The majestic, clear voice of the Li State Emperor was like a blazing sun shining on snow, melting the frost atop Wei Qingpeng's bald head, smoothing the veins on his brow, and wiping away the beadlike sweat.
Wei Qingpeng let out a breath. Today, ten thousand mountains had finally been lifted from his shoulders!
He slowly unclenched his five fingers, and the towering sight before him gradually faded. The endless mountain range returned to a single horizontal sweep of that sword. Jiang Wang, standing alone in green robes, still wore that brilliant smile, still held his sword across before him.
The great banner of Li State still snapped in the wind, which carried the scent of earth mingled with fresh grass. The warhorses were silent, and the cavalry ranks solemn.
Wei Qingpeng turned over the large hand that had tried to seize the sword, shifted sideways, and made a welcoming gesture. "True Lord Jiang is no ordinary man. His Majesty permits you to attend court armed."
"So be it." Jiang Wang smiled. "The sons and daughters of the grasslands are bold and heroic, accustomed to wielding blades and spears. During my time in Mu Kingdom, I truly never encountered any tradition of surrendering one's sword. After all, beneath the divine radiance, the grasslands are not snowfields; it would not do to make True Lord Wei seem to have special rules."
He sheathed that horizon-cleaving horizontal stroke once more at his waist.
Wei Qingpeng maintained his welcoming gesture without a word.
At last, he deeply understood that the thousands of years he had spent asleep had all become the young True Lord's staircase—and he had missed every step.
Back then, gravely wounded beyond recovery, he had feigned death and hidden away, seeking treatment from time itself. Time had indeed killed his