Cultivators leaned back in their seats, brows furrowing as the boards hung in the air. The first shock had passed. Now the calculating started.
Not just how a cleaner standard would ease trade, but how it would strengthen the sects that backed them, how it would make buying and crafting less like gambling in the dark.
You could almost hear abacuses clicking behind polite faces.
The mortals were not left to chew in silence. They might only own towns, but towns bred money the way swamps bred flies.
Among the guests were men who did not carry titles, yet wore wealth like armor.
Magnates. Merchants who had stacked treasures across generations, patient as termites, gnawing at every opportunity.
That was why Radeon had allowed each town owner five extra invitations. He knew the greed of men the way a fisherman knew currents.
Each slot had weight, and not just in gold, in leverage. He had not fought it. They knew town leaders would priced it and sold it.
