At that moment, Ji Wuye's crimson eyes locked onto those of his Senior Sisters. A slight crease formed between his brows as he offered his arm for support, allowing Qiu Xia to lean against him.

It was all an act, and they had succeeded, but their task wasn't complete yet.

Finally, Ji Wuye stepped forward, exiting the Hall of Insight. Senior Sister Lian matched his stride on the opposite side to help stabilize Qiu Xia.

Shen Bi followed close behind, her delicate face etched with concern. She did her best to appear dizzy and pale, mirroring the condition of her injured Sister.

Together, they exited the door—only to find themselves face-to-face with a cluster of Inner Disciples whose hushed murmurs abruptly fell silent at their appearance.

Or rather...at the sight of the young woman standing at the forefront. Her crimson pupils, an uncanny mirror of Ji Wuye's own, raked over his battered form, and a soft sigh of relief parted her full, rose-petal lips. Ebony tresses danced across her porcelain shoulders as she glided forward with effortless grace, closing the distance between them in a few graceful strides.

"I'm glad you're alright, Big Brother," Mu Lan Rou breathed, her melodic voice tinged with tenderness yet laced with worry. In that moment, it seemed Ji Wuye was the sole object of her intense focus, the scene of the injured Senior Sisters supported on either side of him registering as little more than background noise.

Her brow furrowed as she drank in his disheveled appearance to the tattered white martial robe.

Yet, as always, Mu Lan Rou’s very presence left Ji Wuye’s expression an inscrutable mask. Even after repeatedly rebuffing her affections, she remained undeterred and persistent.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath into his broad chest, he closed his eyes momentarily. When they reopened, that all-too-familiar detached chill had returned to his crimson gaze as he gazed at her and the Inner Disciples behind her.

"Let me help—" Mu Lan Rou started eagerly, taking an impulsive half-step closer as her delicate hands reached out, fingers anxiously grazing the ruined silk of his martial robe.

But her gesture faltered, caught between the desire to tend to his injuries and the flicker of apprehension that danced across her porcelain features as she searched his impassive mask.

"Move." A single, clipped syllable—laced with an edge that could slice through steel—spilled from Ji Wuye's thin lips. The command carried an air of finality that caused a sudden uproar among the gathered onlookers, equal parts shock and indignation rippling through the ranks of guarding disciples.

They gaped openly at the unfolding confrontation, disbelieving eyes pinging between the towering pillar of disdainful calm that was Ji Wuye and the Young Lady whose offered tenderness he had so brazenly spurned.

"Wh-what? That's the Young Lady!" One particularly bold disciple sputtered, their voice tinged with outrage as they surged half a step forward, face reddening.

"H-how could he..." But the words withered on their tongue as the icy weight of Ji Wuye's presence washed over them, quelling their objection into a tense, uneasy silence born of the jarring disconnect between the Ji Wuye they had known and the unflinching, aloof stranger standing vigil before them.

The White Demon... The ominous moniker reverberated through their minds like a tolling bell. It might have seemed a laughable epithet had Ji Wuye earned it merely by defeating a handful of fellow disciples.

But they all knew the truth—he had remained undefeated, unyielding, standing his ground against an onslaught of challengers until the very Elders themselves had been forced to arrive and subdue him with overwhelming numbers and force.

Even then, battered and bloodied, his snowy white locks matted crimson yet flowing defiantly around his shoulders, those blazing scarlet eyes had never once faltered or shown a flicker of weakness or fear.

Now, as those pale, gossamer strands fluttered and those piercing ruby orbs turned their uncompromising scrutiny upon them, the gathered disciples felt an instinctive frisson of disquiet ripple through their ranks.

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A hushed stillness descended, broken only by the faint whisper of cloth as they averted their faces, not daring to meet that soul-searing gaze.

Even the cluster of Inner Disciples standing staunchly behind her—could only risk fleeting, furtive glances at the figure of Ji Wuye before their eyes skittered away, shoulders hunching defensively.

On the other hand, Mu Lan Rou herself seemed to have been rendered temporarily immobile, a delicate doll frozen mid-motion. Her jaw slackened, full lips forming a slight 'o' of surprise yet no words spilled forth.

Her throat worked silently, tendons straining beneath porcelain skin as if caught on the precipice of speech, yet ultimately all she could manage was a faint, tremulous sigh as she bit her lip and lowered her head in uncharacteristic demureness.

Long ebony tresses slipped over one slender shoulder, shielding her expression from view in a gauzy veil.

Yet the moment proved fleeting. Almost immediately, Mu Lan Rou seemed to regather her resolve, taking a tentative half-step forward... and then another, until the distance between them had dwindled to a hair's breadth.

Her slight frame seemed to tremble with each faint inhalation, as if teetering on the verge of collapse against his chest.

When her words finally came, they emerged as a fragile, quavering whisper edged with a desperation bordering on heartbroken pleading: "P-please, Big Brother... g-give me a chance. Just once more."

Ji Wuye's Senior Sisters—Qiu Xia, still leaning heavily against his side, Lian Rougang steadying them both with a grip like tempered steel, and Shen Bi hovering at the periphery with fretful concern etched into her delicate features—stood in solemn, uneasy silence.

