Yan Jin, sitting at the apex of the altar like a mad emperor on his throne, his unhinged smile only growing wider. He leaned back, his posture lazy and defiant, his eyes—hidden behind his black and gold bandages—seemed to pierce straight through Matriarch Fu, Nie Li, and Purple Spear Meng. His voice dripped with cold mockery as he spoke, each word laced with derision.
"When the first series of murders happened, I couldn't help but wonder," Yan Jin mused, his tone casual yet cutting like a blade. "Who could have such a vested interest in the downfall of the Yan Family? To the point of wasting so many resources on a failure like Gu Zhun? Yan Li's the devil incarnate, but he lacks finesse. The Wei Family is too weak, and the Meng Family lacks the foundation to pull off something so intricate. That left only one bitter, manipulative old hag with enough hatred and cunning." His gaze flicked pointedly toward Matriarch Fu. "You."
