Tang San had never expected things to turn out like this.
Or rather, from the moment the gods expected him to kill his younger brother with his own hands, everything had slipped entirely beyond his calculations.
It felt as though, on a plane completely beyond his reach, a pair of hands had been lurking in the shadows from the very beginning, trying to drive everything forward.
Those hands were everywhere. Any attempt to influence them would only hasten the fulfillment of their ultimate goal, leaving him powerless to resist, unable even to summon the thought of resistance.
Often, it was not that you wanted to drift with the current.
It was that, by the time you realized what was happening, you were already in the river.
Doubting himself, Tang San watched Tang Liu reverse Qian Renxue's death.
And he watched his younger brother's gaze gradually turn from warmth to calm, then even to ice.
It was no longer the way he had once looked at him.
Thinking back carefully, he seemed to have noticed something was wrong long ago.
But his faith in himself had always far outweighed his doubts.
Until that sword strike just now.
Although the strike had not been aimed directly at Tang Liu.
He had still shattered certain things with his own hands.
Not just that arm.
But also the bond between them that should have been inseparable.
He clenched his fists.
Yet he still seemed to be trying, yearning, doing everything he could to salvage it.
"That wasn't me... it wasn't me..."
His murmuring was like a whisper, barely audible.
It sounded like guilt, yet also like a silent attempt to defend himself.
Pale and powerless.
Tang Liu gave a cold laugh, a flicker of mockery passing through his eyes.
He shook his right hand,