The heavy silence of the Cloud-Peak Pavilion was punctuated only by the ragged, terrified breathing of the Fragrance Melody Sect Leader and the soft, rhythmic tapping of Wang Jian's finger against his knee. Hua Yimei sat perched on his lap, her body rigid as a board, trapped within the suffocating pressure of the Stellar Gravity Suppression Formation. She wore the intricate, multi-layered ceremonial robes of her station—garments of heavy purple and gold silk that represented her authority, her dignity, and the centuries of tradition she upheld. To the outside world, these robes were armor.
But to Wang Jian, they were merely wrapping paper on a gift he had already opened, used, and claimed ownership of once before.
