Mingshi's smile did not fade. He bowed politely, turned, and rejoined his table at the edge of the gathering, where his followers stood silent as statues.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Meng Bai whispered, "I don't like him."
"You have good instincts," Daoist Chu replied. "Something's off."
"That robe," Lin Mu added. "The symbol… it wasn't the same as the corrupted ones we fought, but it was close. Too close."
Little Shrubby growled quietly under the table.
Across the hall, the music resumed—louder this time, as if to erase the awkwardness of the moment. Performers returned to the stage, and new platters of food were brought out by anxious servants trying to restore the mood.
But the room didn't quite relax.
Not fully.
Everyone had felt it—that moment when peace threatened to crack.
