The departure of Madam Su and Su Ruo left a vacuum in the ballroom that was instantly filled by the smooth, rhythmic strains of a classical waltz.
The heavy oak doors had closed behind the disgraced duo with a finality that felt like the slamming of a tomb, but the tension in the room remained, vibrating beneath the surface like an electric current.
The elders of the Hidden Families, ever the opportunists, had already pivoted. They were no longer looking at the door; their eyes were tracking the players left on the field with the cold, calculating precision of high-stakes gamblers.
Yang Muchen stood up from his seat and adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke midnight-black suit, the silk lining catching the light of the massive crystal chandeliers above.
