The venerable throne, reborn from the barbaric battlefield, stood as a monument to newfound power.

A bitter smile touched Lin Chen’s lips, a sigh escaping him as he overheard the recent exchange. “By tomorrow evening, it will reach its zenith.” Though lacking the gift of foresight, Arno, calculating from the fissures in the rock, had discerned the approximate timing. With Shangguan Mingnan and Yulu’s assurances, worry had vanished; she needed only to attend to her own matters.

The air held a temperate embrace, neither biting nor warm, yet Li Chengqian felt an urge to cleanse his face before proceeding. After their meal, Ji Liunian returned to the kitchen, resuming her work on the mung bean cakes, with Sheng Shi observing her from behind.

Compared to the refined and meticulous cuisine of Chang’an, the local fare possessed a distinct regional character. Flatbreads, roasted chicken, grilled meats, and an array of other simple dishes offered a comforting familiarity, a welcome change from the city’s intricate gastronomy.

Following Madam Xu and Chen Diaoyan’s second successful assault on Zhangzhou, Marshal Wanzhedu Gaoxing led his army into Min. With the overwhelming pressure of his forces, he compelled the righteous army of Huang Hua to submit to the Yuan dynasty. Huang Hua was then appointed as a subordinate commander for the expedition against the barbarians, holding the same rank as Wanzhedu Gaoxing.

Shangguan Yu’s patience seemed to have evaporated entirely. With a sharp “pa,” his palm struck the table, and he rose in anger, his gaze sweeping across the assembly. The assembled cultivators, cowed by his fury, fell silent, their eyes narrowed in defiant stares.

For a man of such arrogance, the sensation of his body not being his own was the most detested feeling. Yet, in her presence, he willingly surrendered to it, finding an unexpected pleasure.

They watched, mesmerized, as Murong Yinzhu held the phoenix crown, her gaze fixed upon it for an eternity. As long as she remained still, they dared not move.

Despite his profound embarrassment, Yi Wuchen, prioritizing Mo Zihan’s safety, steeled himself and posed the question.

Rong Qian understood their temperaments with unparalleled clarity – a façade of propriety masking deeper intentions. Yet, a jest, however light, could do no great harm.

Emerging from Anqi Palace, they encountered Shen Heiyi returning with medicine. To maintain the secrecy of their actions, they had avoided using any medicinal materials from within the imperial palace. The remedies used for Rong Yan in the preceding days had all been procured from Shen Heiyi’s own medical hall.

“No,” Murong Hongyan’s vermilion lips parted, uttering only this single word. Her eyes and face dropped, unable to meet Zhong Ronghua Zui’s gaze.

He sat quietly by the sickroom door, his fingers clenched into tight fists, his lips pressed into a grim line.

The forbidden army, hearing Wei Rouru’s frantic cries about the former saint lord’s disappearance, felt a flicker of unease, yet they dutifully commenced their search.

Descending several thousand meters, they had reached a depth where encountering a magma layer was not unusual. What was unsettling were the few corpses they found. Though their skin was shriveled and dry, even from a distance, it was clear that flesh still adhered to their forms.

The implications of this discovery were vast, involving forces so formidable that the Military Council dared not even consider approaching them.

“Qianqian now mentions our son in every third sentence. Once he’s born, she’ll only want him and forget about me,” Xuanyuan Tianyue’s brow furrowed with concern.

Had the battle not been so perilous, with even a whisper of its aftershocks capable of extinguishing them multiple times over, they would have undoubtedly charged forth.

As his words faded, the atmosphere ignited. Xu Hua nodded to Lin Yu and the others, then ascended the stage without delay.

He, too, yearned for what other clansmen possessed: a mother’s devoted love and a father’s protective guidance.