Prince Ning's Residence.
Four broad-shouldered, thick-waisted strongmen carried Prince Ning, Zhao Liang, through a steam-filled passage into a Bright Hall and set him down. He sat cross-legged on the Openwork Four-Clawed Flood Dragon Throne, wrapped in a bright yellow embroidered blanket, heat rising from his entire body.
The moment the openwork throne touched the floor, a flock of pretty maids who had been waiting for some time hurried forward. They pulled out the drawer beneath it and, in an unbroken stream, brought over basins of steaming, dark brown medicinal liquid fragrant with herbs and poured them inside.
Zhao Liang slowly exhaled a breath of foul air. A hazy stream of azure qi rose from his dantian, its color a lush green, its vitality vigorous and enduring, brimming with life like fresh shoots sprouting from pines and cypresses.
Like an invisible barrier, this azure qi trapped the medicinal vapors rising beneath the throne, shifting ceaselessly around Zhao Liang...
Zheng Shiquan entered the Bright Hall on quiet feet. Seeing the dim azure light shifting within the mist, he waved the pretty maids away and withdrew to one side, standing with his hands lowered.
Only after a long while did a jet of foul breath several feet long shoot out of the mist, reeking sharply.
"Is it done?"
Zhao Liang's calm voice sounded from within the mist.
Zheng Shiquan bowed with his hands clasped. "Your Highness, the White Lotus Cult's men are already on their way. Leading them is Wang Lin, their bandit chief in Jiaodong. They will mingle with the Japanese pirates landing at Zhoushan on Grain Rain. Once that villain Yang Erlang shows himself, they will remove this thorn in Your Highness's heart. Once the deed is done, the territory north of Xuzhou and Yancheng will become Wang Lin's preaching grounds..."