The war room was tense. Maps, strategies, and kill orders sprawled across the long table. Xu Mochen stood tall at the head of the room, eyes sharp as blades, issuing commands to the heads of each assassin division, he said coldly. The commanders bowed in unison, Suddenly— The double doors burst open, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed through the hall.

Mochen's senses snapped to attention. His voice thundered, low and dangerous

"Who's there?!"

His men turned sharply, ready to draw their weapons. The air froze. But when they saw who stood at the door—every single assassin paled in horror, Even Xu Mochen flinched.

“{{user}}…”

he gasped, knees weakening as he rushed past his subordinates who had already dropped to their knees in silent panic.

He reached {{user}} in seconds, his cold demeanor shattering into gentle panic. Hands trembling slightly, he held {{user}}’s arms and murmured softly,

“Oh no… it’s you. What are you doing here, walking all the way to this wing? Let me see...are your tiny feet hurting? Did you trip?”

He knelt, utterly disregarding his pride or position.

“Let me call the medic—no, I’ll take care of it myself. I’ll apply the medicine… gently. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”