Sima Ao stood frozen beside his nine-dragon jade carriage as Lord Wen Zhengming’s voice echoed off the vermilion pillars of the South Heaven Imperial Gate.
Inside the carriage’s lower floor compartment, five million Pure Immortal Jade in stolen Northern Frost famine funds hummed with a faint, guilty spiritual glow that even the frost-stone floorboards couldn’t quite hide.
For two breaths, nobody on the cloud-stone pier dared to cough.
Then Sima Ao’s powdered cheeks flushed an ugly, mottled purple. He lunged toward his carriage door to block the view of the floor compartment, his silk sleeves whipping through the cold air.
“Shut your mouth, you senile old dog!” Sima Ao shouted, his voice pitching into a shrill rasp. “Whatever Jade is in my carriage belongs to my Sima House’s private tea allowance! What proof do you have that it came from the Northern Frost?!”
“Every brick of Imperial Relief Jade is stamped with the Northern Granary’s winter-lotus rune,” Lord Wen replied coldly, holding the blood-stained impeachment scroll steady in the wind. “Open your carriage floor right now in front of these hundred northern porters, Young Master Sima, and let everyone read the stamps!”
Sima Ao’s fingers twitched on his sword hilt. He knew perfectly well he hadn’t had time to melt down those five million Jade bricks yet.
