The interior of Chu Xueyu's palace was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow provided by floating lanterns carved from dragon-eye jade.
In the private quarters of Shen Haoran, the air was filled with the scent of high-grade spirit incense and the quiet, rhythmic humming of protective arrays, capable of even withstanding full blown attack from a Supreme.
Shen Haoran sat on the edge of his massive bed, his feet resting firmly on the polished floor, while Ning Xueli knelt behind him, massaging his shoulders.
Her movements were fluid and practiced, her slender fingers applying just the right amount of pressure to his shoulders, working out the residual tension of a year spent in the muddy lower realms.
