The night sky over the city had been unnaturally quiet until the first shockwave tore through the silence, rattling windows from the slums to the noble districts. People who had been deep in sleep bolted upright, their hearts hammering against their ribs as the distant roar of battle echoed from the direction of the Tang Estate.

In the tea houses that stayed open late, rogue cultivators and merchants stepped out into the cool night air, eyes fixed on the horizon where flares of crimson Qi illuminated the clouds. The sounds were unmistakable, the rhythmic boom of high-level techniques and the screech of steel meeting steel that told of a struggle to the death.

Anxiety spread through the dark streets like a rising tide, with neighbors whispering over fences and strangers huddling together for warmth and safety. For nearly half an hour, the city held its breath, the terrifying cacophony of the Master Wing’s destruction vibrating through the very earth beneath their feet.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, a final, blinding pillar of crimson heat erupted into the sky, followed by a haunting, absolute silence that felt heavier than the noise. It was during this eerie stillness that the first shadows emerged from the direction of the Tang Estate, their faces pale and their clothes torn as they began to speak.

Disguised Tang operatives moved through the gathering crowds, their voices thick with coached emotion as they shared the "truth" of the night’s horrors. They spoke of a disgraceful ambush, of the Peng Clan’s cowardice in hiring the Thousand-Ghost Syndicate to butcher the city’s Savior while he slept.

The story grew with every retelling: how the "Golden Paragon" had bled to protect his kin, and how his aunt, the Matriarch Mei Yilan, had sacrificed her very life-force to save him. People who had spent the last month falling in love with Shen Yu’s "righteousness" felt a spark of protective fury ignite in their bellies.

"They tried to kill the only man who cared for us!" a man screamed in the market square, his voice cracking with a raw, volatile grief. The realization that their hope had almost been snuffed out by the same clan that had poisoned their blood turned their anxiety into a white-hot rage.

Emotions consumed the populace as friends called to friends and shopkeepers abandoned their stalls to grab whatever heavy tools or rusted blades they could find. The resentment that had been simmering for weeks finally boiled over, fueled by the image of a blood-stained Shen Yu and a dying Mei Yilan.

Within two hours of the explosion, the quiet night was gone, replaced by the synchronized thud of thousands of feet marching toward the Peng Clan district. What had started as a few dozen angry neighbors had swelled into a sea of humanity, a tidal wave of commoners and rogue cultivators driven by a singular, vengeful purpose.

Torches were lit, turning the dark avenues into rivers of fire that flowed toward the Peng gates with an unstoppable, terrifying momentum. Almost half the city was now on the move, their voices rising in a low, guttural chant that demanded blood for the blood the "Savior" had shed.

The gates of the Peng Estate, once symbols of unassailable wealth and arrogance, groaned and buckled under the sheer mass of the screaming populace. The guards, clad in their fine ceremonial armor, stood in a trembling line, their spears leveled at a mob that no longer feared the bite of steel.

"Justice for the Savior!" the cry went up, a jagged, thousand-throated roar that drowned out the frantic orders of the Peng captains. "Blood for blood! Death to the poisoners!"

When the first line of guards finally thrust their spears, drawing blood from the front rank of the rioters, the crowd didn’t scatter; they surged forward like a breaking levee. For every commoner that fell, ten more threw themselves onto the guards, using their bare hands to claw at eyes and their teeth to tear at throats.

The sheer weight of numbers was a physical force, a tidal wave of humanity that crushed the defenders against their own stone barricades until the guards were simply swallowed whole. Once the perimeter was breached, the estate’s pristine courtyards were flooded by a sea of torchlight and frantic, vengeful shadows.

The massacre that followed was focused and brutal, primarily targeting the men of the clan who had rushed out with weapons in hand to suppress the "rabble." These Peng warriors, scions, and enforcers were met with a wall of raw, unbridled hatred that no amount of formal training could withstand.

The commoners poured every ounce of their misery into their strikes, beating the Peng men with heavy iron tools and rusted cleavers until the marble floors were slick with a crimson mire. While most of the women and children fled into the deeper recesses of the estate, a few female cultivators and fierce Peng daughters took up arms, meeting their ends with the same cold steel as their brothers.

Amidst the swirling madness, the men of the Tang Clan moved like silent, efficient ghosts, their eyes cold and their hands steady. They didn’t engage in the random looting; instead, they whispered into the ears of the most frenzied rioters, pointing toward the heavy mahogany doors of the inner sanctums.

"The Great Elder is hiding behind those seals!" a Tang operative hissed, nudging a group of burly blacksmiths toward a reinforced pavilion. "He is the one who signed the death warrant for the Paragon!"

With a roar of renewed fury, the mob descended upon the high elders one after another, their sophisticated Qi defenses proving useless against a thousand desperate souls. One elder was dragged from his bedchamber by his silver hair, his pleas for mercy silenced by a rain of stones and the heavy thud of a woodcutter’s axe.

Another was cornered in the private library, where the Tang men expertly disabled the spirit-traps before stepping back to let the crowd flood the room. The air was thick with the smell of expensive incense and the metallic stench of fresh slaughter as the male elite of the Peng Clan were torn apart in the very rooms where they had plotted their rise.

As the last of the elders fell, the mob’s bloodlust didn’t vanish; it curdled. Their eyes turned toward the inner chambers, toward the sobbing women and the trembling younger sons who had played no part in the council.

Just as a blacksmith raised a blood-stained mallet over a cowering woman, a voice cut through the screaming chaos, a voice like a cracked silver bell, heavy with an unbearable sorrow.

"Stop... Please, stop this massacre."

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A/N: Hey everyone! Just a heads-up: I’m only posting one Chapter today as I’m finally heading home after finishing my uni exams! To make up for it, I’m planning a 4-Chapter mass-release this Sunday.

The Sunday lineup includes:

2 Regular Chapters

1 Bonus Chapter (for hitting last week’s Power Stone goal!)

1 Makeup Chapter (from today)

Thanks for your patience and for the support during my exams!