Coldwind City.
Atop Phoenix-Soul Pavilion, the wind stirred silk banners gilded with golden thread, embroidered with the Fang clan's sigil: a soaring raven entwined with lightning.
Below, a garden of jade lilies and crimson peonies spread out like a painting, deliberately maintained to perfection for this very moment.
Fang Yuan turned thirty today.
And yet, it was not the scent of blooming flowers or warm incense that filled the air.
It was tension.
"The Four Great Families are here," a servant whispered, bowing so low his forehead brushed the marble.
Fang Yuan stood by the edge of the terrace, hands folded behind his back.
His black robes fluttered lightly, embroidered in deep violet sigils that only a cultivator of the Golden Core Realm could wear.
His expression, as always, was unreadable, serene, yet cold beneath the surface.
"Let them in," he said.
Today was not just a celebration. It was a performance.
To show how stable his family was under his reign and prove that his family was eligible to stand shoulder to shoulder with the great four families.
From the great marble steps came four figures, each followed by their entourage of cultivators in robes bearing the marks of their clans, He, Zhao, Lin, and Wu.
Four pillars of Coldwind City.
Four aged lions who had ruled longer than Fang Yuan had lived.
He cupped his fists politely.
"Elder He, Elder Zhao, Elder Lin, Elder Wu… I am honored."
Elder He, of the He Clan, chuckled first. "Fang Yuan, my boy! Thirty already? Time flies like a soaring crane. If your father were here, he'd be proud."
"Indeed," said Elder Zhao, his beard as white as snow, eyes sharper than daggers. "You've done well. The Fang Clan has flourished under your... energetic leadership."
Each word was dipped in honey and laced with poison.
Their smiles were wide, but their spiritual pressure coiled like venomous snakes beneath their sleeves.
Fang Yuan smiled back, unfazed. "I am merely walking the path laid before me by the generations that came before. If my humble progress impresses the four venerable families, then I am blessed."
It was a web of lies. Everyone here knew it.
Each one of these so-called 'guests' had, at one time or another, tried to undermine his rise. Rumors.
Assassins. Poisoned trade routes. Even silent provocations within the city's cultivation circles.
But none had succeeded.
Because Fang Yuan was not just a genius, he was a transmigrator from earth.
Elder Lin stepped forward, his expression the very picture of grandfatherly delight.
"My Lin Clan offers a humble gift to mark this special day. A Blossoming Thunder Orchid, plucked from the peaks of Mount Skyhowl. It blooms only once every thirty years, much like the talent of a certain young clan head."
A servant in silver robes stepped forward, carefully holding a crystal case.
Within, nestled in velvet, lay the orchid.
Its petals shimmered with arcs of violet lightning dancing across their tips.
A priceless treasure. And a subtle message.
Fang Yuan's smile didn't twitch. "The Lin Clan's generosity is boundless. I shall plant it in the east courtyard and tend to it personally."
"Good, good!" Elder Lin nodded, his long sleeves swaying as if applauding himself. "Treat it gently. It dislikes harsh wind… or betrayal."
Across the garden, the other elders chuckled politely.
Elder Wu clapped his hands, summoning a servant carrying a heavy lacquered box.
"We, of the Wu Clan, thought a more practical gift would suit. A furnace from the Ember-Heart Monastery, capable of tempering third-grade pills."
Another treasure.
"How thoughtful," Fang Yuan said with a slight bow. "I had just been considering refining the Eight-Hundred Soul Tempering Pill for my family juniors. This will help."
He turned, eyes sharp like a blade just sheathed.
Elder Zhao raised a cup of peach blossom wine. "To our fifth family… May Coldwind's stars rise together, and may our harmony remain unbroken for another hundred years."
"Hear, hear," Elder He chimed in, already sipping.
The crowd, clan heads, cultivators, merchant lords, and sect envoys cheered. Laughter rose. Servants bustled with wine.
Jade instruments played gentle melodies by the koi pond. Everything sparkled with the golden hue of decorum.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
Fang Yuan raised his cup last.
"To Coldwind City," he said. "May the roots of our five families intertwine for generations… and may no wind, however cold, uproot us."
A beautiful lie. Spoken like a prince, with all the poise of a sage.
The music softened. Platters of spirit beast delicacies were brought out, lotus-steamed crane, cloud-braised boar, and shimmering blue carp that danced lightly in golden broth.
The banquet flowed like wine itself.
But Fang Yuan knew the most dangerous offerings tonight were not on plates.
They were questions.
And soon, one arrived.
Elder Wu set down his wine cup, its surface still rippling from the motion. His face wore a pleasant calm, but his eyes, coal-dark and calculating never left Fang Yuan.
"I've heard," Elder Wu began, voice smooth as aged tea, "that the Fang family's soul stone mines in the Eastern Ravine have flourished despite last winter's collapse. Remarkable, truly. My own sect's mines barely scrape by these days."
Fang Yuan offered a mild, polite smile. "Heaven provides in mysterious ways. We were fortunate that the mountain spirits were not angered."
"Still," Elder Wu continued, leaning in slightly, "your monthly output has increased threefold. Surely you've found some... technique? A formation perhaps? Our families are bound by alliance. We could prosper together if such methods were shared."
He raised his wine again in half invitation, half challenge.
Around the pavilion, conversations dimmed slightly, eyes drifting toward them.
Fang Yuan tilted his head, as if considering.
Then he laughed, soft, melodious, utterly disarming.
"Elder Wu flatters me far too much. If only the Fang family were so clever! In truth, the ravine's fortunes rose after a minor reshuffling of laborers and a particularly loyal stone-seeker we took in from the borderlands. An old man with half his teeth and twice the luck. He says the stones sing to him. Who am I to question heaven's favorite fool?"
The others chuckled. Elder Lin raised a brow, unconvinced.
"Surely it cannot be luck alone," Elder Zhao said, swirling his wine.
Fang Yuan turned toward him, expression composed.
"Then let it be the blessing of ancestral spirits," he said, lifting his cup. "For if our mines are truly this fortunate, we shall offer incense to our ancestors twice a day instead of once."
Elder Wu's lips curved in something almost like amusement. "Truly, Young Master Fang is as skilled with words as with cultivation."
Fang Yuan inclined his head. "I merely follow the river's current, Elder Wu. Anything else would be arrogance."
Another perfect parry. The pressure eased, and the music picked up again.
The banquet drifted onward in a haze of cordiality.
Until—
Fang Yuan stood up abruptly as he yelled,
"…What?"