The midnight air was cold, quiet, and unusually tense.
The moon hung low over the Jinyue Clan, casting pale light upon the stone paths that wound like veins across the vast estate. Crickets sang in the silence, but their melody fell away when the heavy doors of the Punishment Hall creaked open.
Inside, lit by flickering lanterns, two young men knelt at the center of a circular platform carved with ancient runes — the Discipline Formation. One wore a proud, stubborn expression despite his disheveled robes; the other was as still as a sculpture, back straight, eyes downcast. Their shadows stretched long behind them.
Above them stood the Clan Elder, robe dragging, white hair braided in the traditional Jinyue knot — the uncle of the Jin siblings, and now the acting head of the clan.
"Do you both think this is a market street?! That the Clan Gate is your playground!?" his voice boomed across the chamber, a mixture of fury and exhaustion. "Fighting—FIGHTING—within the inner sanctum of the Jinyue Clan is a direct violation of Rule Thirty-Two, Subsection Seven: 'No weapons, techniques, or spiritual force may be used in conflict within the sacred grounds of peace.'"
Yiran yawned dramatically, unfazed. "Tch. Then maybe put a sign up next time," he mumbled under his breath.
"LING YIRAN!" came the sharp voice of his older sister, Ling Feixue, as she burst in through the doors with the twins, eyes full of worry. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
The twins trailed behind, both dressed in sleep robes, clearly pulled out of bed by the commotion. Ling Yue folded his arms and scoffed. "He deserves it, Sister. Should've known better than to mess around."
Ling Yun nodded firmly. "Yeah, he always says the dumbest things at the worst time. Can't he behave for once?"
"I can hear you, you know!" Yiran hissed at them, flipping his long sleeves in irritation.
The elder narrowed his eyes at the siblings. "This is a punishment hall, not a tea gathering."
Yiran straightened reluctantly, trying not to look guilty — but failing. "Well, I was just having some food and drink! He attacked me first!"
"You were drinking inside the Jinyue Clan grounds. Alcohol. Roasted meat." The elder's voice became dangerously calm. "We have rules."
Then, he turned to Suoxue.
"You, Jin Suoxue — my nephew. Young master of this clan. You, who have always abided by every rule... I had hoped you would set the standard."
Suoxue didn't speak. He merely bowed his head slightly.
There was a silence. Even Yiran felt it — something heavy.
The elder finally sighed, shoulders dropping slightly.
"Ling Yiran of the Lingxiao Clan," he said formally, "as a guest and first-time offender, you will not be punished. But heed this — another infraction, and it will be your blood that stains this floor. Am I clear?"
Yiran blinked, surprised. "Wait... really? That's it?"
The elder nodded once. "Yes. You may go."
Yiran stood up, grinning, brushing dust off his knees. "Hehe, easy!"
But before he could fully stretch, the elder turned his back toward him.
"Fifty lashes for Jin Suoxue."
The air cracked.
Yiran's smile vanished.
"What?!" he blurted.
"Fifty?! But—he—he—he started it!" other disciples and start pointing at Yiran direction
The disciples stationed at the hall began to murmur quietly among themselves.
"Did you hear that right? Young Master Suoxue is being punished?"
"This is the first time…"
"Since his parents passed away, he's never once disobeyed a rule…"
"He's always so cold—he never even raises his voice."
Yiran froze in place. He turned to look at Suoxue.
The icy young man didn't flinch. Didn't look up. Didn't protest. He merely shifted his hair aside, exposing the back of his neck. His robe loosened at the shoulders as he leaned forward slightly, exposing his pale back — unmarred, spotless.
Then the sound came.
Crack!
The whip sliced through the air and landed with a brutal, echoing snap against Suoxue's back. A thin red line immediately formed, blossoming like a cruel flower.
No sound came from him. Not a gasp, not a grunt.
Yiran's mouth fell slightly open. His lips trembled.
Another lash.
Another.
And another.
The twins tugged at his sleeve. "Ge, come on, we should go—"
But Yiran didn't move. His eyes were fixed on Suoxue, who still hadn't made a sound, hadn't collapsed, hadn't asked for mercy.
It was the first time Ling Yiran — mischievous, loud, playful Ling Yiran — felt a sharp, unexpected twist in his chest.
Guilt.
Not because he got off lightly. But because Suoxue took it all without a word — and he didn't have to.
Because somehow, this cold, silent boy who always followed the rules... let himself break one.
Just for a fight with him.
Yiran was pulled away before he could say a word. The doors to the hall shut behind him with a thud, leaving the cold night even colder.
Outside, the wind blew softly through the bamboo groves.
Inside, the whip cracked again — but Suoxue remained silent, even as blood painted the runes beneath him.