The words struck the silent hall like a spark falling into a dry mountain forest.
Every cultivator present immediately understood the true meaning behind the Imperial Prince's proposal.
At a gathering of the continent's greatest powers, "entertainment" had never meant music or dance. It was a formal, universally recognized invitation for the younger generation to cross blades, settle lingering frictions, and measure the true depth of their rivals beneath the protection of the host's defensive arrays.
More importantly, it gave every visiting faction a legitimate excuse to force the legendary variable onto the stage without openly violating the Song Clan's ancestral laws of hospitality.
A collective rustle of silk and steel swept through the hall as hundreds of young geniuses subtly adjusted their posture, their eyes gleaming with sharp anticipation.
Upon the central dais, Song Yanyan remained gracefully seated upon her throne, her midnight robes cascading around her feet.
