In a swirling storm of blame and pain, Wèi Wúxiàn is pushed to his breaking point. But it is not until his tender-hearted A-yuàn becomes the target of their cruelty that he finally snaps, fueled by an almost primal urge to protect his innocent child...
Red was always Wèi Wúxiàn's favorite color, apart from black. There was something about the vibrancy and intensity of that hue that captivated him, igniting a spark deep within his soul.
Wèi Wúxiàn liked the color red for a number of reasons. The first reason was its undeniable allure – a bright, vibrant shade that seemed to demand attention, commanding the eye to linger and admire its bold presence. It was a powerful color, imbued with a sense of strength and determination that resonated with Wèi Wúxiàn's own unrelenting spirit.
But beyond its visual appeal, Wèi Wúxiàn found himself drawn to the deeper symbolism that red represented. It was the essence of life itself, pulsing through the veins of every living creature, a reminder of the primal force that sustained existence. Red was associated with blood and fertility, the very foundations upon which the world was built, and Wèi Wúxiàn reveled in its raw, unapologetic nature.
He found the color red to be a powerful, passionate hue, and he liked the way it made him feel when he gazed upon it – as if it ignited a fire within his very being, fueling his ambitions and stoking the flames of his indomitable spirit.
But now, at this very moment...
Wèi Wúxiàn could no longer see the color red with the same passionate fervor as before. Instead, the hue had become associated with new emotions, darker and more tumultuous – emotions that threatened to drown out the joy and excitement it once invoked.
Now, the color red made Wèi Wúxiàn think of pain, trauma, and rage – a burning fury that scorched his soul, leaving him torn between the desire for retribution and the desperate need to protect those he held dear.
The vibrant crimson that once filled him with such exhilaration now felt like a haunting reminder of the sacrifices he had made, the lives that had been lost, and the brutal realities of the world he found himself navigating.
But one thing was more than clear for Wèi Wúxiàn...
Red was no longer his color, not in the way it once was. Its meaning had shifted, forever tainted by the horrors he had witnessed and the anguish that now consumed him.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Wèi Wúxiàn knew very well about his reputation and the rumors that circulated about him – from his birth to his Demonic Cultivation, no matter what he did or said, there were always eyes and voices filled with judgment against him.
He was keenly aware of the whispers that followed him like a dark shadow, the accusations and condemnations that seemed to linger in the air wherever he went. Yet, Wèi Wúxiàn had never felt the need to assuage these rumors or attempt to fix the misunderstandings that fueled them.
He knew, with a wisdom born of harsh experience, that the worst voices would always speak the loudest, drowning out any attempt at reason or justification.
