On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

They tried to use these fine crafts that the West was proud of to show a trace of remaining decency and "civilization".

Viscount Juan tried hard to force a forced, almost flattering smile, and the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched slightly due to nervousness.

He gestured to his attendant to carefully push the most exquisitely carved glass, which shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight, towards Murong Yan. "Your Majesty, please be sure to taste it. This is the painstaking work of the masters of our country's most prestigious Venetian glass workshop. It is unparalleled in the world."

Murong Yan's eyes swept indifferently over the glassware that reflected dazzling colorful light and seemed to have condensed the essence of sunlight, without stopping, as if passing through meaningless dust.

She extended her slender fingers, imbued with invisible strength, their white fingertips nearly transparent in the sunlight. She didn't touch the crystal cup of refreshing coconut water. Instead, she reached over it and gently picked up a small Western silver knife beside the silver plate, originally used to cut fruit or precious spices. It was inlaid with pigeon-blood red and deep sea sapphires.

The handle is cool, the carving is delicate and intricate, and the gems sparkle alluringly in the sunlight.

The smile on Viscount Juan's face froze instantly, sticking to his face as stiffly as a mask, his muscles twitching slightly uncontrollably, and his eyes behind the monocle widened.

Murong Yan's fingertips moved slightly, and the priceless knife turned deftly between her fingers. The sharp blade was like the tongue of a poisonous snake, reflecting the most dazzling sunlight at noon.

A swaying, dazzling spot of light accurately passed over Viscount Juan's terrified eyes.

He subconsciously let out a short cry of surprise, suddenly closed his eyes and turned his head, looking very embarrassed.

Just at this moment!

Murong Yan's wrist suddenly sank!

Move as fast as lightning!

"Crack!"

There was a slight but clear sound like the sound of tearing silk!

The knife's sharp, cold blade pierced into the heavy hardwood table with tremendous force!

The tip of the knife penetrated the tough wood, making a teeth-grinding tearing sound, and accurately and coldly nailed a huge, shiny, and tail-tipped South China Sea scorpion that was crawling quickly between the cracks in the table to death!

The scorpion's hard carapace was mercilessly pierced, making a slight cracking sound. Its highly poisonous stinger was raised high in fear and vain, swinging wildly. Its multi-legged body twitched and twisted violently. Its eight compound eyes seemed to be frozen in extreme fear, and finally, in despair, it slowly stiffened and remained motionless.

Viscount Juan jumped up from his chair as if he was burned by a hot iron, and the chair legs behind him scraped against the wooden board, making a sharp and harsh noise.

His face was as pale as paper, his lips were trembling, and he made a "ho ho" sound in his throat, but he couldn't utter a word. He just stared at the poisonous scorpion that was nailed to the center of the negotiation table and was still twitching slightly, as if he saw a microcosm of his own fate.

Murong Yan let go of her hand, her movements as casual as brushing off a speck of dust.

The silver knife inlaid with precious gems remained in the posture of nailing a poisonous scorpion, standing abruptly and grimly in the middle of the negotiation table, becoming the most shocking focus of the entire venue.

She didn't even look at the scene, as if she had just done something insignificant.

Her fingertips turned to pick up a little dark brown lilac bud powder that was scattered on the table, crushed by countless shoe soles and had long lost its fragrance. She rubbed it gently between her fingertips, and the fine powder stained her fingertips.

Then, she casually loosened her fingers, letting the powder with a hint of residual sweetness but more of a decadent smell fall from between her fingers, drifting in the salty sea breeze, disappearing in a flash.

"Spice," she finally spoke, her voice cold and steady, like two pieces of Arctic ice colliding with each other. It penetrated the whimpering sea breeze and the heavy breathing of the crowd, and was clearly heard and engraved on everyone's heart. "It stinks when it's stained with blood."

She stood up suddenly, her movements quick and decisive, without a trace of hesitation.

