Young Master Zhang Wuheng could endure being called an arrogant tyrant.
He could endure being called a ruthless royal conqueror.
He could even endure the sight of his golden flagship listing in the harbor docks.
What the peerless heir of the Zhang Sage Clan couldn’t endure was a town carpenter with sawdust in his hair claiming that his old family Nine-String Phoenix Jade Zither was out of tune.
Zhang Wuheng stepped out onto the marble staging area, his brocade robes rustling with agitated energy.
In his arms, he clutched the white jade instrument against his chest like an infant, his violet eyes flashing with indignant lightning.
“Lu Zhen!” Zhang Wuheng bellowed, his voice echoing across the canyon. “You dare speak of phase posture and ringing clutter in the presence of the Phoenix of the North?! This zither was carved from a nine-hundred-thousand-year sky white jade vein! Its nine strings were harvested from the molten wing-tendons of an ancient Astral Phoenix that bathed in the core of a dying star!”
He stroked the white soundboard. He held it up so that the morning sunlight lit up the semi-clear quartz inside.
