Feng Liang sat upon the grand throne, his form youthful, yet his presence commanded the room with the gravity of millennia.
Before him, Bu Zheng, the esteemed Martial Sage, remained bowed, while the elders... once powerful figures... still knelt, their eyes wide in awe and confusion.
The air was thick with silence, the kind that presses against the chest, demanding reverence. Yet, for Feng Liang, this was just another reminder of the weight he carried, a responsibility that fate seemed determined to never let him escape.
He sighed, the sound soft but laden with centuries of weariness. He had sought peace, a quiet life, but here he was again, on the throne, watching as the world bent to his will.
Just then, the hall began to echo with a distant sound... a soft, rhythmic pounding. At first, it seemed to come from nowhere, but then it grew louder, more distinct.
