Surprisingly, he was able to spit all of his scattered thoughts out. He inhaled heavily, his breath caught in the thick, blood-filled air. I couldn’t control myself,” Jin Guangyao frantically rushed through his words, hoping he could even finish before Nie Mingjue enacted justice upon him. I could take it, but just now he told me my mother was, that she was just a - I couldn’t stand it. Nothing could get through to him because he didn’t care. Try and try again, but he couldn’t be reasoned with.
It wasn’t the first time - no, it wasn’t. He took all the glory with little effort. Every tear shed, every bead of sweat, rewritten with a few drops of ink. Countless nights I’ve devoted myself to strategizing to overtake the Wen strongholds, I fought with every ounce of my spirit. “Humiliation and stolen credit, I can take. Every flimsy explanation Jin Guangyao could give was clearly not reaching him. “And this warranted death?” Nie Mingjue was clearly inching towards an anger he couldn’t control soon. He was my superior and never missed an opportunity to humiliate me, even beat me.” “This man has caused me nothing but suffering since I arrived at Lanling. Looking from the top edge of eyelids, he saw Nie Mingjue’s iron grip on Baixia. “What choice? What did I tell you before you left?” Nie Mingjue asked rhetorically, a sadistic act that dug daggers into Jin Guangyao. Pulling at the ends of Nie Mingjue’s robes, he spits out, “I had no choice! Please spare me, I had no other choice!” Jin Guangyao bows, exposing his neck as if he was a prisoner awaiting his fate, anticipating the moment his head and neck become distant lovers. He lowers himself further, his small stature shrinking as he cowers below the statuesque beast beaming down at him. “Explain what? How could you possibly explain all of this while you stand, sword in hand?” Nie Mingjue said. He throws himself at his feet, muddying his pristine white robes in the dirt. He doesn’t have to peek down at the sword, knowing exactly what he wants to do and exactly how he’s going to do it. “Sect leader Nie,” Jin Guangyao said, trying to hide his panic that has only grown more with every centimeter closer Nie Mingjue’s hand gets to his sword. Baxia glinted ominously towards him, its golden hilt’s elegance rivaling even his father’s. If the man glaring down at him could hear the cogs turning in Jin Guangyao’s head, it would surely cement his guilt. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if it was the floor quivering in fear or if Nie Mingjue shook that hard in an attempt to control his temper. Even a blind man could see that his anger had settled into every part of his body. His defined brows were furrowed in an intimidating scowl. A disorderly appearance doesn’t dampen his aura of power and lion-like strength. The meticulous braids of the Nie sect were loosened with fly-aways falling over his face. His glittering gold armor blinds him momentarily. Nie Mingjue’s hair swings past his shoulders as his arms resolve to a crossed position. This catharsis is abruptly cut short as an imposing figure appears in the corner of his vision. He pants heavily, catching his breath carefully as victory finishes settling over him. An unstable reflection peers back at him through the still blood. The fallen commander’s blood forms a crimson halo around him. Jin Guangyao flicks his newly conquered blade swiftly. Dread isn’t what’s getting to him, he’s acquainted with that sense personally. Not because this specific situation was regrettable, but because he could feel himself elevating. The sense of nausea fills the pit of his stomach.
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