Lin Fan's words were merely a spark, drawing out the sorrow the Khan had buried deep within his heart for so long. If the Khan had never thought about such things in his daily life, how could he have been persuaded so easily?
If it had been a Primarch like Angron, already utterly insane, Lin Fan feared that the moment he forced out a sound—before he could even piece together a coherent sentence—an axe would have buried itself in his skull.
Every Primarch's original intentions had been noble. Even that poison-gas man who later embraced social Darwinism and staged biochemical battle royales had, during his lifetime of struggle on his homeworld, wanted ordinary people to live well.
That mad Angron had once been a caring older brother capable of absorbing the negative emotions of others. If the four Chaos Gods had not scattered them across the galaxy, and if they had not been shaped by the monsters on their respective worlds and their miserable childhoods, these Primarchs might well have become normal people like Roboute Guilliman.
All one could say was that a happy family had an immense influence on children. Even Primarchs were no exception. If Konrad Curze, trapped in dark nightmares back then, had possessed a gentle mother he could confide his fears to and receive comfort from, perhaps he would not have become a self-destructive, bloodthirsty torturer.
Lin Fan closed his mouth and waited for the Khan's painful contemplation to end. Perhaps once the little storm in his mind subsided, the Khan would be willing to leave the Webway. Though Lin Fan felt that once the Khan saw the Imperium's current state, he might simply shut down, twist the throttle of his bike, and bolt straight back into the Webway without looking back.
After a long period