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)
My formal trousers were crisp, the pleats sharp enough to cut through the tension that hung in the air. The hems brushed against the polished silver-tipped boots I wore.
My top, buttoned high up the neck, was a statement of its own. The silver buttons were shaped like ancient coins, each etched with Chinese characters that spoke of wealth, honor, and balance.
The high collar framed my jawline sharply, and a silver-threaded sash was tied securely at my waist, holding the ensemble together.
The attendants continued to work around me.
“Almost done, Mountain Master.” one of them murmured as they stepped back and assessed their work, ensuring that every fold, every detail, was flawless.
I shifted slightly, flexing my shoulders to test the weight of the attire.
It was heavy but not burdensome.
Silver and blue.
Power and grace.
Tradition and progress.
These were not just colors—they were symbols of who I was, of the legacy I carried. And tonight, that legacy would be tested in ways the East would remember for generations.
Two more attendants came over with my tailored blue and silver jacket and slid it over my arms and shoulders.
One attendant adjusted the collar.
Another stepped forward with the jewels that I only wore for highly formal events.
The jade dragon pendant was placed around my neck first.
Next came the silver cuff, etched with the Four Aces’ emblem.
Finally, they fastened the large diamond dragon pin to my chest.
I swept my gaze across the room.
Chen, Duck, and Hu stood to one side, dressed in formal wear too. They kept their voices low but urgent as they worked through last-minute preparations.
Phones buzzed and eight tv screens glowed, and like everyone else in the space their attention was split between the here and now and the logistics of the night ahead.
Soon. . .
Moni’s beautiful face hit my mind.
Soon I will see you, and soon I will kill him.
I gritted my teeth.
All day, I had prepared with Aunt Min, Aunt Suzi, and even Hu. Every movement, every strike, every block had been practiced and honed to perfection. My body ached from the hours of relentless training, but it was a good pain—a reminder that I was fucking ready to tear his goddamn head off his shoulders.
I can’t believe you pushed her to kill. For that alone. . .I will fucking try to make your death as painful as possible.
I moved toward the center of the room, the attendants followed, adjusting the final details of my attire.
When I reached the large display of television screens recently mounted on the far wall, I stopped.
You fucking bastard.
All eight screens were tuned to the East’s main news channels and gossip podcasts, their footage looping through clips of Moni from the night before.
Although the screens were muted, the images spoke louder than words.
Moni, standing tall, spilling out the bag of heads with a chilling calm. Her face was unreadable, yet her movements were deliberate and controlled.
The line of my jaw twitched.
She shouldn’t have had to do this all alone. I wish I had been there.
Two of the screens filled with Moni’s face and then spanned out, showing her standing over the bodies of Yan’s men.
Goddamn it, Father. Why would you do that to her?
Some of the more graphic moments had been blurred out, but the message was clear: Moni had absolutely earned the throne.
An hour after the footage had been released and aired all over Paradise City, the East fully accepted her.
There were even videos on social media of many of the earlier protestors we’d seen days ago at the gate. The thirty people who had worn gray monkey masks dripping with red paint and blue tape over the mouth.
Well. . .they no longer wanted to protest.
Over twenty of them had filmed themselves setting the masks on fire along with the signs that had said:
“No More Silence!”
“Free Speech or Death!”
“Down with the Mountain Master and the Grand!”
They’d changed their damn minds, once they saw the death Moni had delivered.
I smirked.
And as those masks and signs burned to ashes, those same foolish protestors cried in front of their phones and begged Moni for her forgiveness.
How quickly things have changed. . .
In front of me, the screens flickered again, showing a clip from the live broadcast at the main Eastern gate. It displayed thousands of people with their heads bowed, each holding an illuminated candle, creating an ocean of tiny flickering flames as they chanted Moni's name.
The sheer number of candles was staggering, and the sight of it left me breathless.
I parted my lips in shock.
This obsession for Moni will definitely be bigger than Mom.
What my father had envisioned had come to pass.
Monique wouldn’t just be the Mountain Mistress now.
She would be a gruesome, threatening force, someone who could silence a room with a single glance, someone whose name would be whispered with the utmost respect or shivering dread.
But at what cost?