A lesson must to teach. To learn.

It was morning.

Not the time that people usually wake up. It was exactly hours before the actual sunrise, and the humid place was full of a wide variety of sounds. Everything was totally dark still, but a faint smell of blood permeated behind Han Li's backyard.

On the verdant, wet grass that had barely ever had the need to survive the winds, hot blood splattered and then mixed with the soil. Usually, anguished cries should have been echoing now, but Han Li held the chicken's mouth in an iron hold. 

Not to mention squeaking, it couldn't even move.

His eyes reflecting the crimson that briefly flashed, he looked at Liyue. She was there, holding the makeshift spear—but something was different. At the end of the sharp stick was no longer sharply carved wood. Instead, it was an iron-like Raven feather sharpened to the extremes.

But more than that.