Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
It wasn’t just noise—it was massive respect.
Devotion.
Love.
And even shockingly, they chanted in English, not Mandarin, a choice that struck me as deeply as the sight itself because the East never bent its traditions for anyone—not for politicians, not for allies, not even for enemies.
But for her, for Moni, they had made an exception.
A sad smile spread across my face.
I wish she could see this.
They spoke in English because they wanted her to receive their messages deep down in her bones, to understand that she was not merely accepted but absolutely embraced.
She will be bigger than Mom.
I directed my view to the right.
Below, the Palace entrance was blanketed in flowers—wild arrangements of peonies, chrysanthemums, and plum blossoms laid out in a vibrant mosaic of reds, blues, golds, and whites.
Some had been placed with care.
Others had been scattered in fervent haste, offerings made with trembling hands and beating hearts.
Small notes were tied to many of the stems, and their messages undoubtedly were as personal as the gestures themselves.
I lifted my view a few inches.
Near the front gates even more crowds gathered and piled gifts there. From what I could make out, it was mainly exquisite silks, handwoven tapestries, and carved jade figurines.
I turned to the left.
Vendors lined the outskirts.
Chen had told me that they were selling tea blends inspired by Moni’s signature mix from the tea ceremony. An official list of what herbs she had used was never put out, yet still lines of people wound around the vendors, waiting to sip what they believed was a piece of her essence.
I let out a long sigh and looked at the signs.
Hand-painted banners, lovingly detailed, some bearing Moni’s name in sweeping calligraphy, others adorned with her likeness. They’d captured her perfectly—those wide, expressive eyes that held fire and vulnerability all at once, her delicate jaw, the faint curl of her full lips that hinted at a knowing smile.
The East—it seemed—had fallen in love with her.
Dear God, Father. You fucking did it.
A deep ache stirred in my chest as emotions surged.
Pride.
Fear.
Possessiveness.
Yes. It’s definitely starting. . .their obsession for her.
I knew how this would unfold because I had lived it once before. I had watched the East’s obsession try to consume my mother.
The adoration.
The worship.
The lengths people would go to just to catch a glimpse of her or earn a fleeting smile.
While it had been intoxicating to take in, it was also terrifying too. People who claimed they loved a person they didn’t even know could also be the most dangerous, their devotion serving as a double-edged sword.
I won’t let that happen to Moni, just as my father didn’t let it happen to Mom.
I put my view back on the chanters who had been yelling out the same things for over an hour now with no break in sight.
Some even cried and fell to their knees.
“Welcome, Mountain Mistress!”
“We love you!”
“We support you!”
How much will they lose themselves in her? And most important. . .do they know I don’t like the idea of sharing her with even the East?
Those thoughts made my jaw clench.
My mom had once commanded this same level of reverence.
People had flocked to her, desperate for her words, a touch of her hand. They had written songs in her honor, painted murals, named their children after her.
And when that wasn’t enough, they had turned her into something more than human—a symbol, an ideal, a goddess.
But obsession wasn’t love.
It was a poison.
I thought of the letters, the desperate pleas scrawled in trembling handwriting, the gifts that had been left on our doorstep—some beautiful, others disturbing.
And the threats. The ones that had come when she didn’t meet their impossible expectations.
Would they do the same to Moni?
Horror shook me.
Adoration was a fickle thing.
One misstep, one perceived slight, and the same hands that laid out flowers would sharpen their blades.
Hmmm.
But after that footage and all that I’d learned about Moni, I knew that she was strong—stronger than most—she’d damn sure showed it in the videos sent to the East this morning.
However, even steel bent under enough pressure.
I’ll protect her from them.
I let out another long sigh, turned around, and gazed at my attendants. “Okay. You can finish.”
Behind me, the room hummed with quiet activity.
“Yes, Mountain Master.” My attendants moved back over to me with practiced precision, dressing me for what was to come.
They began, and I stood still, letting them work.
Sounds filled the space around me—soft clicks of clasps, the faint rustle of fabric, and the quiet murmurs of my attendants as they tried to complete their tasks.
I glanced back at the window and caught the faint reflection of my attire. I wore formal pants, top, and shoes—the traditional attire of a Mountain Master during a significant battle.
It was all deep midnight blue silk and embroidered silver threads that wove patterns of dragons and aces.
The tailored fit of the outfit hugged my frame perfectly.