Those eyes on Wen Ran's master's face held gratitude, yet beneath that quiet appreciation lingered something else — something far heavier. Wen Ran couldn't see it, but the old man's heart ached with regret.
He wasn't upset with Wen Ran — no, not at all. He hated himself. Hated that he had grown so frail and useless that his own disciple had to feed him like a child.
Wen Ran wasn't even his son or grandson — they weren't family, yet here he was, caring for him with a stubbornness that defied logic. The old man had two other disciples — righteous, diligent, and honorable — yet he knew, without a doubt, that neither of them would have acted the way Wen Ran had. No matter how noble they claimed to be, their sense of duty would never push them this far.
