The King sat there, his back to the door, a solitary figure hunched over a glowing map of his kingdom.
The King was an elderly man, his shoulders slumped, his long, grey hair unbound and dishevelled. He wore a simple nightrobe, not the ornate silks of his public appearances. His Qi Surgawi pulsed, but it was faint, diluted, almost… desperate. A pervasive melancholy clung to him, a profound sadness that seemed to seep from his very being.
"He is not strong," Xiaochen whispered, retracting his senses from the door. "His Qi is... weak. And he is afraid. I can feel it."
"Fear is a potent motivator, little spark. And a powerful chain," Ye Cangtian replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "It is the true strength of the Taixu Palace. Not just the strength of their Qi, but their mastery over huma
