Sunlight penetrates the carved patterns, the light beam slanting through.
The long table serves as a boundary, separating the two sides.
"Might" stands with its back to the great sun, stepping on the stand, its mouthpiece opening and closing, dark gold appendages high in the air, commanding with authority, its transparent long wings behind like blades, golden silk patterns growing, shining brightly.
Li Xianghan faces the window sill, lowers her head, closes her legs, kneeling on the prayer mat, respectfully like a quail.
The shadow of the Golden-winged Centipede falls on her face, along with eight floating wings, claws flailing, like a giant black spider, webbing her future.
"Might" rests its appendages on its waist: "Do you know how to speak the official language of Dashun?"
Li Xianghan shrinks her neck, stammering: "I can understand but not speak, can speak a little bit."
"Go learn!"
"Too difficult..."
