The grand inner courtyard between the Registration Hall and the Central Tiered hall was paved with polished white quartz that shone like fresh snow.
Standing upon this clean expanse were nearly two hundred young fighters draped in the most expensive fabrics the Jiuzhou Continent could produce.
There were robes of sky dragon-brocade woven with molten gold thread, tunics spun from the cocoons of moonlight silkworms, and cloaks fastened with brooch-clasps carved from fire jade.
Every heir held a jade-handled sword, an old family scrying fan, or an antique zither draped in perfumed velvet.
And directly in front of the tiered arena steps, blocking the main thoroughfare, stood the triumvirate of northern nobility: Young Master Zhang Wuheng, Lady Luo Qingxuan, and Crown Prince Jiang Chen.
Around them, four dozen senior students from the great royal academies formed a half-round wall of stitched silk, their eyes burning with high-born fury.
“Halt,” Zhang Wuheng commanded, stepping forward.
His chest was wrapped in three layers of healing spirit-gauze beneath his violet dragon tunic. His face remained pale, his breath slightly ragged. But the pride of the Zhang Sage Clan burned in his eyes.