The heavy tail of the bright yellow golden phoenix robe rose up, bringing with it a gust of wind, sweeping across the table and accurately knocking the silver knife with the dead scorpion nailed to it to the ground with a "snap".

The silver knife hit the wooden board, making a sharp, lonely, death knell-like sound that echoed in the dead air. She did not look at the pale, staggering Viscount Juan again, as if he and the kingdom behind him had disappeared into nothingness.

She turned and walked steadily back toward the pier, retracing her steps. Her magnificent trail swept across the ash-and-dust-covered ground, stirring up a larger, thicker cloud of black dust, like the ashes of paper money scattered by a funeral procession. It filled her wake, obscuring the distraught figures on the wooden platform.

The huge iron anchor of the "Dingkun" slowly rose with the roar of the winch, carrying with it wet seaweed and mud.

The ship slowly turned, its massive propellers churning the waters into a tumbling white wake, mercilessly leaving behind the suffocating, fragrant waters of Golden Scale Island, a ruin teeming with humiliation and terror. Murong Yan stood on the highest deck aft, her bright yellow phoenix robe fluttering wildly in the whirring sea breeze. Her trail, like a blazing, ever-burning golden flame, carved a breathtaking, dazzling trail across the azure sea and sky, a symbol of absolute authority.

The setting sun, like a huge, molten golden ball, slowly sank into the horizon, dyeing the vast sea surface a magnificent and tragic blood-red, and also coating her tall and proud figure with a layer of cold light edge interwoven with blood and gold, like a god reborn in blood.

In the harbor, Viscount Juan slumped in a chair, staring blankly at the silver knife that had fallen to the ground and was still firmly pinning the stiff venomous scorpion.

The red and blue sapphires on the hilt gleamed with a strange and cold luster in the last rays of the setting sun, like the mocking eyes of a devil.

A Castilian officer, panting and tumbling, rushed up the wooden platform, his face filled with disbelief and horror. In his hand, he tightly grasped a small roll of stained paper that had been untied from the pigeon's leg. His voice was distorted by extreme fear: "Vicomte! Your Excellency! We have just received an urgent letter from Borneo, just taken from the pigeon's leg!"

Viscount Juan raised his head mechanically, his eyes empty, as if his soul had been taken away.

The officer's voice trembled violently, barely forming a coherent sentence. "Our men in Borneo managed to get the news across. Count Alvarez of Cape Devil's Island..." The officer swallowed, nearly choking with fear. "He and all the captured officers and NCOs have been forcibly assigned to the forced labor camp at the Borneo Fortress. They're repairing the walls they blew up with their own hands."

Viscount Juan's body suddenly went limp, as if all his bones had been pulled out, and he completely slid off the chair, collapsing heavily on the cold, rough wooden floor with a thud.

He looked at the sea with a distracted gaze. The huge bright yellow ship that carried the will of the empire had long since turned into a burning golden dot, and finally seemed to merge into the blood-red sunset on the horizon that was about to sink.

It took away the light and the hope, but what was left behind was boundless coldness and despair that penetrated deep into the bone marrow and was enough to freeze the soul, just like the sudden polar cold current that injected into the never-ending heat and humidity of the South China Sea.

On the bridge, Murong Yan's fingertips slowly brushed across the wide sleeves of her robe that were lifted by the strong sea breeze. On the black background inside the cuffs, the pairs of tiny phoenix eyes embroidered with even finer gold thread stared coldly and unblinkingly at the deep blue waves below that were surging endlessly like the mouth of an abyss under the last struggling afterglow of the setting sun.

The heavy, bright yellow and golden tail continued to sweep across the smooth deck, and the fine, dense and steady "rustling" sound firmly and unstoppably merged into the eternal roar of the waves and the shrill howling of the wind.

This voice is the empire's silent yet earth-shattering declaration, crushing every wave of the Spice Sea, announcing who is the true and eternal ruler of this vast, rich, tempting and dangerous sea.

The golden phoenix has left an indelible mark on this sea area that was once invaded by foreign countries.