Outside the hall on the plaza, golden streams flowed down from the cauldron, forming piles of large and small ironwood boxes, each sealed with the Court's lacquer, gradually stacking up like a small mountain.
Chen Yuan casually gestured, and a box, about a zhang in size, flew up from the plaza, soaring directly into the hall before landing with a thud in the middle, emitting a dull sound.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, the seal on the box was torn open, and the lid was lifted, revealing what was inside.
Inside was a glint of cold light, a set of standard long swords sheathed, standing upright on a wood rack with holes, ten in each column, totaling two hundred across all rows and columns.
Chen Yuan casually drew one, the snow-white blade unsheathing with a metallic scrape, held horizontally before his eyes, he flicked it with another finger, the blade ringing in response.
Not bad, no breakage.
