Morning light descended first upon Tai Mu Mountain.
The mountain stood vast and ancient, its ridges layered like waves of stone, half-wrapped in drifting white mist. Sunlight pierced through the clouds and spread across the peaks, turning the dew on leaves into scattered sparks of gold. From afar, the mountain looked calm—yet it carried a quiet pressure, as if it had watched countless generations rise and fall.
High above, near the mountain's upper reaches, lay the grounds associated with the Tianjian lineage—barely visible through the mist. No sound came from there. No banners fluttered. Only stillness, sharp and restrained, like a sword resting in its sheath.
Lower along the mountain's body, where the jungle pressed close and ancient trees grew thick, the Fang Family manor was built into the slope itself.
Sunlight reached the manor early.
Golden rays slipped through branches and stone corridors alike, illuminating carved pillars and wooden railings. Birds flew freely between the treetops and the manor roofs, their calls blending with the soft wind rolling down from higher elevations.
The nearby jungle breathed with life—leaves swaying, distant calls echoing faintly—close enough to be felt, yet far enough to keep the manor undisturbed.
Inside the Fang Family manor, servants moved quietly. The banquet hall had already been prepared. Long tables stood in order, decorations simple but dignified, waiting under the morning light. Everything was ready, yet the hall felt incomplete, as though it were waiting for a presence that had not yet arrived.
The morning sunlight stretched lazily across the Fang Family manor, and the long tables of the banquet hall gleamed under its warm touch. Outside, the jungle seemed to hold its breath, as if the animals themselves sensed the significance of the gathering.
Slowly, the guests began arriving.
From the manor's stone-paved courtyard, servants guided each family and guest toward the hall. Their steps were measured, respectful, as the air filled with soft murmurs and the faint clinking of ceremonial jewelry. The Fang Family elders stood at the entrance, greeting each arrival with calm, dignified gestures, their eyes subtly observing every nuance, every expression.
First came minor branches of allied families—cloaked in muted robes, carrying gifts and respectful bows. They were followed by more prominent guests, whose presence carried weight: the wildland shunters of the southern wildlands, silent but keen-eyed, scanning the hall with instinctive precision; even a few wandering scholars from distant mountains slipped in quietly, their curiosity barely contained.
The red carpet leading to the main hall seemed to grow alive under the footsteps of each guest. Birds in the surrounding trees took flight in startled flutters, only to settle again as the noise receded. Each arrival brought a subtle shift in the hall's energy—a mixture of anticipation, pride, and restrained excitement.
Inside the hall, the Fang Family's younger generation quietly prepared, ensuring that every seat and plate reflected the clan's reputation. The scent of freshly polished wood and faint incense lingered in the air, mingling with the nervous but expectant whispers of the early arrivals.
And above, Tai Mu Mountain's peaks glimmered under the full light of morning, a silent witness to the convergence below.
The hall awaited the most anticipated presence—the one whose A-grade aptitude had earned him this recognition. And though the guests had yet to know him, their arrival marked the beginning of a day that would shift the balance of attention and respect within these walls.
*********
Sunlight poured in through the window, falling straight onto Fang Lin's face. His brows twitched, and the next moment his eyes snapped open.
"Ah—!"
He raised an arm to block the light, groaning softly. "This sun… is it trying to burn me alive?"
Inside him, Lingyi stirred at once, his voice echoing with a hint of annoyance and amusement.
"Tch. You sleep like the dead, Fang Lin. If someone wanted to kill you, you'd already be halfway to the underworld."
Fang Lin sighed, sitting up on the bed. "Morning already…? Feels like I just closed my eyes."
Lingyi hovered closer, his faint form flickering.
"And today is not an ordinary morning," he reminded him. "Banquet. Remember?"
Before Fang Lin could reply—
Knock. Knock.
The door opened without waiting for an answer.
Ling'er stepped in, hands on her waist, eyes sharp.
"So you're finally awake," she said, clearly holding back irritation. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Fang Lin scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh… good morning?"
Ling'er glared at him. "Good morning? The guests have already started arriving! Get up, wash your face, and change properly. Today isn't some normal day—you're the main character."
Ling'er paused at the doorway, her hand still resting on the wooden frame. Without turning back, she spoke in a restrained tone,
"I left water near the washstand. Get ready properly… I'll come back in a while."
With that, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.
As she walked down the corridor, her expression tightened, irritation flickering across her face.
Why is it always me? she thought. Why does the family head always send me to fetch Fang Lin? Why not Fang Qing instead?
Her fingers clenched slightly at her side.
I never liked him to begin with. That day… I even went along with Fang Qing and did that thing.
Her steps slowed for a brief moment.
And yet… he still survived.
She bit her lip, annoyance mixing with a trace of unwilling confusion.
What kind of luck does he even have?
Inside the room, unaware of the storm of thoughts outside, Fang Lin stood up from the bed, sunlight still washing over his face–
As Fang Lin stepped out of the room, he lowered his voice and spoke to Lingyi within him.
