A Celestial Beast in mortal form

Dawdling in front of the throne-like chair in the sanctuary hall, Han Xuelian anxiously cleared his throat. Avoiding Han Yongrui's apathetic sideways glance directed at him, the Grandmaster folded his arms to remain composed.

"Why is it broken?" Han Yongrui demanded, his gaze trailing over suspiciously at the shattered armrest.

Reminded of his erotic session with Chi Cheng the previous night, the Grandmaster worked his brain tirelessly to conjure a believable excuse for the damage to the chair. It was an archaic piece of furniture crafted centuries ago by the hands of his ancestors.

Its value paralleled that of a familial heirloom.

If his forefathers were enlightened of the unholy intimacies Han Xuelian enjoyed on that chair, they would no doubt whip him unremorsefully for his debauchery.

"Intense thoughts," Han Xuelian lied, maintaining a professional appearance before his nephew. "I didn't take my strength into consideration when I gripped it."