Just one floor down from the banquet hall was a tea room.

Griffin ordered a pot of Pu-erh tea, known for its sobering effects. As the server poured the tea, its rich aroma filled the air, and his muddled mind seemed to clear up.

“As we age, we need to take better care of ourselves—more tea, less alcohol.”

Griffin’s voice was deep and smooth. He took a slow sip, every gesture exuding the effortless grace of a man in power.

If not for the rough, calloused hands that betrayed his past, there would be no trace left of his rural upbringing. It had taken him thirty years to completely strip...