"You are going to class."
They were led by a cadre of local Azure Dragon stewards through the labyrinthine architecture of the sect, eventually arriving at the Hall of Miasma, a massive, open-air amphitheater constructed directly over a bubbling, highly toxic thermal vent.
The amphitheater was already packed. Hundreds of local Azure Dragon disciples sat in the tiered, semicircular stone bleachers, their faces painted with stripes, their eyes fixed on the entrance with a mixture of intense hostility, bruised egos, and, in the case of the local maidens, frantic, blushing anticipation.
When Ji'an strutted into the arena, leading her limping, groaning retinue, a hushed murmur swept through the local crowd.
'That's him,' a try-hard whispered, glaring at Ji'an's red robes. 'The pretty boy who kicked Senior Brother Kui's flagon into orbit. He doesn't even look like a cultivator. He looks like a pampered noble out for a stroll.'
