Lin Mo walked to the window and looked out at the gray, overcast sky.
The clouds hung low, like an enormous slab of lead pressing down over the Imperial City.
Faint thunder rumbled in the distance, dull and heavy, as if someone were beating drums above the clouds.
Suddenly, his spiritual power jolted violently.
Zhao Heng's life force vanished completely in that instant.
Lin Mo closed his eyes and followed that thread of spiritual power toward the imperial palace.
On the imperial bed, Zhao Heng lay still, his face ashen, his lips purple, and his eyes tightly shut.
The imperial physician knelt beside the bed, fingers pressed to Zhao Heng's pulse. His entire body shook, and his face was deathly pale.
"His Majesty... has passed away..." The imperial physician's voice was hoarse and choked with tears.
Several palace attendants dropped to their knees with thuds, and cries immediately filled the room.
At the same time, deep within the Imperial City's earth veins.
Something was keening in grief.
The sound was low—so low it was nearly inaudible—yet it carried an indescribable sorrow.
Like a wounded colossal beast letting out its final groan in the darkness.
Lin Mo sent his spiritual power downward along that mournful cry, passing through earth, stone, and underground water channels until he reached a place deep beneath the Imperial City.
There, a mass of Dark Gold light was rapidly fading.
The light took the shape of a dragon coiled within the earth veins. Its entire body was Dark Gold, its scales intricate, its whiskers and mane vividly defined.
But now, its body was breaking apart.
The dragon phantom opened its mouth and released a deep, mournful cry.
Then its body turned into countless Dark Gold motes of light and dispersed into the earth veins.
The motes danced