The white jade plaza before the Pope's Palace had lost its usual sanctity and splendor today.
The sky was a murky lead gray, with clouds hanging low like a heavy piece of water-soaked velvet, ready to pour down at any moment.
There was no wind. The air was as stagnant as gelatin, and every breath required deliberate effort. What entered their lungs was not oxygen, but some viscous oppression tinged with the smell of rust.
Scattered spectators sat in the stands, but there was none of the usual roaring fervor of the Soul Master Competition.
People whispered among themselves, their gazes shifting uneasily. From time to time, they glanced toward the noble purple figure atop the high platform, then quickly lowered their heads, afraid that looking too long might invite disaster.
Whenever a child tried to cry, their parents immediately clamped a hand over their mouth and looked around in terror.
It was a strange silence, the eerie calm of the sea before a storm. Even the birds had kept far away from this area.
Shrek Academy's resting area was on the western side of the plaza. It was relatively secluded, but offered an open view.
Han Yuchen sat on a hard wooden bench, leaning back slightly, his right leg casually resting over his left knee in a lazy yet guarded posture.
Today, he wore a simple dark-blue fitted outfit without any markings, yet the fabric faintly gleamed with a star-like luster beneath the dim daylight.
He held an orange in his hand.
Its peel was a bright orange-red, especially glaring against the gray backdrop.
His fingers were long and steady, his nails neatly trimmed. With almost artistic patience, he was peeling away the white strands between the rind and the flesh bit by bit.
As he moved, the