Wang Chen remained utterly unfazed beneath the Crimson Queen's scorching gaze.
If anything, the longer he looked at her, the more intent his eyes became—deep, steady, almost contemplative.
It was as though, after an endless stretch of monotony, he had finally found something vaguely interesting… something worth pausing for.
A faint breeze brushed past him. The battered lake shore still crackled with residual sword qi, flecks of spiritual light drifting upward like embers. Amid this quiet ruin, Wang Chen suddenly chuckled.
The sound was soft, unrestrained, carrying a strangely carefree warmth.
"How long it has been since someone called me little brother…" he murmured.
He tilted his head back, letting his gaze wander toward the fractured sky. And for a heartbeat, the world seemed to slow around him.
A shadow of ancient melancholy passed through his eyes—fleeting, but impossibly deep.