"Lingyi… was Ling'er always like this with you before?" he asked quietly. "I'm a rare talent now. If even a servant speaks to me like that, what will the family—or the clan—think?"
For a moment, Lingyi did not answer.
There was a brief silence, as if he were searching through old memories. Then his voice came softly.
"It's fine, Fang Lin. She's always been like that," Lingyi said. "I spent a lot of time with her before. Ever since that incident… it feels like she's been upset with me."
Fang Lin frowned slightly as he walked down the corridor, morning light spilling across the stone floor.
"You seem to care about her a lot," he said. "But to me, something feels off. It's like… she doesn't want me to be here at all."
Lingyi did not immediately deny it.
Instead, he sighed—so faint that only Fang Lin could sense it.
"Maybe," Lingyi replied quietly. "Or maybe she just hasn't accepted that things have changed."
Fang Lin's gaze hardened a little as voices and footsteps from the banquet hall echoed in the distance.
Changed… he thought.
Yet deep down, he knew—some changes were already making people uneasy, and Ling'er's attitude might be just the beginning.
**********
In a spacious courtyard lined with stone pillars, Fang Qing stood with his hands clenched behind his back. His expression was dark, veins faintly visible on his temple. In front of him, two servants stood trembling, their heads lowered, not daring to breathe too loudly.
"Useless!" Fang Qing snapped.
A porcelain cup flew from his hand and shattered against the ground, shards skidding across the stone floor.
"I tell you to prepare the guest list properly, and this is what you bring me?" he barked. "Do you think the Fang family's banquet is some roadside gathering?"
One of the servants tried to speak, voice shaking.
"Y-young master, we followed the old instructions—"
"Shut up!" Fang Qing roared. "Do you even deserve to speak?"
The servants flinched. One of them nearly knelt, hands pressed together in fear.
Fang Qing paced back and forth, his robe swaying with each sharp step. The anger boiling inside him had nowhere to go, and the servants were the closest outlet.
"Get out of my sight," he said coldly. "If I see mistakes like this again, don't expect mercy."
The servants bowed repeatedly and hurried away, relief and fear mixed on their faces.
As the courtyard emptied, Fang Qing stopped moving.
Silence fell.
His fists tightened even more.
"…Fang Lin," he muttered through clenched teeth.
Since tomorrow night, he had heard nothing but that name.
'A-grade aptitude.
Clan's future hope.
Rare talent in generations.'
His father's words echoed in his mind again and again, each one like a blade digging into his chest.
"So impressive," Fang Qing sneered inwardly. "As if he's already the clan head."
He slammed his fist against a pillar, the dull thud echoing through the courtyard.
"I've trained for years. I've endured everything," he thought bitterly. "Yet now… all he talks about is Fang Lin. Like I don't even exist."
Fang Qing lifted his head, eyes burning with resentment.
"Enjoy it while you can," he whispered. "Let's see how long your glory lasts."
Far away, the sounds of the banquet preparations grew louder—laughter, footsteps, greetings.
And with each sound, Fang Qing's anger only deepened.
At the same moment, Ling'er was walking along the same stone path, carrying a small tray in her hands.
Ahead of her, Fang Qing came staggering forward.
A wine cup hung loosely in his hand. His steps were uneven, his blond hair disheveled, strands falling across his face as the smell of alcohol clung to him. He looked nothing like the composed young master he usually pretended to be.
Ling'er froze when she saw him in that state.
"Y-young master Fang Qing…" she called softly, instinctively stepping forward. Seeing him sway, she hurried closer, raising her hand to support him.
Just as her fingers were about to touch his sleeve—
Fang Qing suddenly looked up.
Their eyes met.
What Ling'er saw made her heart turn cold.
There was no warmth in his gaze—only rage, hatred, and a frightening intent that made her breath catch.
Before she could react, Fang Qing shoved her away violently.
Ling'er cried out as she fell hard onto the stone ground.
"You bitch " Fang Qing snarled, his voice thick with alcohol and fury. "I told you clearly what you had to do that day. And yet—he's still alive!"
Ling'er lay where she had fallen, tears streaming down her face. She shook her head desperately.
"No… I did exactly what you said," she sobbed. "I would never betray you. I've liked you since childhood. Why would I save him?"
Her words only made Fang Qing more irritated.
"Shut up," he snapped, hurling the wine cup aside. It shattered nearby with a sharp sound. "Don't show your face in front of me again. If you do… don't blame me for what happens next."
He turned away without another glance and headed straight toward the banquet hall, his figure swallowed by the noise and lights ahead.
Ling'er remained on the ground.
A thin line of blood traced down from her forehead, but she barely noticed it. Her eyes were fixed on Fang Qing's retreating back, trembling as silent tears continued to fall.
The cheerful sounds of the banquet preparations echoed in the distance—