For Xuānluò, those indirect words were more than enough.
He understood. He understood everything.
His breath grew shallow. Words caught in his throat, unable to form.
And Shěnhuī? She did not look at her husband for even a heartbeat. Her golden lashes lowered, her face a mask. The silence of the great hall thickened like smoke, heavy and suffocating. The courtiers felt their own pulses pounding, heads bowed, shoulders trembling. Everyone knew—something terrible was about to erupt between king and queen.
Then, suddenly—
"OUT!!"
Xuānluò's roar exploded across the hall, sharp, ragged, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. His chest rose and fell as though each breath carved through him. His jade-green eyes burned, rimmed red with tears that refused to fall, impossible to tell if they came from fury or from the breaking of his heart.
He pointed toward the doors, hand shaking. "Leave. All of you."
The guards and servants jolted as if struck by lightning. Wide-eyed, stumbling over themselves, they bowed low before fleeing the hall in terrified silence.
Only Shěnhuī remained.
Her eyes closed for a moment, her shoulders stiffening. Xuānluò had never raised his voice like that—never in their centuries of marriage, never in their years of love.
The hall grew quiet, filled only with Xuānluò's ragged breaths. Then, without warning, he seized her arm in a crushing grip and dragged her out, wings beating furiously as he pulled her toward their chambers. He didn't give her a chance to resist, not even a moment to spread her own wings.
Shěnhuī gasped. His fingers bit into her skin, cutting off the flow of blood. Her face twisted in pain. "Xuān—what are you doing?! Let me go! You're hurting me on purpose!"
Her protest only earned her silence.
With a violent motion, Xuānluò shoved her into their chamber. The door slammed behind them with such force that a golden ornament crashed from the wall to the floor.
She stumbled, fell against the bedframe, and cried out as her forehead struck wood. Warm blood trickled down her temple, staining her pale skin. She raised a trembling hand to it, strands of golden hair falling across her face, half-hiding the expression that showed only pain—but no guilt. Her wings drooped, shuddering pitifully.
Xuānluò's voice tore from his chest:
"Pain?! You think that was pain?! Do you even know what pain is?!"
His voice rose and cracked, words breaking as his jade eyes swam with blood-red tears. He looked monstrous—broken far beyond anger.
Shěnhuī's body trembled, caught between rage and fear. One slip of the tongue… one wrong word… and the careful years she had built of lies, of winning his trust, of weaving her selfish plans—it was all collapsing. She raised her head to look at him, and in those eyes she saw no mercy, only the rawest agony she had ever witnessed.
A hoarse scream tore from Xuānluò as he began hurling everything within reach. Vases shattered, scrolls ripped, golden frames bent under his fury. Shards of glass cut his hand as he smashed a crystal pot against the wall, but he didn't stop, didn't even flinch as blood streamed down his wrist.
Shěnhuī covered her ears, eyes squeezed shut, trembling against the wall . She tried to stand and run away towords the open window .
"STOP RIGHT THERE—BEFORE I KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS!!"
He hurled a heavy book across the chamber. It struck her wing with a sickening crack, forcing her to the floor. She gasped in agony, her wing folding at a broken angle, her strength draining instantly.
A sob ripped from Xuānluò's throat, raw and shattering. His chest shook violently as though each breath was tearing him apart. His heart still ached at the sight of her pain—yet the betrayal eclipsed everything. Centuries of deception, centuries of love built on lies—at least 290 years of betrayal, older than Mù Yēn 's or Haoyu's very life.
His eyes widened, body trembling as he dragged his hands over his throat, cracking his own neck with a chilling sound. Then, like a predator, he lunged toward her.
For a heartbeat, true fear lit her face.
"No—Xuān!!"
Desperately, she summoned her power. Water surged from her palms, sharp enough to cut flesh. But it stopped—faltered—as if he was untouchable. For Xuānluò was not just broken, not just enraged. He was the true grass fairy, the pure one. Her power couldn't even graze him.
She whimpered as his bloody hand seized her wrist, his other hand tangling harshly into her golden hair, forcing her head back. His breath burned against her skin, desperate and hot. His jade eyes glared inches from hers—wild, dangerous, unrecognizable.
"That's all I was to you, wasn't I?" he whispered in a low, trembling growl. "A source of power? A tool? A game?"
Her lips parted, but no words came. She could only stare back, chest rising in frantic breaths.
Xuānluò tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. His lips parted almost in a mockery of thoughtfulness, waiting for the answer she refused to give.
Then his fury snapped again.
"SPEAK! WHEN I'M ASKING YOU SOMETHING—YOU BITCH WITH A PRETTY FACE!!"
His roar rattled the chamber. Shěnhuī squeezed her eyes shut, sobs spilling at last. In all their long years, Xuānluò had never turned this monstrous, never fallen into such madness. She could barely believe this was the same man who once cradled her with tenderness.
Now, he was a storm she could not calm.