Event [5].

Fang Guo's fury only deepened at Fang Yuan's silence. He turned to the other seated elders.

"Will no one speak out?! Have we truly let a boy drag our family into reckless pride?"

And as if rehearsed, two more elders rose—Elder Han and Elder Moyin, long known to be close to Fang Guo.

"The Fang Family must not offend the royal line," one said grimly.

"He has overstepped, and he has endangered us all," the other added.

But even before the shock could settle, another voice rang out—sharp and scornful.

"Hypocrites!" came the cry.

It was Elder Chen, rising with a face like thunder, his fingers clenching the rim of the table.

"Only now you remember your loyalty to the Empire? When have any of you ever bowed so low until tonight?"

He turned to the others. "He has strengthened the clan, revived our treasury, unearthed the Spirit Pond. And this is how you repay him?"

"Unearthed the Spirit Pond?" Elder Moyin half-shouted, his voice pitching higher.

"That—That credit belongs to his brother!" He turned around sharply, as if seeking validation from the guests. "We all know it!"

Elder Chen turned to look at him slowly and sighed through his nose, then looked away.

There was no saving some people.

Then, Elder Jingyi stood too, her expression cold and disgusted as she glared at the dissenters.

"You show your backs like dogs sensing a larger bone to beg from. Do you think a Crown Prince will save you when your spine has already broken?"

The courtyard was suddenly alive with tension as elders divided, guests whispering, and the Crown Prince standing quietly, watching.

Still, Fang Yuan did not react with fury or panic.

He simply stood there with the box in hand, eyes calm, smile gone, but not rattled.

The weight of the moment pressed down like a drawn blade over fine silk.

And all the while, the system's prompt pulsed softly in his mind:

[QUEST: Prevent your own impeachment]

Reward: Access to the system shop

+1,000 System Points

Fang Yuan's gaze swept the courtyard, briefly touching on every elder that had risen against him and those still seated, eyes flickering with uncertainty.

Fang Yuan remained silent.

And silence, in moments like these, could be more dangerous than thunder.

But that silence only emboldened the opposition.

Elder Fang Guo stepped forward with fresh momentum, voice rising above the murmur of the crowd.

"You are still too young and immature!"

Elder Moyin shouted, "He hides behind accomplishments, but forgets—this family is not built on one man's work!"

And Elder Han added, "He acts without counsel, moves without warning. And now—" he gestured subtly toward the Crown Prince, "—he risks offending the royal family itself!"

The words echoed. Even some of the guests shifted uncomfortably.

A few began murmuring amongst themselves. The banquet's warmth had turned cold.

Then—

Step.

Step.

Four footsteps echoed in unison.

The family heads of Coldwind City's other great clans rose slowly from their seats, one by one.

Zhao Ming. He Long. Matriarch Lin Xi. Wu Shun.

Their expressions were unreadable. But their presence demanded silence.

Zhao Ming's voice, though old, carried weight like iron.

"Elders of the Fang Clan," he said, gaze level, "if not this man—Fang Yuan—then tell us…"

He Long stepped in, arms folded across his broad chest. "Do you have another candidate worthy of leading this family?"

A ripple passed through the crowd.

Matriarch Lin Xi's fan snapped open with a soft click. "Surely, with all your fervor, you've someone more capable in mind."

And Wu Shun, ever blunt, added, "Or is your opposition only noise, with no blade behind it?"

On the surface, their words seemed to defend Fang Yuan.

But Fang Yuan's eyes glinted; not with gratitude, but with dangerous clarity.

'So that's how they want to play it…' he thought.

The four family heads had not come to support him.

No, they were giving the dissenting elders a perfect excuse.

An invitation.

And sure enough, Elder Fang Guo stepped forward with barely restrained triumph.

"We do," he declared loudly, his voice sharp with rehearsed certainty. "There is one, born from Fang Shet, the grandfather of Fang Yuan. The first uncle of Fang Yuan, Fang Wei."

He turned, gesturing with a dramatic sweep toward the crowd.

And from among the guests, one figure rose, as he walked out.

An elderly man, tall and composed, with a faint deep violet sigil stitched into his inner robe.

Then another elder chimed in, speaking directly to the prince with a sweeping bow.

"Your Highness, please understand—we of the Fang Clan harbor no offense or disrespect. The behavior of our current Head was born from pride and haste, not hostility."

"Our loyalty to the Empire is unwavering," added another. "But if our leader acts rashly, should we not correct him before his pride brings danger upon us all?"

The implication hung heavy in the air: Fang Yuan's strength may be great, but it was also volatile and unchecked.

And with the Crown Prince here, the perfect chance had arrived—for the opposing faction to plead their case, cloak their ambition in loyalty, and wrap betrayal in silken diplomacy.

Fang Wei turned to Fang Yuan, his gaze heavy with the air of condescension dressed in concern.

"Cousin Yuan," he said, voice warm but heavy with performative sympathy. "You've carried the burden well… but you bear it like a sword, not a banner. It's time to pass it to steadier hands."

When Fang Yuan heard that he chuckled—soft, almost inaudible, but just enough for those watching closely to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

It wasn't out of outrage but simply due to amusement.

How generous, he thought silently, that they would try to gut him with such dulcet blades.

Yet his senses sharpened. His gaze swept Fang Wei subtly, and in the space of a breath, he felt it.

Peak Golden Core.

An oppressive presence cloaked in well-mannered robes. Refined, hidden but not invisible.

That's suspicious.

Fang Wei had never made waves in the past.

For someone supposedly inactive in the family's internal affairs for years, this sudden rise in cultivation and at such a pivotal time reeked of something deeper.

A flicker of cold amusement danced behind his gaze but beneath it, his instincts coiled tight.

Fang Wei's cultivation wasn't just suspicious—it was unnatural. It reeked of borrowed strength, or worse… sponsorship.

He didn't respond.

Instead, he turned his eyes slowly—deliberately—toward Lukas von Avetide.

And the Crown Prince simply smiled back.