Within the inner pavilion of the Zhao ancestral courtyard, where phoenix lamps burned with spirit flame and silken curtains danced to the rhythm of suppressed sobs, Zhao Yung stood motionless.
His robes were torn, his knees bruised and his pride was long dead, buried under jade fragments.
Before him sat his mother, Lady Zhao Mingyue, also known as Concubine Zhu, the once-renowned SnowOrchid Fairy of the Northern Lands and Nine Tail Fox clan, now the lady of the Zhao clan.
Her cultivation was deep as shadows, her bearing proud, and her eyes sharp as a celestial sword.
She poured tea with slow grace, her fingers steady. But beneath that tranquility, a storm brewed.
"…Speak, Yung'er," she finally said.
"Why did you ask for a private audience so early in the morning? Your aura is unstable. Your Dao is fractured... And you have the fake breath of a nascent soul realm cultivator,"
Zhao Yung clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palm, drawing blood.
