"You performed an Affinity Transplant," the old man said. "Through Blood Arts."
He shook his head slightly, as if recalling old taboos.
"That method is considered madness. Even in ancient records, only a handful ever succeeded and most of those died screaming or crippled themselves beyond recovery. To attempt it as an outer disciple…" He paused, then snorted. "You either lacked fear, or you had nothing left to lose."
Han Yu lowered his eyes respectfully.
"In my earlier years," he said carefully, "this disciple was not… stable. Desperation clouds judgment."
He paused, then added with deliberate softness, "That desperation is also why I could not ignore the Peak Head's suffering."
The words landed exactly where they needed to.
The old man's expression eased, the frost in the air thinning by a hair's breadth.
"Hmph," the Peak Head said. "Flattery, but well chosen."
