"This is absurd!"
Mu Cangtian lost his temper. He slammed a report on the table. His personal eunuch, Gao Chenghai, flinched at the sound. Mu Cangtian was very rarely lost his temper, but ever since the Crown Prince was kidnapped, he got irritated easily.
The entire Court were on their knees, heads bowed, hands out in salutation, yelling, "Your Majesty, please appease your anger."
Han Zhaofeng, the Head of ICEB, was kneeling down in the middle of the Court. As a Saint, kneeling before a human— even though the human was an Emperor—was already humiliating enough. And yet, he was the subject of Mu Cangtian's wrath. The report that had just been slammed was his. With his head bowed, no one knew what Han Zhaofeng was thinking.
Jian Wushuan was the only one who didn't kneel.
As the Alliance representative, he had been granted the honor of standing at the foot of the throne's elevated dais, on the right side—normally reserved for the Imperial Advisor. A few steps separated him from the Emperor's seat, yet the height and position still placed him above the kneeling Court.
From a certain angle, it was easy to mistake the sight: as if Han Zhaofeng were kneeling to Jian Wushuan himself, not to Mu Cangtian.
Jian Wushuan turned to face Mu Cangtian. "Your Majesty, please. Being angry solves nothing."
He didn't kneel, didn't salute, did nothing to show he was a subject. He only turned to Mu Cangtian and spoke politely. His tone even carried a hint of mockery and condescension.
"These past few months are proof that ICEB's ability is overrated. Assigning them to find the Crown Prince..." He chuckled softly. "Is useless, just like ICEB itself."
Silence fell. Suffocating. No one dared to make a noise. Only Mu Cangtian's labored, angry breathing was heard.
Head Eunuch Gao approached Mu Cangtian carefully, then whispered in his ear, "Your Majesty, Han Zhaofeng Shengzun is still kneeling."
Mu Cangtian's feelings were a storm of fear, annoyance, and anger. He didn't know what to do. He was the Emperor. He held the whole Wusheng Empire in his hands—yet now, he felt powerless. He hated this feeling. He needed his power back, his dignity back.
And scolding Han Zhaofeng had been his only way to do that. And it had felt good.
Mu Cangtian exploded, "Let him kneel! What's wrong with him kneeling longer?! He made a mistake and he should be punished! Yet, Zhen (Imperial 'I') only let him kneel longer! Is Zhen wrong?!"
Gao Chenghai immediately knelt. "Your Majesty is not wrong! It is this slave who is wrong!" he cried, slapping his own mouth with both hands.
Mu Cangtian felt good for a moment. But suddenly, as if jolted by a reminder, he glanced nervously toward where Han Zhaofeng remained kneeling with his head bowed. Mu Cangtian couldn't see his expression—and dread crept along his spine.
Han Zhaofeng had been nothing but completely loyal since the day Mu Cangtian ascended the throne. The Head of ICEB had always been there, quietly offering help, advice, and protection. Never once had Han Zhaofeng talked back or argued.
Is he angry? Mu Cangtian thought. Maybe Zhen shouldn't have been mad at him. Zhen knows he's been trying hard.
Mu Cangtian felt his anger subside. He was about to order Han Zhaofeng to rise when his gaze locked with Jian Wushuan's.
A different kind of fear gripped him—deeper, more suffocating. He gulped.
Mu Cangtian abruptly stood. "Zhen is leaving."
Head Eunuch Gao immediately shouted, "Court's adjourned! His Majesty is leaving!"
The entire Court, still kneeling, cried out, "Respectfully sending off the Emperor!"
Jian Wushuan alone remained standing, silent.
He scoffed at Han Zhaofeng, who was still kneeling. "You must really like to kneel."
Flicking his sleeve with disdain, Jian Wushuan left.
One of the ministers cautiously approached Han Zhaofeng, bowed, and saluted. "Han Zhaofeng Shengzun, His Majesty has already left. Please, you may stand now."
There was no response.
The minister, feeling awkward, quickly retreated. One by one, the others also departed, until Han Zhaofeng was the only one left in the massive hall.
