With the iron-clad truth laid bare before them, the crowd turned their eyes back toward Yulan, who stood upon the Trial Platform, cold as frost and devoid of any smile.
A profound sense of shame gripped everyone simultaneously. It felt as if a heavy slap had landed squarely on their faces, leaving a stinging, burning pain. A prickling, crawling sensation rose from the soles of their feet, a desperate urge to say something rising in their throats.
Yet, whether at the site of the Trial Platform or in the comment sections of the live broadcast, there was total silence. Not a sound. Not a soul spoke. It was a deathly, stifling quiet; even the sound of breathing seemed to fade into near-imperceptibility.
Chapter 72