'She colluded with him. She swapped places with her twin. She let him fuck her. She let him advance her cultivation. She is his now. Not mine. His.'
'That bitch.'
His hand, the slender, scholarly hand, slammed the desk. The impact, the palm on the dark wood, was loud. The ink stone, the brush, the scrolls, rattled. The frustration, the fury, the impotent, helpless, consuming rage of a man who had been outmaneuvered, outpowered, and humiliated, was there.
But he could do nothing. The power, the cultivation, the army, the fleet, all of it, was above him. He was a Divine Integration early stage cultivator before a Divine Transcendent being. He was an ant before a dragon.
A servant, an old man in plain robes, arrived. His face, lined, respectful, was careful. The bow, the formal greeting, was performed.
"Master," the servant said. His voice was quiet. "Lady Han has arrived to meet you."
