The wind howling around the golden dragon prow whipped Sima Kuang’s python-embroidered robes against his legs.
He looked down at Lin Mo standing casually on the central terrace, a cold, mocking smirk pulling at the corners of his thin lips. Beside Sima Kuang stood Vice-Envoy Zhou, a nervous junior official clutching three leather-bound tax ledgers stamped with the imperial seal.
“Look at this pathetic ant heap, Zhou,” Sima Kuang sneered, tapping his jade scepter against the polished dragon-gold railing. “These lower-realm bumpkins think that because they conquered five frontier sects, they can play sovereign lords. They forget who owns the sky above their heads.”
“Indeed, Envoy Sima,” Vice-Envoy Zhou replied softly, adjusting his silk cap. “The Nine Prefectures have always existed merely as an agricultural tribute basin for the Central Heavenly Capital.”
Sima Kuang turned his cold gaze back down toward Lin Mo.
“Credentials?” Sima Kuang’s voice rasped across the sky, dripping with venomous aristocratic arrogance. “A lower-realm ant dares ask an Imperial Tax Envoy for credentials? The decree of the Immortal Throne is the only credential that exists in the three realms!”
Behind Sima Kuang, one hundred Imperial Tax Guards took a synchronized step forward onto the golden deck.
