The stinging, haunting pain in his hollow eye socket has Hong Lu gritting his teeth, his hand curling into the fist, nails digging into the skin. He exhales heavily, the bandages, soaked in blood, gain a darker shade. It hurts. His heart aches.

Yet, the Lord stifles in the sound of pain. Despite the slight quivers in his right hand, he picks up the brush and coats its tip in ink, resuming to write the words in an elegant, regal handwriting. The laws of Hongyuan are still too flawed, too incomplete, and will not allow himself to rest unless he is satisfied.

However, the knock on the door is what throws him out of the jumble of thoughts. He covers behind a steely façade, and calls out in a low, tired voice:

"...You may come in."