Inside that conference room deep within the Tiandou Empire's imperial palace, the atmosphere was as heavy as an iron plate pressing down on the chest.
The windows were tightly shut, and the heavy curtains were half-drawn, cutting the afternoon sunlight that filtered in into a few narrow beams of light that fell diagonally onto the long table in the center of the conference room.
The tea in the cups on the table had already cooled completely, and no one reached out to touch them. A dull silence filled the air, carrying a sense of oppression and exhaustion.
Emperor Xue Zhou sat at the head of the long table with his hands clasped on the surface, his gaze falling upon the unfolded report on the table. He had been looking at it for a long time without turning a single word.
The cup in front of him still held half a cup of cold light green tea. A thin film of oil had coagulated on the surface of the tea, reflecting the dim, yellowish light from the ceiling.
Two people sat on either side of him.
The one on the left had a sturdy build and a resolute face. A head of grayish-white short hair was cropped extremely short, and the stubble on his jaw was also grayish-white. His gaze was like two pieces of polished rock, calm and heavy.
His name was Qin Yue, a ninety-second-level Title Douluo with the Dark Iron Heavy Sword martial soul, and he was one hundred and thirteen years old this year.
The one on the right had a lean build and a peaceful face, wearing a dark gray robe. His fingers were slender and steady, and his eyes carried the detachment accumulated from years of gathering his vital breath and calming his mind.
His