"Something doesn't feel right," Jet whispered to Han as they walked through the village.
It had been only a few days since Han confronted Xiao Yu, but now the atmosphere had shifted. The once-bustling streets were unusually subdued, yet every turn of their heads met lingering gazes. Whispers seemed to trail them, like shadows slipping between alleyways. Each step forward felt heavier, as though the air itself were pushing back against them.
"It's nothing," Han murmured, but Jet could see the tension in his jaw. Han was scanning the surroundings, his hand instinctively hovering near his waist, where his sword hung.
By the time they reached the clearing, Jet let out a heavy sigh. "Let's just practice," he said, trying to shake off the unease.
The field was quiet, but the stillness wasn't comforting—it was oppressive. Occasionally, Jet felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, as if unseen eyes were watching. When they paused to read, the faint murmurs of conversation carried on the wind, too indistinct to understand but close enough to unsettle.
Han eventually stood, his expression firm. "That's enough for today. I'll take you home."
Jet didn't argue. The unease had grown, wrapping around them like a vice. By the time they reached the house, even the warm glow of lanterns failed to ease the tension.
His mother opened the door, her surprise evident. "Home already?"
"Something felt… off," Jet explained, glancing back at the dark street. "Han thought it'd be better to head back early."
Her smile faltered, concern flickering in her eyes. She ushered him inside, her voice low. "It's good that he cares for your safety. Always trust a friend like that."
Jet nodded but couldn't shake the feeling that the village had changed in a way he couldn't yet understand. That night, as the fire crackled in the hearth, his mind returned to the whispers and stares. He couldn't help but wonder: what had they done to earn such attention?
—-
The next evening, Jet ventured into the village again, this time alone. The streets seemed normal at first glance, but he couldn't ignore the peculiar atmosphere. Conversations hushed as he passed, and shopkeepers who once greeted him warmly now offered curt nods, their eyes darting away too quickly.
He stopped by a vendor he'd known since childhood. "Good morning," he said, forcing a casual tone.
The vendor looked up, his smile strained. "Evening, Jet." He handed over the apples Jet had requested without meeting his eyes.
Jet hesitated. "Is something wrong?"
The vendor froze for a moment before shaking his head. "No, no. Everything's fine." But his voice was tight, and his hands trembled as he counted the coins Jet had given him.
As Jet walked away, he caught snippets of hushed conversations.
"...ruining the family name…"
"...such childish doings…"
"...bringing trouble here…"
A chill ran down Jet's spine. Something was happening—something bigger than whispers.
You're right—it's important to make the father's anger and dialogue more realistic and less rushed. A parent's reaction in such an emotional moment would likely build up gradually, and the dialogue should reflect that gradual shift from confusion to anger, as well as the emotional weight of the situation.
When Jet returned home, his father was already waiting for him in the living room. There was an unsettling tension in the air as his father sat in silence, his gaze hard and intense.
"Sit down," his father said, his voice quiet but firm. "I want to talk to you."
Jet's heart skipped a beat as he obeyed, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair. He could feel his father's eyes on him, waiting for something.
"Yes, Father?" Jet asked, his voice unsteady but trying to remain calm.
For a long moment, his father didn't say anything. He just stared at Jet, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but tight with something Jet couldn't place.
"I've been hearing things," his father began, his words deliberate, as though weighing them carefully. "Have you been going out... seeing someone?"
Jet felt his pulse quicken. He had prepared himself for this moment, but that didn't make it any easier. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before answering. "Yes," he said carefully, "I've been meeting a new friend."
His father's eyes flickered with something that Jet couldn't quite read. Then his father leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but laced with suspicion. "And is this 'friend' an Alpha?"
Jet swallowed hard, nodding. "Yes. He's an Alpha."
His father's expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "And do you understand what people are saying about this? About you and him?" His voice had started to edge higher, more frustrated now. "Do you realize what's happening?"
Jet hesitated. He hadn't expected this to come so fast. "I don't know what you mean, Father…"
"Don't play dumb with me, Jet!" his father snapped, standing abruptly. The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved it back. "The rumours are all over the city! All over the city, and it's about you and this Alpha of yours. People are talking about things—things they shouldn't be talking about!"
Jet stood, his heart hammering in his chest. "Father, those are just rumours. People talk, but it doesn't mean it's true. Nothing happened–"
"Don't lie to me!" his father yelled, his voice rising to a near roar. In a sudden motion, his hand shot out and grabbed Jet's hair, tugging him roughly forward. Jet's heart skipped in shock as his father yanked his hair back, forcing him to tilt his head toward the light.
"Let go!" Jet hissed, trying to pull away, but his father was relentless. With a firm grip, he pulled Jet's hanfu collar down, exposing the back of his neck.
Jet froze, panic and humiliation rushing through him. There was nothing there—no mark. His neck remained smooth and bare, just like he had said.
But his father didn't seem to notice. His grip tightened, and his face contorted with a mix of disbelief and fury. "Where is it?" he spat. "Where's the mark? I've been hearing people talk about it. Don't lie to me!"
"Father, I'm not marked," Jet pleaded, his voice trembling. "I swear, I'm not."
But his father didn't hear him. His anger took over, and his hand trembled as he let go of Jet's hair, stepping back with an expression of frustration and confusion.
"Stop treating me like a fool!" his father shouted, his voice thick with emotion. "This is my family you're dragging through the dirt! Do you even understand what you're doing? What people are saying about us?"
Just then, Jet's mother entered, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of the tension between father and son. She rushed forward, slapping her husband's hand away from Jet.
"What are you doing to him?" she demanded, her voice sharp with worry.
Jet's father turned on her, his face flushed red with anger. "He's ruining everything! Everything I've worked for! This… this scandal—" He stammered, his voice breaking under the weight of his own disbelief.
Jet's heart pounded in his chest as his father's harsh words echoed in the tense room. His mother stood frozen, her face a mixture of frustration and concern, while his father's fury swirled around him, sharp and unyielding.