Feng Ming sat alone in his room, the candlelight flickering against the cold stone walls. He had sent Chen Da away hours ago, unable to tolerate another word of hollow reassurance. Silence wrapped around him like a shroud, but it brought no peace only the echo of grim thoughts that clawed at his mind.
"My position is terrible," he mused bitterly, his gaze distant.
"This is worse than I imagined. I've been outmaneuvered, every move countered, every path sealed. I am utterly handicapped, as though the chessboard was rigged before the game even began."
"Grandfather, it seems you've truly made up your mind to kill me."
Meanwhile, within the depths of a distant hall, Feng Shui sat cross-legged in his meditation chamber, the stillness around him profound. His breathing was calm, barely perceptible, until the sound of footsteps broke the silence. A guard stepped into the chamber and bowed low, his voice solemn.
"Master Feng Shui," he said, "I bring word from the negotiation table. The patriarch of the Wang Clan has presented his conditions."
Feng Shui slowly opened his eyes. A gleam flickered within them ancient, calculating. He turned his gaze to the guard, voice calm yet tinged with steel.
"What are his demands?"
The guard kept his head bowed. "He asks for two of our provinces."
Feng Shui's expression didn't change. After a long pause, he replied softly, "Acceptable. And what did the old man say about my grandson?"
"Master, the Wang Patriarch appeared quite surprised," the guard said respectfully. "He congratulated you on such a bountiful harvest."
At that, Feng Shui chuckled. A low, cold laugh that echoed in the chamber.
"Indeed," he said. "A reincarnated foundation—one blessed with the remnants of another life—will be a powerful cornerstone for my path to the Quasi-Emperor Realm. But we must tread carefully. Who is he sending to the border?"
The guard replied without hesitation. "Wang Yu, Master."
Far to the north, within the ancestral grounds of the Wang Clan, a young man sat in silent meditation. His aura was calm, sharp, and unyielding like the edge of a blade sheathed in silk. As he cultivated in solitude, the quiet was broken by the presence of a messenger who stepped inside and offered a deep bow.
"Young Master," the messenger said, "I bring new orders from the Patriarch."
The young man opened his eyes slowly, revealing pupils as still as a frozen lake. His voice was soft but firm.
"Who is the target?"
The messenger straightened slightly. "Feng Ming, of the ancient Feng Clan."
A spark flickered in Wang Yu's eyes.