In the Celestia Galaxy, within the Chenriver Empire’s Eastern Region, the main hall of the Comet Express 37th Sub-Branch glowed with cosmic grandeur. The ten-thousand-meter-long floor-to-ceiling windows were crystal clear, offering a sweeping view of the universe’s beauty. Outside, a lush green life planet continued its stately orbit, while one warp transport after another departed the sub-branch center—each scene a masterstroke of cosmic scale.
But inside, the mood was anything but grand.
Yet, within this vast expanse, Monica Whitehorn—the white-haired, single-horned supervisor of the sub-branch—was kneeling in utmost reverence, not daring to make the slightest sound.
All her attention was focused on the silent connection she had just made.
Monica Whitehorn was only at the Starlight Tier, Third-Order Constant Light.
But the one she had just contacted was none other than the ancient patriarch of her clan.
Monica was not among the White-Horn Human Clan’s core bloodline, so she only had a single, once-in-a-lifetime chance to reach out to her ancestor. This time, she had gambled everything—and she knew, with trembling certainty, that she had bet correctly.
Andrew Han of Earth had caught the patriarch’s attention.
The patriarch had even spoken personally, declaring that Andrew Han was worthy to enter Chenriver Palace.
“Chenriver Palace—he must be recommended for Chenriver Palace!” Monica’s very soul trembled, her horn frozen in awe. "Chenriver Palace is the future of the Chenriver Empire itself."
How could this be... Monica Whitehorn could hardly believe it.
Chenriver Palace was overseen and audited by the empire’s very core departments; the White-Horn Human Clan merely possessed a recommendation quota, but actual admission depended entirely on the palace itself.
Even across the entire White-Horn Human Clan, those who truly entered Chenriver Palace were pitifully few.
She recalled a rarely cited internal Human Race provision—special clauses for Human cultivation geniuses—focused on protecting their life safety and excavating their potential.
Could it really be true?
Otherwise, why would the patriarch allow an aboriginal to take a precious recommendation slot reserved for the White-Horn Human Clan?
She swallowed, quietly forcing herself to calm down and stop overthinking.
Facing Andrew Han, she could treat him as an equal—or even bow to his rising status. But in front of the patriarch, Monica could only listen in silence, lacking even the right to speak. This patriarch had weathered thousands of star-years, his age unfathomable; surely, he was at least at the Stellar Palace Tier.
She had to remain respectful above all.
Her thoughts gradually settled.