The night had long since faded into gray.
By the time Yu Hanlin staggered into the Heavenly Fate Sect's outer gates, the morning mist had already begun to roll over the mountain peaks — soft, serene, and cruelly indifferent to the broken figure climbing its steps.
His golden robes were torn and blackened with blood. His hair clung to his face, rainwater mixing with the dark streaks of red across his neck and chest. Every step was a battle between pride and exhaustion.
The guards at the gate froze when they saw him.
"Senior! What—"
"Move," he rasped, voice hoarse and hollow. His Qi was in disarray; his body trembled with every word. They dared not question him further as he stumbled past, leaving a trail of crimson on the stone path.
