All around the throne room, the carved beams and paintings are magnificent; every detail exudes the profound heritage and formidable strength of the Jiang Ancient Clan.
At the center of the throne room, Jiang Qi sits on a beautifully carved dragon-patterned throne, his expression grim, eyebrows furrowed, as if deeply contemplating.
Jiang Qi's eyes are half-closed, his gaze penetrating through the scarlet pillars of the hall, settling in the distant void.
His face stern, with sharp features dimly revealing an indescribable intent to kill.
At this moment, his heart is turbulent, thoughts racing like a thousand galloping horses, unable to find peace.
"Ye Qingchen..." He silently recites the name in his mind, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
This name is more than just a name to him; it is a thorn, a deeply embedded thorn in his heart.
Jiang Qi is calculating his next move, pondering how quickly he can find Ye Qingchen.
