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At Swan Pavilion, gold and jade glimmered in extravagant splendor. A maiden cradled her pipa, her fingers dancing over the strings, producing soft, mournful music, notes that oozed decadence and sorrow.
The members of the Clear Stream faction, led by Song Yehuang, were seated one after another, their expressions grave and unsmiling.
Strikingly, the Princess of the Central Capital wasn’t seated at the head of the banquet as custom dictated. Instead, she sat in the first position to the left.
Song Yehuang sat second to her left.
This empty seat at the head, left waiting, symbolically vacant, was meant for the He Clan Technically, the Empress Dowager herself could’ve sat there without raising eyebrows. But everyone present knew she hadn’t come.
In her place was He Shoukang, the head of the He Clan
Zhao Chunxin sat a few places further down, not because she was of lesser rank, but because she didn’t fight for status. If she had, she could’ve easily sat much closer.
Today, her battle-scarred face was laced with a chill. Inwardly, she was already prepared to die.
The imperial capital had become a storm-tossed sea of rumors. Whispers filled the streets, claiming the mysterious inheritance of the Bladeseekers lay hidden in the Eastern S...
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