"The Empire is like a dog. And as a dog, even if we take its food, they would have to lick our hands and wag their tail for us."
Qian Yunxi and Lu Xinglan stared at each other, their eyes locking in a silent, loaded exchange that lasted for only a few brief heartbeats but contained the collective weight of a thousand years of political ambition, ancestral suffering, and desperate plotting.
The realization of what Shen Haoran was casually suggesting, the absolute bowing of the central imperial throne to his family's whims, was the final catalyst they needed. In that shared glance, all hesitation evaporated from their minds.
Then, moving with a synchronized, fluid grace that felt almost ceremonial, they both walked to his right side and knelt upon the cold, polished marble floor, their posture radiating an absolute, unyielding submissiveness.
