The air in the study grew still as Damon's words, which were calm and sharp, hung in the space like a Damascus sword, unblinking and patient. Xue Rou and Chen Yuan instinctively straightened at the sudden change, while Sun Liang stopped midway through a yawn and froze entirely.
The old man blinked once, then twice, and then grinned in that same foolish, gap-toothed way as before while scratching his ear.
"Oh come now, must everything have a motive? Can't I simply be a wise old cultivator seeking a worthy heir? Passing the torch? Enlightenment? The warm embrace of legacy?"
Damon didn't move, nor did he blink, but his eyes reflected the coldness of the moon.
"Last chance, Xu Baochun." Damon spoke softly, his words tinged with danger.
The name landed with weight since the false playfulness in the old man's posture vanished, his smile fading slowly.
For a long moment, the fellow simply stared into Damon's eyes.
