Xin'an City, Zhuang Royal Palace.
Footsteps tapped on the floor tiles with a consistent rhythm.
It revealed the extraordinary determination and will of the footsteps' owner.
Lin Zhengren approached from the distant palace gate, and as he drew near, he bowed respectfully, "Greetings to the Prime Minister."
Du Ruhui, his black hair pinned up in a Daoist bun, nodded slightly, simply saying, "His Majesty is inside."
Neither distant nor close.
From the corner of his eye, Lin Zhengren noticed the tall and thin Fu Baosong standing to the side, probably having been talking to Du Ruhui before, standing perfectly erect.
"As solitary and upright as the green pines," was how the principal of Wangjiang City's Daoist Academy had described him.
Lin Zhengren felt somewhat uncomfortable.
