Lin Zhaoyue's hair hung loose, matted with sweat and soot.
Her eyes, red and swollen, carried the blazing madness of grief.
She raised her hairpin and pointed it toward the cowering crowd, her voice shaking with barely contained fury.
A widow bereft of reason, a wife robbed of her husband before the Wu Clan, she looked less like a grieving woman and more like an avenging ghost.
"Fang Yuan… my husband was devoured before your very eyes…" Lin Zhaoyue's voice broke, trembling like a sword on the verge of snapping.
Her gaze swept over the Wu disciples, and then she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat like thunder,
"Why did you stand there and watch him die, why didn't you lift a hand to help him!?"
Then it hardened, sharp as steel. "If my husband has fallen, then your Wu Clan shall be buried alongside him!"
Her jade hairpin flared with a searing green light, roots and vines tearing out of the cracked earth beneath her feet.
