teeth, and said, "Surely you don’t really believe that the demon in the mansion now is your real mother? As her son, you must have some idea whether she’s really your mother, don’t you? She’s just a wandering ghost that took her body."

"Listen to me..."

Song Zhiqing’s current expression was nothing but a plea for you to listen to his excuse.

"Heavenly Master Zhong also said, with something like this, as long as it’s suppressed, the original soul will be released, I was doing it for her good, saving her."

Song Zhiyuan said nothing, clutching the puppet as he walked out.

Song Zhiqing was stunned, truly panicked, quickly wheeling his wheelchair, but because the road was uneven, the wheelchair tilted, flipped, and he fell to the ground.

"Big brother, I was really trying to save mother..."

Song Zhiyuan paused his steps, turned his head, looked at him fixedly, not saying a word, his eyes calm like a deep cold pond.

But this gaze, more so than the most venomous words, made Song Zhiqing feel fear and panic.

To him, he was like a dead man, so there was no need to waste words on a dead man.

Realizing this, Song Zhiqing felt a chill all over, his vision darkened, fear like a raging flood, enveloping him heavily, gradually devouring him.

"No!"

Song Zhiqing’s terrified scream echoed through the sky.

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