Night fell upon the Yun Clan's banquet hall, lanterns bathing the chamber in amber glow. Dancers spun gracefully to the music of zithers, their sleeves fluttering like wings. Servants hurried between nobles with cups of warmed wine.
But far from the splendor of the stage, a darker atmosphere hung at one table.
Ling Hu sipped his wine slowly, though his thoughts were far from drink. The praise Ling Tian had received that morning still echoed mockingly in his ears. Ling Clan's future… Ling Tian this, Ling Tian that…
The words festered like poison.
Beside him, a Yun Clan elder raised an eyebrow. "Cousin Hu, you seem troubled. Surely the Ling Clan's golden heir does not overshadow your spirit so greatly?"
Hu forced a laugh, bitter as wormwood. "Golden? Perhaps. But even gold can crumble when the foundation is sand. My cousin appears flawless, but appearances deceive. He hides behind the clan's banner, thinking himself untouchable. Take that away, and what is he? Nothing."
Several young Yun disciples chuckled at his scorn. Among them, a man in crimson robes gave an amused snort. His hair was tied with a sapphire clasp, his eyes sharp and mocking—Yun Xian, the Yun Clan's arrogant young master.
"Ling Tian, is it?" Yun Xian drawled, swirling his wine lazily. "I've heard the songs praising him. But from what I see, he leans on his clan's protection. Without it, he's just another pretender destined to fall. Mark my words: one day that so-called phoenix will be grounded, crawling in the mud."
Laughter rippled through the hall at his words.
Hu's lips curled into a smile—small, but dangerous. "Your tongue is sharp, Young Master Yun. Perhaps sharper than even your blade."
Yun Xian raised his glass toward Hu, smirking. "Let us say this then, Brother Hu. When Ling Tian falls, may I be there to step on his broken wings."
Glasses clinked. Wine burned their throats. And amidst the laughter, a pact of malice was forged.
The celebratory music rang hollow in Hu's ears. To others, tonight was filled with wine and dance. To him, it was the opening move in a grand game.
In the glow of lanterns, shadows deepened—and envy, mingling with ambition, slipped silently into destiny's script.