The grand hall of the Zheng Clan was thick with an oppressive, suffocating silence. In the center sat Patriarch Zheng Chang, his face flushed purple with unbridled fury, his breath coming in ragged, trembling gasps. Bloodshot eyes glared down at the kneeling attendants and solemn elders lined along the carved stone pillars.
"Why is he still alive?! WHY THAT BASTARD FENG CHU IS ALIVE?" Zheng Chang's roar tore through the chamber, rattling the heavy brass censers. He violently slammed his fist down, and under the sheer weight of his erupting internal energy. The ornate hardwood armrest shattered, instantly ground into fine dust that crumbled around his trembling knees.
"My son! My flesh and blood! The direct heir of our Zheng Clan was butchered like a dog in broad daylight on that tournament stage! And that little bastard Feng Chu breathing freely while my boy lay cold in the ancestral tomb?!"
