Gasps filled the room. Eyes widened in disbelief. Sharp, stunned cries tore from the throats of the Six Tigresses. Hearts stuttered—not only in the chests of the Xi family elders but even among the Six Knights.
But Xi Fang didn't flinch.
He kept Rong Xinghe's trembling hand—gun still aimed at his forehead—clasped in his own. His eyes, bloodshot and unblinking, shimmered with fury and despair.
He stayed kneeling, unmoving, like a condemned man at the mercy of his executioner—eyes lowered, not in shame, but in acceptance. She was the judge, the jury, and the only absolution left in his world.
"Luo Youyou—my fucked up mother—took your child away from you, didn't she?" he had whispered. "Then kill her child today. Right here. Right now. In front of her."
A plea. A provocation. A desperate offering of his own life for his Goddess.
