"Great undertakings are fraught with hardship!" Prince Qi looked up at the sky. Heavy leaden clouds blanketed it, and the rain was cold and clammy.
A murky, stagnant feeling weighed upon his heart, heavy as a millstone.
"At the Son of Heaven's feet, in the foremost land under Heaven, yet the prohibition cannot be enforced!"
His mind swam for a moment, and Prince Qi frowned deeply.
"What happened?"
When he looked again, the night sky was pitch-black. Only that omnipresent oppression remained, growing heavier and making his heart race with unease.
The ancients placed the greatest importance on omens, and Prince Qi was no exception.
"Could this be inauspicious?"
"But even if it is ill-omened, having come this far, I can only advance, never retreat!"
Xie Zhenqing hurried over, yet he saw everything with perfect clarity.
The sky seemed covered by a tangible net of light. A yellow dragon-shaped Cloud Aura blanketed the Imperial City, especially around the forbidden palace, shaped like an inverted bowl as it continuously pressed down and tightened, its force exceptionally fierce.
"Tonight was meant to be catching a turtle in a jar!"
Yet beneath that net, there was another Cloud Aura—a little flood dragon twisting and winding about. Its appearance was wretched: its scales and armor were shattered, its flesh torn and curled back, one of its newly formed horns broken, its claws bent backward.
Though miserable, the little flood dragon radiated an intense red light, crimson as fresh blood. It counterattacked with all its might, and faint, piercing howls drifted over in waves—like a tiger's roar, like a dragon's chant, and like the clang of blades and iron striking together.
"In the end, Prince Qi bore all the backlash."
Xie Zhenqing remained silent.
This was... one of the prices Prince Qi had paid for