His fists were clenched tightly. Every muscle in his body was taut like a drawn bowstring. His closed eyes hid the storm raging within.
Han Zhaofeng desperately clung to reason—barely able to hold himself back.
------------------------------
The sun was high in the sky, scorching the earth. It was the height of summer, and the heat bore down relentlessly on the Human Realm.
But in the garden of Zixiao Palace, the air was cooler. A soft breeze passed gently through the trees, carrying with it the sweet, green scent of midsummer.
A young lady of sixteen sat at the edge of a clear fish pond, her bare feet dangling in the cool water. Her shoes were neatly placed beside her.
She leaned back beneath the generous shade of a flowering tree, its branches shielding her from the harsh sunlight. Her eyes were closed, face tilted slightly upward, as if savoring the wind's gentle touch.
Her skin was fair and unblemished, with the faintest dusting of makeup to enhance—rather than disguise—her features. Her thick, arched brows framed a smooth forehead and perfectly balanced face. A natural blush graced her cheeks, adding a soft warmth. Her lips, neither too full nor too thin, held the delicate hue of pink peaches.
She exuded the effortless beauty of youth—one that needed no adornment.
"Princess!" Her personal maid came running, panting as she approached.
Mu Qingran opened her eyes and turned toward her maid, Guo Lan.
"Stop running. This is Zixiao Palace," Mu Qingran scolded lightly.
Guo Lan ignored the reprimand and kept running until she reached the pond.
"Princess," she gasped, breathless, "the Court just adjourned. This slave heard that His Majesty punished Han Shengzun by making him kneel for the entire session."
Mu Qingran's other personal maid, Guo Hua, immediately brought Guo Lan a cup of water.
"What?!" Mu Qingran stood up in shock. Shengzun was punished? Kneeling?
She quickly grabbed her shoes and slipped them on, brushing down her beautiful red dress embroidered with golden threads. Without hesitation, she turned and left the garden.
"Princess," Guo Hua called, hurrying to follow. "Where are you going?"
"To see Han Shengzun!"
------------------------------
Han Zhaofeng was in his study at the ICEB headquarters. He sat cross-legged on a divan, his face cold and unreadable. After the disastrous morning Court session, he had returned seething with fury.
He wanted nothing more than to rip that smug smile from Jian Wushuan's face. His aura and spirit energy were unstable, pulsing erratically with his rage. A Saint could not afford to lose control over such forces—it would be catastrophic. And yet, Han Zhaofeng was dangerously close to that edge.
He clenched his fists tighter, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He was trying, desperately, to calm himself. But his limit was nearing fast.
Images of Jian Wushuan's face flashed through his mind. He could still hear that disdainful, mocking voice. Each word echoed like a blade, cutting deeper into his pride.
Instinctively, Han Zhaofeng knew this path was dangerous. It would lead him astray—down the darker cultivation path. He had warned his students and ICEB Enforcers of this countless times. How ironic that now, he stood at the edge of the same descent.
Han Zhaofeng was fighting himself. And he was losing.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Someone was knocking on his door, but it sounded far away.
"Shengzun. It's me, Mu Qingran. Are you inside?"
Han Zhaofeng heard a female voice—distant at first, but enough to break his concentration. His aura burst out uncontrollably—its color deepening, its edge turning darker. The change was subtle, but unmistakable. Something within him had begun to shift.
Outside, Mu Qingran felt the surge. She panicked. She began shouting and banging on the door frantically.
"Shengzun! Shengzun! Are you okay?! Let me in! Shengzun!"
Inside, the noise warped in Han Zhaofeng's ears—turning into accusations of incompetence, Mu Cangtian's furious shouting, Jian Wushuan's mocking laughter.
Outside, the ruckus had attracted attention from ICEB Enforcers. They approached and instantly felt Han Zhaofeng's aura. They knew something was not right.
Suddenly, the door burst open—a clawed hand with long, dark fingernails shot out from the room, aimed straight for Mu Qingran's neck.