The next evening, the carriage rolled through the towering gates of the Qing capital. The banners fluttered against the crimson sunset, the city alive with movement and distant drums. For a moment, Su Gonggong simply stared.
Pang Jie reached out a hand to help him down from the carriage. Su Gonggong's legs trembled as his boots touched the marble road. Ahead, a procession of guards and ministers waited, their faces impassive, unreadable.
At the center stood the King of Qing.
Even age had not dulled his presence. His hair, streaked with silver, framed a face sharp enough to cut glass. His robes were simple yet regal, dark blue trimmed in gold. His gaze fixed on Su Gonggong the moment he stepped forward.
"Father…" Su Gonggong whispered, his throat tightening. He dropped to his knees at once. "Your unfilial son has returned."
The King looked down at him for a long time then, finally, the older man spoke.
"Rise."
