Somewhere in the Tianzun region, Ye Qingxue sat silently across a round table. Around her, five others sat in complete silence—each draped in a different outfit.
These people weren't her subordinates. In fact, they could never be. Even though Ye Qingxue sat at the peak of mortal cultivation, so did they.
After all, they were the so-called rulers of this world. The patriarchs and matriarchs of the six great clans. All gathered under a frivolous roof of a normal countryside inn.
"I believe you all already know why I've called this meeting." A middle-aged man called out, his voice carrying a strange gentleness.
His eyes glittered in a bright emerald hue, similar to that of the Poison Palm warrior, but denser.
Furling his long, gray beard, the man swept his gaze across the table.
It was for the first time in several thousand years that they'd seen each other all at once. Even more so, to discuss something that immediately threatened their lives.