They had been close enough to hear the faint, desperate tremor lacing Mu Lan Rou's entreaty, yet not a word was spoken. Instead, weighted gazes flitted between the trio in a silent conferring of acknowledgment at this raw, unexpected display of vulnerability.

Mu Lan Rou—the proud, untouchable star disciple of Kunlun, a celestial beauty whose grace and poise were considered beyond reproach—was now exhibiting a fragility so painfully, shockingly at odds with her usual unflappable demeanor.

It was a dissonance they could scarcely reconcile, their expressions flickering through a complex spectrum of emotions.

On the other hand... for Ji Wuye...

It was rare—in fact, this marked only the second time—that Ji Wuye had born witness to Mu Lan Rou's tears. His crimson gaze lowered, scrutinizing the crown of her bowed ebony tresses where they spilled over one slender shoulder like spilled ink.

Yet rather than offer a response, his focus shifted, pale eyes sliding sideways to study the taut, apprehensive lines of his Senior Sisters' expressions.

The quiet empathy they felt as women was evident in the slight parting of Qiu Xia's chapped lips and the way Lian Rougang's brow furrowed in consternation.

But burning far brighter in their turbulent eyes was a reluctance—a simmering resentment that had been stoked and tempered over years of watching Mu Lan Rou's callous, unrepentant treatment of their Junior.

Shen Bi's delicate features were pulled taut in a scowl, fine brows slanting inwards as her gaze bored into the top of Mu Lan Rou's bowed head like a pair of blazing embers.

They had watched, helpless, as Ji Wuye stoically endured torment after scorning after rejection at Mu Lan Rou's hands.

They had long since resigned themselves to the fact that their stubborn Junior would never heed their counsel to abandon his fruitless pursuit of that cold, cruel beauty.

And now here she stood, humble and penitent before them, daring to beg for forgiveness?

"Don't you dare play the victim now!" The dam finally burst as Shen Bi erupted, years of pent frustration and protective fury spilling forth in a torrent.

She surged forward—all delicate wrath and flushed cheeks as she attempted to physically insert herself between Ji Wuye and Mu Lan Rou.

The action seemed almost comically futile, a tiny sparrow spreading its wings in a vain effort to shield a mountain, yet the blazing conviction in her eyes brokered no compromise.

"How many years have we watched you torment our Junior Ji?" Her words emerged clipped, bitten off in staccato bursts as she struggled to keep her anger banked. "How many times did we have to pick up the pieces your cruelty left shattered behind?"

"Young Lady Mu."Another voice cut through the tension, calm yet resonant with an undercurrent of steel. Senior Sister Lian stepped forward, mouth curving in the faintest of reassuring smiles, yet her eyes remained shadowed with unmistakable reproach.

"It is already a miracle that our Junior Ji has shown the restraint not to strike you down where you stand, given the anguish your actions have wrought."

Her tone remained level, almost conversational, yet each precisely enunciated syllable seemed to chip away at Mu Lan Rou's fragile composure with the weight of a judge's gavel.

"Now...if you would be so kind as to move aside. Our Junior Sister Qiu requires rest, and you have already commandeered more than enough of our time and consideration."

...

By the time their procession reached the stairs leading up to Elder Qiao's cliff-top abode, any veneer of pretense had well and truly shattered. Qiu Xia walked unaided, shedding her bandages with each upward step in a discarded trail of gauze.

Shen Bi and Lian Rougang followed suit, their own wrappings fluttering away to reveal unmarred skin.

Yet their expressions remained somber, devoid of triumph or levity. Shen Bi's knuckles shown bone-white where her fists clenched at her sides, and a muscle jumped in the clenched line of Qiu Xia's jaw as her thoughts drifted, inexorably, back to the trial.

So grossly unjust, the scales so unevenly stacked that if not for their Ji Wuye's talent and his decision to unveil his true prowess...she shuddered to consider the injustice that might have been permitted to transpire.

'He would have been expelled,' she realized with a spike of icy dread lancing her gut.

Meanwhile, Lian Rougang's focus had drifted elsewhere entirely. Her gaze lingered on the solitary figure of Ji Wuye, observing how he had stare out over the mist-shrouded vista with an inscrutable expression.

From their heightened vantage point, the scenery laid out before them was partially veiled by billowing clouds, affording only fleeting glimpses of the distant lands sprawling below.

Yet Ji Wuye seemed utterly transfixed, that detached crimson stare appearing to drink in the tranquil abyss as if seeking some deeper truth hidden within its placid depths.

Unknowingly, Lian found her steps carrying her closer until she stood at his side, near enough to discern the faint crease between his brows and the tension thrumming beneath his smooth, youthful facade.

Her hand rose of its own volition, slender fingers gently resting on the back of his hand with a grounding pressure. Naturally, this caught her Junior’s attention, causing him to look at her.

Yet Lian only offered him a soft, reassuring smile, marveling inwardly at the surprising roughness of his calloused palm against her own – a stark contradiction to his refined, handsome exterior. "It's all in the past now, Junior," she murmured, infusing her words with all the soothing balm and conviction she could muster.

On the other hand, Ji Wuye, a bit surprised by his Senior Sister Lian's action, looked startled for a brief moment before he smiled faintly. ‘I’m not thinking about her, but…’ His thought trailed off as he replied to her, “I’m fine.”

'It would be hard for them to accept my explanation when we arrive.'