Artis and Chen marched into the palace like two idiots who'd just realized they were the butt of the joke.
The meeting hall was packed with the A-team of judgment: the Patriarch, Matriarch, the Young Lady, Young Master Jin, and the walking embodiment of cholesterol, Grand Elder Pliney.
The atmosphere was thicker than Pliney's thighs after an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Chen, proving he was the undisputed king of spineless moves, immediately bowed so low he could've licked the floor, then scuttled over to Jin like a whipped dog.
He left Artis standing alone, center stage, like a dumbass who'd accidentally signed up for a comedy roast but forgot his jokes.
'Stupid fucker!'
Artis thought, trying not to glare at Chen's retreating back.
'I'll fuck your wife so hard she'll start calling me young master, just wait.'
