Great Wu Dynasty, Royal Capital.
Flames Burn the Heavens, and thick smoke blotted out the sun. The royal palace, once a symbol of supreme authority and prosperity, had now become a scorched wasteland of broken walls and ruins. Black Destructive Lightning lashed mercilessly across the capital like whips of heavenly punishment, crushing its former glory and order alike. Cries, collapsing buildings, and the crackling of flames intertwined into a mournful dirge for a dynasty at its end.
Yet amid this hellish scene, the royal mausoleum deep within the palace maintained an eerie silence. An invisible barrier seemed to have isolated it from the chaos and despair outside. Only the scorched stench lingering in the air reminded one that this was no paradise.
Before a newly erected yet already lonely cenotaph within the mausoleum stood a figure in red, motionless as a statue.
Wu Yao.
With delicate brows, pearly teeth, and skin fairer than snow, her peerlessly beautiful face seemed even more bewitchingly stunning beneath the flickering firelight.
Her red robes did not signify celebration. They were the color of blood and fire, symbols of vengeance and resolve. Her phoenix eyes were as deep and still as cold pools, without the faintest ripple, as though even the sight of the heavens burning and the seas boiling could not disturb her heart in the slightest.
Only when her gaze occasionally swept across the cold tombstone before her would a faint yet unforgettable grief and mockery flicker through the depths of those bottomless pools.
A cenotaph.
Yes, merely a cenotaph. Buried within were only several old garments Empress Mother had often worn in life, along with a few ordinary pieces of jewelry.
Her Empress Mother, that gentle woman who had ultimately splattered the altar with her blood, was now living peacefully in the