At this moment, before Lu Xuan could respond,
the vermillion palace doors burst open with a resounding crash, the collision between the gilded rings and bronze studs emitting a sharp buzzing sound.
Wrapped in a fierce and scorching Gang wind, an elderly man in an exquisite scarlet cloud-patterned robe strode in.
The python-patterned silk surged like waves with his movements, the dark golden threads embroidered so vividly that they seemed ready to break free from the fabric.
Though he was of advanced age, there was no trace of frailty in the old man.
The silver whiskers on his head fluttered without wind, his eyes sharp like a hawk's, exuding an aura of deep-seated authority with every gesture.
Although the Duke of Wu appeared to be around seventy or eighty years old, his massive stature was nearly a head taller than most people.
His black boots with gold-trimmed soles hit the blue stone bricks, each step seeming to bear a weight of a thousand pounds.
