Qingran's punch cracked through the air like thunder.
Boran didn't move.
He took it straight to the jaw.
The sound of her knuckles colliding with bone echoed in the room. His head snapped sideways, and blood welled at the corner of his lip but he didn't fall down.
He didn't even stagger. He just stood there, eyes closed, mouth tilted upward in what looked like grim satisfaction.
"You're angry," he murmured, slowly straightening his head again. "Good."
Qingran's fists trembled. "You don't get to act like this was justified. Like you needed me to see some twisted truth."
"I didn't say it was justified." He wiped the blood with his thumb. "I said it was necessary."
Ruihuang stepped forward, but Qingran raised her hand.
"No."
Her voice was cold steel.
"This is mine."
Behind her, Meng Nian carefully lifted Wei Sheng's limp body from the chair. There was no resistance. No breath. No flicker of awareness. Only the faint warmth of recently extinguished life.
