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The tree trunk was thin and spindly, its branches and leaves hardly lush, but within a kilometer, it was still the thickest, sturdiest tree around.
Two hundred years ago, there definitely would not have been a tree here.
“Up.”
They climbed in a blur, scrambling to the top and peering toward the corner tower.
Luckily, there was lamplight on the very first level. Through the window, they saw a man wearing a tall ceremonial crown, seated at a table, his fingertip tapping lightly against the tabletop.
Even when he was no longer in armor and in different clothes, He Lingchuan recognized him at once.
The King of Yuān!
This whole palace belongs to him. So why is he secretly meeting someone in a corner tower in the dead of night?
What couldn’t be said in his own hall, his own study?
Lord Shao hurried up, dropped to his knees, and bowed. “Greetings, Your Majesty!”
“Rise.” The King of Yuān stood as well, taking a few steps. “Is your father well?”
The moment he stood, He Lingchuan went rigid.
Last time, in the battlefield illusion, the king had ridden out with a spear in hand and a sword at his waist. But now, at his belt hung a ring-pommel saber.
And the ring’s ornament was a flood dragon head!
A hilt decoration could not be as lifelike as the real thing; at first glance, a bull’s head...
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