The Immortal Lords seated in every direction finally deigned to lift their eyelids and study the Dragon Girl upon the dragon throne at the summit.
Bai considered it with narrowed eyes.
She reached out and summoned a wisp of Snow White Cloud Mist. The mist transformed into a nimble little dragon a foot long, which wound around her arm, slithered to her back, and circled playfully. With a lift of her hand, the cloud dragon flew back above her palm and dispersed into mist once more.
If she agreed to abide by the old rules, there would be fewer powerful enemies, and ascending to that position would be easier.
And the result? She would become a decorative ornament in plain sight. Everyone would share the benefits, while she alone carried the blame. She would have to stabilize every faction through compromise after compromise, occasionally endure mortals berating the mulberry while cursing the locust, and still display lofty virtue by refusing to take offense. She would repeat the old path walked by generations before her, and everyone would sit peacefully at one table, politely yielding the seat of honor to her—until her fortune ran dry and the deck was reshuffled. The very thought left Bai stifled. She would rather flip the table, smash the chairs, burn down the entire hall with a breath of dragon flame, reveal her true form, and stomp the restaurant into a heavenly pit.
She sat with one leg crossed and thought for a while.
She was speechless at the sheer thickness of certain Immortal Lords' skin. Back then, they had devised no shortage of schemes to harm Bai Moulong, even resorting to the most effective and most sinister weapon against female immortals—marriage ties. Just because they had failed did not mean it had never happened, did