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The night was tranquil, with a thick layer of clouds that smothered the wind and suppressed the moon.
Sikong Yan stood in the plaza beneath the Suantian Shrine, surrounded by silence. He looked up at the place he had trapped himself in, the place he had called home for the last ten years.
"Young Master…" Fu Yiran stood behind him, hesitating before finally speaking. "Are we… just leaving like this?"
"Of course." Sikong Yan didn’t turn around. "I’ve stayed here for ten years. Haven’t you had enough?"
"That’s not what I meant," Fu Yiran mumbled, lowering his head slightly. "It’s just… just…" His words faltered.
"Do you feel guilty?" Sikong Yan asked, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Or did...
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