Southern Capital, Imperial Palace.
Night had already fallen, yet the place remained bustling, Li radiance blazing and golden blessing gleaming. The Imperial House was hosting a grand banquet for the various Daos to celebrate the imminent conclusion of the Northern Campaign and peace throughout the realm. Now, sweeping the Liao Territory clean was merely a matter of time.
The central Main Hall.
This was the main venue, where the representatives of the various Immortal Daos gathered. One could roughly discern which powers would become embroiled in the coming war. Most conspicuous were naturally the two True Persons, Wanjin and Fu Yun, each representing an Immortal Sect.
Tian sat high above them, like a sculpted god, his vermilion eyes deep and still. No one knew what he was pondering as he looked through layer upon layer of crimson Li radiance at the assembled ministers feasting below.
Was there even one person here who sincerely acknowledged him as their sovereign?
The thought itself amused him. He had never truly regarded these people as his own ministers, either.
The supposed harmony between sovereign and ministers, their joint endeavor to pacify the realm, was nothing more than an utterly ludicrous play. Even the entire Li Kingdom was merely firewood Song Lang had prepared for his pursuit of the Dao.
For a moment, he seemed to see raging flames sweep through the hall, reducing everyone seated there to dry bones.
The Song Clan...
He silently turned over this identity that had been forcibly imposed upon him. In terms of bloodline, he actually had no connection whatsoever to that clan. Examined closely, his origins more closely resembled those of spiritual cultivators and spirit creatures.
The Song Clan, Nanxian, thought they could tread upon me...
The emperor turned his gaze toward the ceiling of the Main Hall