Wang Lee can feel every eye in the room on him but he doesn't blink. His voice is icy when he answers: "I... cannot explain that."

  The Emperor goes rigid, eyes hardening even more. "You 'cannot'? Are you refusing to answer me?" he growls. "I am your sovereign, Wang yuzé. Your emperor. You do not refuse me anything."

  Wang Lee bristles at the tone, his hands curling tightly into fists. "And yet I'm doing it." His voice is a quiet challenge.

  The whole room goes silent at the words, as if everyone's holding their breath. "You have to understand something, Your Majesty," he goes on, voice still steady even as it sharpens. "You are my sovereign, but that doesn't mean you own me. I am my own man. I've got my own ambitions and my own interests."

  The Emperor's patience snaps. His palm slams down on the throne—CRACK—and a surge of golden cultivation energy erupts outward, invisible but searing with pressure. The air itself vibrates as it lashes toward Wang Lee like a whip.

  Wang Lee doesn't even flinch. Instead, he raises one finger—just one—and flicks it aside effortlessly. A ripple of dark blue energy (his own) wraps around the attack and crushes it into nothingness like swatting away an insect.

  "Tch." He lowers his hand, "That all you've got?"

  The room explodes into motion—guards draw their swords in unison, blades glinting as they point at Wang Lee. The air thrums with tension, every weapon aimed and ready.

  Wang Lee doesn't so much as twitch. His dark eyes flicker over the sea of steel—then back to the Emperor. "...You really think this will work?" His voice is low, almost bored.

  Lu Zhaohan's voice booms across the throne room—sharp, threatening: "WANG YUZé! ENOUGH! REMEMBER WE CAN KILL YOUR MOTHER!"

  The words land like a dagger. For half a second, Wang Lee's expression flickers—raw fury flashing in his eyes.

  Then it erupts.

  A dark blue aura explodes around him as he turns toward Lu Zhaohan—just moving. His palm lashes out in one fluid motion; golden cracks spiderweb through the air where his cultivation energy slams into Zhaohan's chest. The man chokes violently as blood starts to drip from his nose and mouth—his body convulsing under invisible force.

  Wang Lee releases the pressure with a sharp flick of his wrist. Lu Zhaohan collapses to one knee, gasping—blood still trickling from his lips as he clutches at his chest.

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  "Don't," Wang Lee says, voice lethally quiet, "dare threaten her again."*

  A beat of suffocating silence follows. The guards are frozen; even the Emperor's fingers dig into the throne's arms like claws.

  Wang Lee spins on his heel without another word, striding out the doors without a backwards glance. His shoulders are back, back straight, eyes cold and steady as he exits the palace—every step slow and steady, like he knows they're watching him all the way out.

  The moment the door shuts behind him, the room explodes into murmurs and chaos. The Emperor lets out a long, ragged breath, rubbing his forehead.

  Wang Lee strides into a wing of the palace, past guards who bow stiffly as he passes. The corridors are dark and richly appointed—expensive silk hangings, polished teak floors, gold-tiled windows. The place is lavish and elegant yet somehow dangerous. He finds the room he was given and enters.

  A servant girl—pretty, in a demure black dress—bows slightly from the bed. "Lord Wang Lee. Your room is ready, Sir."

  The servant nods and hurries to comply, quickly starting to fill the silver bath in the corner. She adds flower petals and scented oils to the water like she knows exactly what he wants. It smells of roses and magnolias—earthy, fresh.

  When she's finally done, she looks up at him. "Is there anything else you require, Sir?"

  "No," Wang Lee answers, starting to unbutton his robes with one hand. His eyes stay on her, cool and unreadable. "You're dismissed."

  The girl bows slightly in acknowledgement and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. Wang Lee finishes unfastening his robes—exposing lines of toned, hard muscles rippling beneath his skin. He lets the silk fall to the floor, the sound heavy in the suddenly silent room.

  The water is warm against his skin as he steps into the bathtub. He sinks down into it with a groan, letting the tension ease from his muscles. The bath is large, the water deep and steaming around him. He leans back against the edge, letting out a long exhale as the water laps against his shoulders. The air is thick with the scents of roses and magnolias, and a large window on the far side streams in moonlight, painting the room in a silvery glow.

  Wang Lee flicks open his fan, the intricate wood expanding with a sharp snap. Yinzi spills out in a rush of dark smoke—devil's tail flaring as it lands on the edge of the tub.

  "You're finally relaxing? Took you long enough."

  Wang Lee just rolls his eyes and leans back again, watching steam curl off his bare shoulders in lazy spirals.

  Yinzi's tails flick impatiently as it leans in, nine eyes narrowing. "Who was that? Was that Lu Zhaohan??"

  Wang Lee's jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around the edge of the tub. Yinzi watches him closely—its tails flicking with unspoken annoyance.

  "That bastard," Wang Lee says coldly, "is the Emperor's son-in-law."

  A pause. Then wang lee say "...Which means nothing to you."

  Yinzi snorts softly. "Oh, I'm not stupid. I know what this 'son-in-law' stuff means."

  Wang Lee stays quiet, jaw still clenched tight. Yinzi watches him for a moment, then lets out an annoyed growl. "Come on. You're seriously not gonna tell me what that whole thing was about?"

  The muscles in Wang Lee's shoulders tighten. He looks away, jaw clenching even tighter. "I don't want to speak about this right now."

  Yinzi glares at him. "I don't give a damn what you want."

  Wang Lee's eyes narrow as he looks at Yinzi—sharp and steely. "I said. I don't. Want to speak about it."

  The devil fox bristles, its tail lashing irritably as it glares right back. "And I said I don't care. You're not shutting me out on this one. We need to discuss what the hell happened back there."

  Wang Lee goes very, very still. His voice is quiet now, but there's a dangerous edge to it that even Yinzi can't ignore. "I am not discussing that. It has nothing to do with you."

  Yinzi flicks its tongue—its annoyance almost palpable. "Oh, yes, it absolutely does have to do with me. I'm stuck in your goddamn brain, remember?"

  Wang Lee doesn't answer. His fingers curl tighter against the edge of the tub—no ripples, no movement.

  Yinzi watches him for a long moment... then huffs and sinks into shadow on the tiles beside him. Its voice is quieter now: "Fine." A pause. "...But I'm not letting this go forever."

  Wang Lee stares ahead, his eyes far away. His fingers tap unconsciously against the edge of the tub, sending tiny ripples of water to lap agains

  t his shoulders. There's something almost fragile about the expression on his sharp-featured face as he whispers:

  "If I could...