In the long history of the Jiuzhou Continent, no one had ever dared to place a foot upon the Sacred Rosewood Table of the Grand Arbiter Council.
It was an altar of governance carved from the heartwood of an eight-hundred-year-old Celestial Cedar, imbued with the oaths of forty-nine founding dynasties. Emperors stood with deference before it to receive their old family mandates. Saint-level patriarchs offered formal bows when submitting their treaties.
At this exact moment, Frank had his steel-toed work boots resting squarely between a bowl of steamed longevity buns and a gold-plated flagon of pear wine.
“How dare you...” Chief Arbiter Yan Baichuan stammered, gripping his robes. “How dare you tread upon the Sacred Altar of the Continental Sages?”
Frank looked down at the old man through his yellow-tinted safety glasses. He didn’t see an ancient judge of cosmic destiny. He saw an agitated administrator having a difficult afternoon behind the counter.
“Look, I already apologized for stepping on the timber,” Frank said patiently, shifting his weight slightly so the rubber lugs of his sole squeaked against the wax. “If your customer service door didn’t have an inward hinge conflict, I’d’ve walked through the hallway like a normal taxpayer. But you locked the door, dropped the steel shutters, and left me standing in the hall with paperwork in hand.”
