Lu Shaowen hurried over and helped up Wan Qinghe, who stood stunned as a wooden chicken: "Sect Master Wan, why put yourself through this."
Wan Qinghe remained silent, his eyes dull, as if frozen in time, slumped in his chair.
After settling Wan Qinghe, Lu Shaowen, leaning on his crutch, abruptly turned around to face Chen Yang, who stood not far away. His aged eyes blazed with fire, his wrinkled face as cold as the depths of winter.
Seeing Lu Shaowen's reaction, Chen Yang was in no hurry, staring at Lu Shaowen with a tone that was not quite provocative: "Old Lu, Sect Master Wan acted regardless of his status, insisting on making a move. You can't blame my nephew for this. After all, it's a contest between the younger generation. As elders, we should act like elders, not rashly intercede. Injuring Sect Master Wan was not my nephew's wish either. I hope Old Lu can understand."