In the span of a single day and night, the "Orange Palace" on the river islet had gone from one of the four most prestigious social venues in East Eighty-Two District, frequented by a steady stream of high society, to utterly deserted. The "Black Sun Blood Sacrifice," originally meant to continue for another three days, had fizzled out. Even if it went on, who would attend?
At this moment, prominent figures from all walks of life in East 824 District were doing everything they could to escape.
At dusk, six nuclear bombs detonated overhead in succession. Though none had exploded near the ground, their shockwaves and light radiation had merely set a few buildings ablaze and shattered every window in the city; the casualty count was completely disproportionate to what theory suggested it should have been. But anyone with even a little common sense knew that the ensuing radioactive fallout would also be a problem. More importantly, no one believed this round of nuclear strikes by the Reclamation Corps was the end of their measures.
Could the gray clouds in the sky shield them for a while? Could they shield them forever?
Even if some people had entertained subtle thoughts, it was not for them to put their lives and fortunes on the line to act on them.
As for the citywide broadcast made by the so-called "descendant of Grand Executive Officer Tao Yang," it was even less worth mentioning. In many people's eyes, it had only added fuel to the fire. Who knew how many wanted to strangle that young officer, whose ambition had clouded his mind, with their bare hands?
No matter what, the "Orange Palace" had fallen completely silent. Its former residents and temporary guests would never return, while its former master was already dead. The river