In stark contrast to everyone else's worry and panic, Qi Shan's reaction at that moment was utterly indifferent. He raised his bloodied arm, and the long sleeve slid down to his elbow under its own weight. The gaping wound formed three hurried but chilling words—
[Return. Worry not.]
Qi Shan's pupils contracted in a faint, uncontrollable tremor.
His pallid lips quivered nonstop.
It was as if some external force had ripped his three souls and seven spirits from him, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell. Everyone watched him in trepidation. They saw his suddenly hollow eyes begin to tremble. One hand clutched the corner of the table, while the other curled into a claw and covered most of his face. His shoulders shook, and a broken whimper, like a dying young beast's, trickled from his throat. As he moved, the blood in his palm slid down his cheek.
At first glance, it looked as though he wept blood.
Everyone exchanged glances, unease and suspicion churning in their hearts.
Wait, what was wrong with the Grand Preceptor?
Xu Quan was still young, but had deep roots in the court. He had never had much friction with Qi Shan over the years, so he steeled himself and cautiously asked, "Did someone ambush you, Grand Preceptor, or... is there bad news?"
In the deathly silence, that faint whimper gradually turned into an eerie laugh, pounding against everyone's taut nerves.
"No..."
Qi Shan fought to contain the surging emotions that made it hard to breathe.
He let out the breath that had built up in his chest and suppressed the faint spasm in his throat. "Everyone, don't worry. It's not bad news."
It really wasn't bad news.
Qi Shan released the table corner he had crushed to powder. The flesh of his right