The semi-clear mutton-fat jade tablet in Hall Master Xuan Ji’s hands hummed with ancient, sovereign spiritual deep ring. Twelve thousand tiny golden runes drifted across its polished surface like schools of glowing minnows in a mountain spring.
Every single grand elder in the hall held their breath.
The Three Questions of the Void.
In the history of the Sacred Lands, only three fighters had ever been allowed to hear these questions. Two had gone instantly insane from the impossible to understand depth of the cosmic paradoxes, their dantians dissolving into formless void-mist. The third had understood half a phrase, sat in silent quiet focus for eighty years. Then he emerged as the eighth-generation Hall Master.
Grand Elder Yan Gu, leaning against his broken dragon-throne with blood dripping from his split lip, watched with poisonous, desperate eyes. No one can answer the Three Questions! Yan Gu thought, his fingers digging into his bruised ribs. The Void has no shape! It has no law! If this mortal charlatan attempts to speak of the Void with his crude vulgar words, the sky backlash of the Master Teacher Tablet will turn his mortal brain to ash!
Frank looked at his wristwatch. “Twelve-forty-eight,” Frank said. “My break ends in twelve minutes. If this is a three-part questionnaire, make it quick. I don’t like lingering on theoretical design specs when there’s physical concrete to pour.”
