"Helian Mountain, you can either come down here yourself,"
"or I can bring you down here myself."
Inside the hall, as soon as Chen Yuan's words fell, a gust of wind arose without warning. The faces of those on either side tightened as if water was blown upon them, pressed firmly into their chairs by an invisible force, faces changing rapidly in alarm.
The tea cup on the side table trembled and then shattered with a crack, pieces of blue-and-white porcelain mixed with tea splattering forth, yet remaining suspended in the air without falling.
On the main seat, Helian Mountain, the State Preceptor who had been serving Daqian with dedication for three reigns, his face turned grim. His hand gripped the armrest adorned with carved figures tighter, eyes flickering with uncertainty,
"Chen Yuan, if you wish to take this seat, the old me will gladly let you have it."
