The silence that followed the annihilation of the Emperor's Spirit was heavy, pressing down on the ancient forest like a physical weight.
Xue Qingyi stood motionless. With a monumental, agonizing effort of will, she forced the tremors racking her soul to subside. She smoothed her expression, rebuilding the shattered fragments of her composure into that familiar, perfect mask of serene ice.
She was a Frost Maiden, a pinnacle genius of a Great Power.
She could not—would not—collapse.
But her hands, hidden deep within her sleeves, were clenched so tightly that her fingernails bit into her palms, drawing droplets of blood that froze instantly against her skin.
"Holy Dragon Son," she finally spoke. Her voice was steady, though it carried the brittle, glassy quality of a frozen lake on the verge of cracking. "That was... a magnificent harvest."
