Shang Zheng, dressed in a gray robe, took a deep breath, suppressed the panic in his heart, and step by step entered the somber, ink-black palace.
He was born into a collateral lineage of the Shang Clan, oppressed by others, and had ended up in this godforsaken place, where he could be facing life and death at any moment.
The palace was deathly silent.
There were no servants, no maidens; the wind blew, causing the curtains to flutter eerily in all directions, intensifying the dread in one's heart as if walking among ghosts and shades.
It was not until he reached the heart of the palace,
high above on the Black Crow Throne, that he saw a young man in blue, with a longsword at his waist, sitting upright, his gaze serene.
"Greetings, Immortal Tushan!"
Shang Zheng dared not look more than he must, fighting to restrain the trembling of his body, as he made a deep bow in salute.
The person before him,
