Lan Anh's porcelain features drained of color as Linh spat the name, "Crimson Fang," each word laced with venom. A tremor ran through Lan Anh, her voice barely a whisper, "Crimson Fang?"

Linh glared, accusation burning in her eyes. "Don't play innocent, Lan Anh. We both know what they've done."

Lan Anh's mind raced. Had Linh discovered the truth? Fear gnawed at her, but she maintained composure. "Done what?" she countered, feigning ignorance.

Ba Gấu, weathered and stoic, stepped forward. "Ran into a pack of 'em earlier. Ambushed us near the watchtower. Nasty lot, those Crimson Fangs. Didn't leave much of them, let me tell you."

Lan Anh's heart pounded against her ribs. He knew. But how much? "And what... what did you do?" she stammered.

Ba Gấu shrugged, his expression indifferent. "Cleaned 'em out. Not fancy, just sent them scurrying with whimpers. Lesson learned, I reckon."

Linh scoffed. "Lesson? They terrorize villages, steal from the poor, and you call that a lesson? They deserve worse!"

Ba Gấu's gaze flickered towards Lan Anh, a silent question hanging heavy. Lan Anh felt the scrutiny, the unspoken accusation. But the truth was a burden she couldn't bear, not with Linh's idealistic fury blazing so bright.

"Linh," Lan Anh began, her voice measured, "difficult choices sometimes require difficult actions. Righteousness isn't always an option."

Linh bristled. "Righteousness? This isn't about that, Lan Anh! It's about right and wrong. Using thugs to do your dirty work, turning a blind eye to their crimes - that's not who we are!"

Lan Anh felt a pang of guilt, shame gnawing at her. Linh was right. But the weight of the Khanh legacy, the responsibility for their people, pressed down on her like a physical force. Could she afford such idealism, risk throwing away their only protection?

Ba Gấu, ever the pragmatist, spoke again. "The girl ain't wrong, Linh. World ain't black and white. Gotta play the hand you're dealt, even if it ain't pretty."

Linh spun on him, eyes flashing fire. "And what about honor, Ba Gấu? What about the legacy we swore to uphold? Is this how we protect our people, by stooping to their level?"

The tension crackled, thick and heavy. Lan Anh watched them, caught between two worlds, two ideologies. Ba Gấu, hardened by experience, saw the necessity of pragmatism, even if it meant compromising morals. Linh, young and untainted, clung to the ideals they once shared.

And Lan Anh? Caught in the middle, forced to choose between the burdens of the past and the dreams of the future. The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but one thing was clear: the truth could no longer be hidden. The time for secrets was over.

"Righteousness is a luxury the weak cannot afford," Ba Gấu rumbled, his voice gravelly with experience. "Power resides in hard choices, not hollow ideals. Sometimes, the serpent you know is better than the tiger you don't."

Linh scoffed, her youthful fire burning bright. "Power built on fear and suffering is no power at all! True strength lies in justice, in protecting the vulnerable, not preying on them!"

Lan Anh lowered her head, her voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. "It's easy to judge from the sidelines, Linh. When the coffers are bare and the people restless, even the bitterest herbs become medicine. The Crimson Fang may be ruthless, but they keep the tax collectors at bay and the bandits in check. A small price to pay for stability, wouldn't you agree?"

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"Stability built on lies and bloodshed!" Linh slammed her fist against the ancient tree. "Is that the legacy you want to leave behind, Lan Anh? One where fear dictates our choices and silence our voices?"

Lan Anh's shoulders slumped, guilt etched on her face. "What choice do I have, Linh? The taxes cripple us, the land is barren, and the Khanh name holds no sway anymore. The Crimson Fang… they were my last resort."

A heavy silence descended, broken only by the chirping of crickets. Ba Gấu studied Lan Anh, his weathered face unreadable. Linh's gaze softened, laced with empathy.

"There must be another way, Lan Anh," Ba Gấu finally said, his voice gruff but gentle. "True power lies not in controlling others, but in uniting them. Perhaps there's a way to negotiate with the tax collectors, to rally the people, to find a solution that doesn't involve bloodshed."

Hope flickered in Lan Anh's eyes, faint but persistent. Could there be another path? One that didn't require the bitter taste of compromise, the gnawing guilt of hidden alliances?

Hope flickered in Lan Anh's eyes, faint but persistent. Could there be another path? One that didn't require the bitter taste of compromise, the gnawing guilt of hidden alliances?

"Sometimes," Ba Gấu muttered, his voice devoid of its usual gruffness, "the serpent you know turns out to have the deadliest purpose."

Lan Anh's eyes darted to the darkened woods bordering the garden, her breath hitching. "Purpose?" she choked out. "Is that what you call it? Killing my… my problem solvers?"

Ba Gấu froze, the comprehension dawning on his face. "Problem solvers?" he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "You mean… you allowed the Crimson Fang to operate on your land?"

Lan Anh flinched, but her eyes held a stubborn defiance. "They took a cut, yes. But they kept the roads clear, protected the villages…"

"Protected them from whom, Lan Anh?" Ba Gấu's voice rose, incredulity laced with anger. "From themselves? From the very bandits you funded?"

Linh gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "Funded?" she whispered, the truth hitting her like a physical blow.

Lan Anh's face contorted with a mixture of shame and defiance. "Someone had to keep order!" she exclaimed. "This land needs a lord, Ba Gấu, not a knight errant who charges at phantoms! If the Crimson Fang are gone, who will keep the peace?"

"The law will keep the peace, Lan Anh," Ba Gấu snarled, his voice raw with fury. "Not a band of cutthroats who prey on the weak!"

"And what happens if you fail, Ba Gấu?" Lan Anh spat, her voice laced with a desperate edge. "If you can't even handle a few bandits, who will protect us from the real wolves at the door? Do you think the Crimson Fang will forget this? They'll come for my land, my life! This house will fall, and it will all be for naught!"

Ba Gấu stared at her, his anger warring with a newfound understanding. He saw the desperation in her eyes, the fear of a woman clinging to a twisted form of control. He knew the path he had to take, even if it meant facing his own demons.

"Then they will find me waiting," he said, his voice firm, resolve glinting in his eyes. "And if I fall, at least I will fall with honor. Unlike you, Lan Anh, who built your security on the blood of innocents."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken emotions. The fragile trust they had built in the moonlit garden lay shattered, replaced by a chasm of doubt and disillusionment. The path ahead, once shimmering with possibility, now stretched before them, shrouded in shadows.

Linh whimpered, her tail tucked between her legs, caught in the crossfire of a war she barely understood. Ba Gấu knelt beside her, his hand resting gently on her head.

"It's alright, little one," he murmured. "We'll face this together. And when the dust settles, perhaps we'll find a better way, a way built on justice, not fear."

He then turned his gaze back to Lan Anh, his face etched with determination. "I accept your challenge, Lady Lan Anh. If I can't bring order to this land without bloodshed, then perhaps it deserves the chaos it awaits."

With those words, Ba Gấu turned and walked away, leaving Lan Anh standing