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Before long.
Chen Hong lowered his eyes slightly and bowed. "Your Excellencies, the competition has concluded. I shall take my leave."
His departure was entirely reasonable.
The small figure on the stage who had drawn cheers from the entire crowd had already slipped away.
Today... was the seventh day of mourning for the tragedy at the Chen Residence-the seventh-night rite!
Prince Xue Jiqing lifted his fingertips from the patch of distorted space he had been pressing against on the armrest.
That miniature black region instantly sealed itself, and the light returned to normal. Only a few faint new cracks remained in the hardwood.
His expression was as gentle as ever. "My condolences. Tinggang, go with him. Convey a token of sympathy on my behalf, and on behalf of the court."
The cuffs of Xiao Yicai's Daoist robe fell, his aura settling into seamless stillness. The star-like motes of crystalline dust scattered across the table had vanished without anyone noticing. "Go with him."
Those three unremarkable words nevertheless represented the position and attitude of a premier sect.
Just as Chen Hong was about to turn away.
A figure who had been as motionless as bedrock slowly rose.
The Ghost King lifted his gray-white eyelids slightly. His eyes reflected no light, only emptiness. "This time... you dealt Youguang Zhou a grievous blow, one that will take him years to recover from."
He paused. "The Infinite Hall... owes the Chen Clan for this."
The final hammer fell.
There were no pleasantries, no embellishments.
That single declaration, "owes the Chen Clan," instantly transformed the almost humiliating defeat in the arena that day into a deeper, more veiled connection between two premier powers.
Everyone present understood the weight of that