The room seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, the weight of Xuan Jian's sigh pressing down on Bai Mo's heart like a leaden weight. It was more than just a sound—it was an almost tangible spike of the pain and sorrow that hung in the air like a shroud.
As Bai Mo's gaze shifted from Xu Hu Zhe to Xuan Jian, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of empathy washing over him. It was as if he could feel the raw ache of Xuan Jian's grief pulling at his own heart, tugging at the frayed edges of his emotions.
His earlier determination to engage in a silent stare down with Xu Hu Zhe evaporated in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming urge to offer some kind of support to Xuan Jian, even if it was just a wordless gesture.
But before Bai Mo could even formulate a response, Xuan Jian's voice shattered the fragile silence, slicing through the air like a knife.
