The grand hall of the Sixth Peak was nothing short of majestic. It soared upward, the ceiling lost in a swirl of spirit mist and golden formations, humming softly with spiritual energy. Velvet-red carpets embroidered with phoenix motifs rolled from the golden gates all the way to the elevated jade dais where Su Lan sat upon her throne—an ethereal beauty wrapped in a robe of blue and black silk, its sleeves fluttering without wind, revealing glimpses of her fair shoulders and smooth collarbone.
Her eyes were calm, half-lidded, but focused. Those same eyes now narrowed slightly, fixated on one person standing silently at the edge of the carpeted path—Meng Hao.
He stood straight and unyielding, dressed in a crisp robe gifted by the sect, the robe hugging his slender but powerful figure. His black hair, tied with a white ribbon, cascaded over his shoulders like a river of ink. His face, mesmerizing and handsome, exuded a tranquil aura that made even the air around him feel different.
