This is a room of utmost luxury, where all descriptions of opulence seem to lose their luster.
The air is filled with a faint fragrance, emanating from incense made from the horn of the Thunder Marsh White Rhino, each gram worth a fortune.
The floor is polished from the body of the ten-thousand-year Bloodwood Demon, smooth as a mirror yet warm as jade.
Here, even an inconspicuous little object might possess an astonishing origin.
And on the sofas and recliners in the room sit many young elites with extraordinary backgrounds.
Both men and women, each exuding an extraordinary demeanor, and even the weakest among them has reached the Great Luo level, indicating how terrifying their backgrounds must be.
Yet, such a group of people do not dare to speak; the vast room is utterly silent.
Because everyone's gaze is fixed on the man standing by the window.
