Had it been the old Song Qingyue, he would almost certainly have cursed Ao Shuyi outright—You old immortal, saying you don't have much time for me? After living all these years, haven't you already squandered your life away? Year after year, millennium after millennium, lying around like a corpse in the Dragon Palace, good for absolutely nothing! And now, before this young master, you put on airs about cherishing time?
Or even if he had not cursed him to his face, the Dragon Palace attendant before him, strutting on his master's authority, would not have escaped a beating. What kind of thing dared lord it over him?
But now was not the past, and Song Qingyue was no longer that young member of the aquatic race who could hide behind a towering figure.
His gentle aunt was gone, as was his imposing father.
He had to shoulder the responsibilities of Qing River Water Mansion, even though its authority had been stripped away time and again.
He, too, had once been that childish. He had thought the world was no bigger than Zhuang Kingdom. Could the vast Qing River truly pale beside the Long River?
He, too, had once brimmed with ambition, wanting to step out from beneath his father's protection and try his hand at laying plans and placing pieces.
And only these past few years had finally shown him how this world truly worked.
Only then had he understood that being able to place pieces upon this little patch of ground was itself his father's protection.
The Son of Heaven of Zhuang had taken away his right to play chess, casually set him upon the board—what could he do?
In schemes and stratagems, he was little more than a child before Du Ruhui.
In strength, the Zhuang Kingdom of