The silence that settled over the banquet hall of the Xie Ancestral Estate was thick, heavy, and absolute. It was the kind of suffocating stillness that occurs right before a collapse.
The crystal chandeliers overhead cast a brilliant light across rows of guests who stood frozen like statues, their champagne glasses suspended in mid-air. Every eye in the cavernous room darted between the emaciated, sharp-eyed prodigy sitting rigidly in the wheelchair and the immaculate, white-suited figure standing behind the podium.
For three agonizing seconds, Xie Changheng did not move a single muscle. He did not scream, he did not panic, and his posture did not falter.
Instead, a chilling composure settled over his handsome features, masking whatever volatile terror was currently clawing at his throat. He slowly took a deep, measured breath, reaching down with steady, deliberate fingers to adjust the gold cufflinks of his pristine white designer jacket.
