Henry Linton had already fastened the treasured sword bestowed by the King of Hua at his waist. The long hilt looked quite disproportionate to his short stature, yet not a single person dared to underestimate him. Henry Linton’s loud proclamation before the Hall of Imperial Honor still thundered in the minds of the assembled ministers like a clap of thunder—even those harboring ill intentions were no exception. At this moment, no one could spare a thought to question the authenticity of this Envoy Lord; all they knew was that, before long, there would be yet another person in the Central Plains’ court with the authority to issue commands.

“There cannot be two suns in the sky, nor two rulers among the people.” This phrase suddenly surfaced in King Hua James Grant’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it without a trace. He saw the eight Grand Envoys crowding tightly around Henry Linton, as if unwilling to let the ministers have much contact with the Envoy Lord, and his brows furrowed. Turning, he gave a few instructions to Samuel Johnson at his side. The eunuch Samuel Johnson bowed deeply, then hurried over to Henry Linton, knelt, and reported, “Your Highness the Envoy Lord, His Majesty says there is an important matter to discuss with you. Please proceed to the Pavilion of Trust.”

Henry Linton could already feel the piercing gazes of the eight Grand Envoys behind him, and his heart stirred. The sycophantic officials ahead, sensing the situation, tactfully withdrew—they knew that whatever the King of Hua wished to discuss with the Envoy Lord must concern the nation’s future. Henry Linton nodded and strode forward in silence, but to his annoyance, the eight Grand Envoys followed closely behind. Before he could react, Samuel Johnson turned around as if anticipating this, and bowed deeply to David Wood and the others: “Honored sirs, His Majesty wishes to speak privately with the Envoy Lord. Please remain outside the Pavilion of Trust. The Envoy Lord is the nation’s pillar, and His Majesty is only discussing state affairs—he would never make any improper requests. I ask for your understanding!”

Except for David Wood, who managed to maintain his composure, the other seven all changed expression, about to voice their objections—only to see Henry Linton turn and calmly instruct, “Since it is His Majesty’s command, you should obey. Though I have never been to the Pavilion of Trust, since it was chosen by His Majesty, it must be a secluded place. Wait outside and you can still ensure my safety.” As soon as he spoke, not only was Samuel Johnson surprised, but the eight behind him were almost incredulous. David Wood’s sharp gaze locked with Henry Linton’s eyes for a long moment before he finally bowed his head and replied, “Since Your Highness commands it, we will all comply.”

In just that brief exchange of glances, Henry Linton felt a wave of dizziness in his mind, and only managed to steady himself by clenching his teeth. He knew it was a silent warning from David Wood, but if he didn’t even have this bit of freedom, this puppet would never see the light of day. Since he had sworn not to be a mere figurehead, he had to find a breakthrough with King Hua James Grant; otherwise, he would have no leverage or bargaining chip against David Wood.

As he walked by, all the ministers bowed low, their faces showing varying degrees of genuine or feigned respect. Once he had gone a few steps, everyone followed after him. Once the Envoy Lord left the Hall of Imperial Honor, no one else was allowed to linger inside. Although the hall had been without a master for many years, these officials, well-versed in the laws of the Central Plains, dared not overstep. The Pavilion of Trust was located to the east of the Hall of Imperial Honor, a place where generations of Envoy Lords and Kings of Hua had held private discussions. It had been unused for centuries, and now that it was being opened again, who knew what changes would sweep across the realm.

King Hua James Grant sat alone inside the Pavilion of Trust, his fingers gliding over the brush and inkstone on the table, suddenly letting out a cold snort. The Central Plains spanned only three thousand li, far less than the ten thousand li of territory held by the four feudal lords combined. The accumulated difficulties could hardly be reversed by the emergence of an Envoy Lord. Still, he had to try. Ten years ago—on that very night ten years ago—the curtain had already risen. Nothing could stop it, not even so-called fate! His old, clouded eyes suddenly widened, and in that fleeting glint was unmistakable ambition.

“Your Majesty, the Envoy Lord has arrived!” came Samuel Johnson’s respectful voice from outside the door. James Grant wiped all other expressions from his face and personally opened the door. As he expected, the eight Grand Envoys stood in perfect formation behind Henry Linton. Though their faces were veiled in black gauze, he could sense their unease. Yet only Henry Linton stepped through the door; the others bowed outside and did not move an inch further. James Grant studied the calm, self-possessed look in Henry Linton’s eyes, a trace of doubt flickering in his heart—could the information he’d received be wrong?

Before James Grant could speak, Samuel Johnson closed the door, and not a sound escaped from within. The Pavilion of Trust had been designed and built by the first generation of the Central Plains’ Three Right Ministers (Grand Sacrificer, Grand Artisan, Grand Diviner). Its layout was attuned to the secrets of heaven and the energies of earth; even if someone outside had supernatural powers, it would be nearly impossible to eavesdrop—making it the perfect place for discussing great affairs.

“Your Majesty, you should know that I was but a commoner from the wilds, with no understanding of the so-called grand scheme. I have already left the eight Grand Envoys outside as you wished. May I ask what important matter you insist on discussing with me alone?” After bowing, Henry Linton straightened up and asked calmly.