Later that day, within the Chaos Sect, Chen Li entered the Patriarch's Hall clad in ceremonial robes.
"Father," she said, bowing deeply. "I've returned."
At the center of the vast hall, the Patriarch sat calmly at a low table. Across from him, one of Chenli's younger half-brothers reclined on a jade cushion, a tea cup resting beside him as the two played a game of chess.
To Chenli's eyes, it appeared no different from an ordinary match. Yet her instincts screamed otherwise.
Each time a piece was placed on the board, invisible waves of comprehension rippled outward—concepts so profound they brushed the edge of her perception before vanishing. Strategy layered atop destiny, calculation woven into causality itself. It was a depth she could feel… yet not grasp.
If it were anyone else, she would have bristled at the sensation of inferiority.
But this was her half-brother, Mo Tianluo.
