Northern Zhou, Chang'an, True Martial Hall.
Wang Tianbing, a palace attendant, carried a booklet carefully across the threshold. At once, a crushing pressure settled over him and seeped into his heart, making him shiver involuntarily.
The magnificent hall was thick with sinister gloom.
He gave a muffled grunt and circulated the Pure Yang True Qi within him, barely managing to withstand it.
Of everyone in the Imperial Palace, I'm probably the only one who can still set foot in True Martial Hall...
With that thought, he raised his head slightly and looked ahead.
Golden pillars held up the vaulted roof; jade steps divided civil officials from military officers.
But Wang Tianbing knew perfectly well that those seated on either side were no ministers or generals. They were thirty or forty Daoists and Monks.
He still remembered how, only days ago, these Outsiders had debated doctrine in this very hall with great enthusiasm, arguing until their faces turned red over when a line of scripture had first appeared and what exactly it meant.
A few seated nearest the front had even displayed Divine Abilities, astonishing many onlookers. Having grown up in the palace, Wang Tianbing knew such powers existed.
But he also knew that the Imperial Palace was guarded by the weight of the Dynasty's Fortune. Ordinary cultivators who came here were suppressed until they were little different from common folk, able at most to show stronger bodies and quicker feet.
Anyone who could still wield Divine Abilities here was invariably someone not to be trifled with. They might look no older than thirty or forty, but ask around and you would find they had once chatted and laughed with your great-grandfather.
What was more, those now held here had reputations throughout the Zhou Kingdom, even across the Central Plains. Not