In the tranquil old courtyard, the man seated in the main hall wore a faintly amused expression as he pondered the title of "Emperor."
He wore a casual, dark training robe. Of average build, he was neither particularly tall nor burly, yet he carried a grave, commanding presence without needing to show anger.
When he finished speaking, the man abruptly raised his lowered gaze. His dark eyes flickered coldly before settling once more on the stone box beside him.
"After sleeping for some years, I woke to find that my unfilial descendants had not only squandered the family estate, but that vast China had been gnawed at for years by a pack of pale-skinned mad dogs and contemptible Japanese! And now, they even dare come knocking at my door!"
Bang!
The man slammed his right hand onto the table. The stone box exploded, and a string of metal rings flashing with dazzling blue electricity rose into the air. Spinning rapidly, they slipped over the man's arms.
Complex, intricate patterns were carved into the dark gold rings. They shifted freely in size, five fitting perfectly over each arm from wrist to elbow.
The hazy radiance of the Ten Rings flickered, casting uncertain shadows across the man's face. His earlier air of an amiable ordinary citizen vanished completely, replaced by ruthless resolve and overwhelming dominance in every word.
"My lord!"
The man wearing a Peking opera painted-face mask lowered his head even farther, nearly touching the boots planted on the ground, and said in a deep voice:
"Qinglin will lead the fierce warriors of the Ten Rings and smother these Americans at the foot of the mountain!"
"No need."
The man with the Ten Rings around his arms slowly rose to his feet and walked, hands clasped behind his back, toward the