The answer was clear. She would never.
A brother was family. Mortal or not, no ounce of curiosity, no hunger for power, no pride in strength would ever drive her to strike him.
And so, watching Fang Yuan today, her interest vanished like smoke.
There was nothing captivating about this display of carnage, this spectacle of blood and bone, because it was directed at family.
Worse still, he spat derision, calling his own brother a "dog" in front of every patron in the tavern.
That was more than cruel. It was abhorrent.
She had come seeking the thrill of mortal fights, the raw chaos of combat—but this?
A Gu Master trampling his own kin beneath his foot, drunk on power and indulgence—it repelled her.
"Let's go." Her words were clipped, final. She placed a few primeval stones on the table, her movements sharp, unyielding.
Her three attendants mirrored her motion, rising promptly, clearing a path as she strode toward the exit.
She resolved, then and there, never to return to this wine tavern.
Family is a sacred bond. To see it trampled so casually was intolerable.
She could not—would not—look at her own kin that way, nor treat them with disrespect. She loved her family with a loyalty that was absolute.
And that's why... Fang Yuan disgusted her.
...
The warehouse was dim, the scent of wine barrels mingling with iron and blood.
Fang Yuan dragged Fang Zheng inside like a lifeless ragdoll, letting him collapse before the stacked barrels with a dull thud.
Fang Zheng struggled to rise, face swollen, bruised, and streaked with blood, his voice weak and trembling: "Brother…"
Fang Yuan's expression was calm, unflinching.
"Two weeks ago, these barrels should have been restocked," he said, voice smooth, but carrying the weight of his actions.
"The caravan will arrive in a few days."
"The barrels need to be filled and they need to be sold."
He tossed the transaction and order lists toward Fang Zheng with a controlled flick of his wrist.
The papers landed like a slap.
Fang Zheng stammered, trying to form an excuse: "Th-That's…"
Fang Yuan's voice cut through him like steel: "You said Mother slapped you, so you refused to go home."
"You hid in your room, refusing responsibility." He stepped closer, eyes sharp, assessing.
"And now? I beat you up."
"So, what will you do?"
Fang Zheng's shoulders slumped. His fists clenched, shaking, his bruised knuckles white against the sting of pain and humiliation.
"I… I am weak," he muttered, voice barely audible, cracking with despair.
"You… you beat me because I am weak…"
He lowered his gaze further, the weight of shame pressing into him.
"Mother doesn't understand my love… that's why… she's trying to separate me from Shen Cui."
Fang Yuan's brows creased slightly.
"Oh? Is that so?" he murmured, eyes glinting with a chill that could freeze blood.
He turned slowly to the servants, each one trembling in the shadow of his presence.
"Tie him up. Make sure he can't move."
"And also close his mouth so he can neither speak nor scream."
"W-What…?" Fang Zheng stammered, panic beginning to bubble in his chest.
His gaze fell on the trembling servants, the same people who once praised him, now reduced to quivering hands as they obeyed Fang Yuan.
Ropes appeared in their hands, hesitated in the air for only a heartbeat, and then coiled around him with merciless precision.
In moments, Fang Zheng's limbs were bound, his body immobilized, his mouth stuffed with cloth, choking back the desperate cries that clawed at his throat.
The warehouse echoed only with his ragged breathing.
Fang Yuan's eyes scanned him calmly, cold, deliberate, savoring the helplessness like an artist admiring a masterpiece.
"You love Shen Cui, don't you?"
Fang Zheng's eyes widened despite the gag, nodding frantically, the fire of desire and helplessness mixing with fear.
Fang Yuan's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"Good," he said, voice low and ice-cold.
"Then I will show you… love."
...