The small procession had just turned down a quieter corridor leading toward the Clan Head's private chambers when they nearly collided with a woman buried under a teetering pile of wooden family tokens.
Clack. Clack-clack. The sound of wood knocking together was the only warning.
Fang Yuan stopped short, his brow furrowing. The pile was so high the person carrying it was completely obscured.
A practical, efficiency-minded thought cut through his emotional fatigue: Why doesn't she have a spatial ring for this?
Before he could speak, Lin Zhaoyue did, her voice taking on the cool, commanding tone of the Matriarch.
"Elder Jingyi. I want you to prepare a banquet. The grandest we can muster, and as fast as humanly possible."
From behind the stack of tokens, a polite, slightly muffled voice responded without hesitation.
"Okay, Matriarch."
Lin Zhaoyue's next words were slower, clearer, each one dropped like a stone.
