Wen Zhong stood with his hands behind his back, his heavenly eye gleaming. He radiated authority without anger, and although the corners of his mouth seemed to curve in a smile, it looked downright terrifying.
"Go on, then. How do you intend to explain this? I'm listening."
Sweat began pouring down Lu Ming's forehead.
"Explain, right, right! Let me come up with a good excuse!"
His brain launched into a frantic brainstorming session. He churned through every phrase he could think of.
Drunken slips of the tongue, ancient history too remote to verify, being possessed, hearing it from someone else—but he didn't believe any of those excuses himself.
Watching Lu Ming's thoughtful expression, Wen Zhong spoke calmly.
"If you can't come up with an excuse, leave your velvet antlers behind. Didn't you say my heavenly eye was gouged out? They'll make a nice tonic for me."
By the end of Lu Ming's mental storm, nothing remained at its center but a dead, silent calm. His brain had completely stalled.
Then Lu Ming gave up.
"Spare my antlers, Heavenly Venerable!"
Lu Ming's legs went weak, and he crouched on the ground, wrapping his hands over his head to protect his antlers as he curled into a ball.
"How am I supposed to live without my antlers? I haven't even found a wife yet! Losing these is just like going bald for a mortal, Heavenly Venerable!"
Wen Ning watched from the side, dumbfounded.
The Heavenly Court's number one rumor-monger, who had just been bouncing around and spouting arguments with absolute confidence, was now more thoroughly cowed than a mortal quail.
Wen Zhong looked at the clown curled up at his feet. Lightning flickered twice in his heavenly eye.
In the end, he resisted the urge to harvest those antlers. His mouth twitched.