The three angry disciples didn't even get halfway into Han Yu's courtyard before a firm, sharp voice cut through the air like a sword:
"Enough."
The air froze. The disciples skidded to a halt mid-stride, pale-faced.
Even Han Yu blinked.
An old figure descended from the sky, robes fluttering, a quiet aura of pressure blanketing the area. His presence alone silenced the courtyard.
"Elder Luo." One of the disciples quickly bowed, voice trembling. "We were just—"
"—About to disgrace yourselves by attacking a fellow disciple over a butterfly prank," Elder Luo said flatly. "Leave."
The disciples didn't hesitate. They bowed so fast their foreheads nearly slammed into the stone floor, then vanished in a blur.
Elder Luo turned his gaze to Han Yu, eyes narrowing.
"You. You're the one causing commotion all across the sect lately."
Han Yu rose slowly, brushing off imaginary dust from his robes. "Commotion is such a strong word, Elder Luo. I prefer… 'youthful contribution.'"
