The towering, imposing gates of the marquis's estate, were entirely dark red, studded with bronze nails—seven across and seven down, forty-nine in all—the proper design for a marquis. Though they had weathered three hundred years, they showed not the slightest fading.
Above hung a plaque personally bestowed by the founding emperor: "Marquis Zhen Dong's Estate." Seven armored soldiers stood attentively on each side of the gates, halberds in hand; its nobility was beyond words.
A Black Robed Old Man presented a calling card, and before long, someone led him inside.
This man was none other than "Brother Qiu," who had made a move during the battle at Fierce Tiger Mountain Stronghold. The moment he had seen the situation turn unfavorable, he had fled for his life. Only after confirming his safety in recent days had he returned to the marquis's estate.
The Black Robed Old Man followed the steward through countless twists and turns. Black-armored soldiers guarded the route throughout; even squad leaders were at least in the Inner Qi Realm, while the ordinary soldiers were formidable as well, their body tempering already at a respectable level.
Before long, he arrived at a more secluded place with even tighter security and walked in on his own.
There were already people inside.
The moment he entered, his attention was drawn to a middle-aged man with the stride of a dragon and tiger, the gaze of a wolf and eagle. More than forty years old, he wore only a simple brocade robe, yet possessed an invisible magnetism that made others unconsciously listen to his words and instinctively obey.
Qiu Di's eyes shifted slightly.
A master physiognomist in the cult had calculated that the Marquis Zhen Dong before him possessed "dragon qi." Inheriting the foundations of his ancestors, he was someone who could