The sun hung low over Fragrant Flower City, casting long, dark shadows across the grey stone walls of the Jiang Clan manor.
The air here was thick with the scent of blooming night-jasmine and the faint, metallic tang of spirit-iron being forged in the distant artisan district.
Within the manor's corridors, a sudden silence followed the footsteps of the young master.
Jiang Chen walked with a newfound gait—measured, noble, and possessed of a gravity that seemed to distort the air around him.
The servants, who once scuttled away to avoid a random lashing or a verbal berating, now felt a different kind of fear.
It wasn't the fear of a petulant child with power, but the instinctive dread of a prey animal sensing an apex predator.
They huddled in the corners, their whispers dying in their throats as he passed.
