Han Yu's aura rushed out like a gust of crushing wind. Not overwhelming, but heavy enough to press into the bones of anyone nearby.
The disciples immediately shut up.
Some stepped back. Some swallowed nervously. A few lowered their gazes like scolded children. The path ahead cleared by several meters.
Han Yu turned away and continued walking. No one dared speak again.
To any outside observer, Ju Fan simply looked possessive and territorial, which was completely normal. Slave owners, especially those who treated their slaves as status symbols, often reacted violently to unwanted attention.
Han Yu's reaction was exactly what they expected.
But inside, his heart felt like it was being torn apart.
He guided Xuan Qing through the sect, across bridges, around active peaks, and finally up the long winding path toward the Fifth Rib Peak. Along the way he kept glancing at her face, hoping to see some flicker of recognition.
Nothing.
Her gaze remained forward, lifeless, mechanical.
