In the grand audience chamber of the City Lord's estate, Wu Shan sat atop his throne, the air around him heavy with the scent of burning sandalwood and the weight of sudden political upheaval. Before him, an elder spoke in a low, urgent tone, recounting the blood-soaked details of the previous night.
Wu Shan's brows furrowed, a deep, rhythmic tapping of his finger against the jade armrest being the only sign of his irritation.
"That old bastard Peng Kai," Wu Shan muttered, his voice echoing in the vast hall. "Not only did he grate on my nerves for years, but he chose to flee into the dark paths, leaving me to sweep up the ashes of his incompetence."
He took a slow, grounding breath, smoothing his features back into the stoic mask required of his station. He turned his gaze toward the Head Elder, Wu Qiang. "What is your counsel, Head Elder? The scales of the city have tipped overnight."
