Marquis Zhenbei smiled without speaking, his hand clenched into a fist, veins bulging, unsure whether he was suppressing rage or enduring pain. After the sword wound was bandaged, Xie Zhang, Xie Jue, and Xie Xun entered in turn, and Judge Zhang departed. Outside the tent stood trusted guards of Marquis Zhenbei, ensuring no one else could approach.
"Father, how is your injury?" Xie Zhang sat by the bedside, worried about the Marquis's wound. Though his father was a renowned figure of great prestige, he was no longer in his prime, and injuries to muscles and bones were unsettling.
"Go ask your good brothers!" Marquis Zhenbei's face darkened, his fury barely restrained. If not for the fear that walls might have ears, he would have roared, "Such filial sons indeed, one ordering cold arrows, the other planning patricide—what nerve!"
