In the dimly lit cell beneath Li Yanyan's sprawling villa, an old man sat in quiet meditation. The space was cold, with only the faintest flicker of light from a distant torch illuminating the stone walls around him. Yet Chan Lao paid no mind to the physical discomfort. He had long since learned to quiet his mind, to push away the material world as he focused inward.
Seated in a meditative pose, his spine straight and his hands resting gently on his knees, Chan Lao's face was still and expressionless, his eyes closed as he breathed slowly and rhythmically. But within the depths of his mind, there was no peace. No calm. Only a dark, simmering resentment that had festered there for decades.
The faintest smirk curled at the edge of his lips, a smirk that carried the weight of years of bitterness and jealousy.
My foolish brother... you thought you could carry the burden of the Guardian. And now, you will fail.
