( He recoils, first, sound scratching and metallic and shallow, hand instinctively hunting to break the beads in idle fall.

Then, a shuddered breath — no stomach for it in years — and some part of him knew, always and forever knew, that Wei Ying had shed that old, soured, black and bad blood that created him a villain, suspected and monstrous.

That he was not the man too many accused, the easy, simple, waiting target. )

You renounced the moment. Need not forget it. ( A pause, then: ) A sister fell. Between the world and Wei Ying, there was blood. Is blood.