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...
That every vile syllable which had passed his bloodied lips was an unforgivable lie.
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The revelation of Lán Qīngchén's deception hung in the charged, oppressive silence of the hallowed Lán chamber like a palpable miasma, smothering all sound save for the ragged, shuddering breaths that wrenched from the disgraced disciple's quaking, battered frame.
Lán Xīchén's usually serene, tranquil features were now rigid with an incandescent, righteous fury that had shattered his customary placid grace. Luminous eyes, blazing with undisguised outrage, narrowed to glittering, glacial shards as they bored relentlessly, ruthlessly into the cowering figure huddled abjectly at his feet, silently excoriating Lán Qīngchén for his unconscionable, unforgivable betrayal.
Under the crushing, unyielding weight of that unforgiving, condemning glare, the craven, cringing disciple finally shattered, dissolving into anguished, wracking sobs that tore from his throat in ragged, pitiful gasps. Violent tremors seized his battered, broken form as he crumpled inward, the damning brand on his wrist sizzling with an accusatory, scarlet glow that seared into the retinas of all who bore witness to his shameful, ignominious disgrace.
Yet not a single soul in that hallowed, judgment-filled chamber stirred to offer the pitiful, ruined man even a shred of pity or solace. The assembled Lán Elders regarded him with undisguised contempt etched into every line of their severe, unforgiving faces, their hard-won respect and trust irrevocably despoiled by his unforgivable deception.
Even Lán Qǐrén, whose venomous tongue had lashed out so viciously, so ferociously against Wèi Wúxiàn mere moments ago, now stared down at his errant, wayward disciple with a moue of utter, naked disgust and deep, abiding disappointment. The man he had once viewed as a promising, exalted scion of their esteemed, hallowed sect had proven himself wholly, irredeemably unworthy of the revered Lán name.
Amidst the oppressive, judgmental silence that hung like an impenetrable shroud, Lán Xīchén fixed Lán Qīngchén with a piercing, uncompromising stare. "Lán Qīngchén," he demanded, his voice laced with a glacial, unrelenting frost, "Tell us the real truth. Do not insult the sanctity of this hallowed hall any further with your despicable fabrications."
But Lán Qīngchén remained stubbornly, defiantly silent, his broken, anguished sobs the only sound that echoed, mournful and despairing, through the chamber. Pitiful, pleading eyes lifted to meet the Sect Leader's, silently begging for mercy, for any shred of leniency that might yet be afforded the wretched, disgraced man.
Sensing the disciple's unwavering refusal to speak the truth, a sudden, accusing glow began to emanate, to pulsate from the talisman branded, seared into his very flesh. The stark, unforgiving symbol etched into his wrist glowed with an incriminating light, a silent, condemning testament to the lies he had so arrogantly, foolishly spun.
