It was late morning, and the hundred-day celebration for the Prince's son had not yet begun when Su Bei and his entourage arrived at the Welcome Pavilion.
A gentle breeze from the mountaintop brought with it a blinding flurry of snow, whipping up a mist of flying rain.
From this vantage point, one could clearly see the Inscribed Stone Tablet.
A disciple standing behind Zuo Quan rested his arms on the railings and gazed at the inscriptions on the stone before turning his head to address the elder, "How many cultivators in the world today are qualified to leave behind such inscribed stone tablets?"
Zuo Quan glanced at him and, looking up at the stone tablet, suddenly reflected, "I'm not sure about the present day, but many centuries ago, someone carved three large characters at the base of Penglai Mountain in West State with a single sword strike. The Sword Qi has lingered for a thousand years, and that sword is still embedded there."
"Imperial Square, indeed..."
