Event [4].

As the guest announcer's voice faded into silence, the heavy wooden gates of the Fang estate creaked open with ceremonial grace.

A ripple of awe spread through the gathered crowd.

From beyond the gate came the sound of hooves—slow, deliberate, yet impossibly precise. A royal carriage rolled into view, its polished gold trim catching every flicker of lanternlight.

Twin banners bearing the Avetide crest—an azure dragon entwined with a silver sun—fluttered gently in the breeze.

Flanking the carriage were knights of the royal guard, clad in gleaming armor marked with the imperial seal.

Not merely for show as each bore the presence of seasoned cultivators.

Swordmasters, likely. Silent and sharp-eyed.

Then, the carriage came to a halt.

A figure stepped out.

Tall, composed, draped in a robe of imperial blue chased with starlight silver.

Crown Prince Lukas Von Avetide descended the steps slowly, each movement practiced, as though this moment had been rehearsed a hundred times.

His golden eyes swept across the assembly, cold yet smiling. His presence did not demand attention—it seized it.

Fang Yuan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Then—

Ding.

A chime echoed in his mind.

[ QUEST: Prevent Your Own Impeachment ]

Objective: Retain your position as Fang Family Head throughout the evening.

Reward: Access to the System Shop

+1,000 System Points (usable within the System Shop)

Status: ACTIVE

A beat of silence. Then:

"I knew it," Fang Yuan muttered under his breath, barely audible.

He didn't let the frustration reach his face.

Instead, he rose from his seat with composed grace, each movement precise, as fluid as ink on water.

His face bore a serene, welcoming smile.

As he stepped forward to greet the prince, he swept a quiet glance across the four family heads.

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

Each stood like statues of stone and will.

None flinched.

He could see it in the stillness of their shoulders, in the way their attendants dared not breathe too loud.

They had their own reasons in this banquet.

For men and women of such power, of such legacy—there was no loyalty without leverage, no alliance without reward.

They could not be moved... unless a benefit was involved.

And so, Fang Yuan approached the Crown Prince beneath the soft sway of lanternlight with the mask he always wore.

A mask knitted with politeness and smiles on the surface yet calculating and measuring inside.

Crown Prince Lukas von Avetide stepped forward, a radiant smile playing across his lips—polished, princely, and just shy of sincere.

The lanternlight kissed his imperial robes, casting dancing reflections across the polished tiles of the courtyard.

His every step seemed rehearsed, timed to the rhythm of awe and ceremony.

"Clan Head Fang," Lukas said warmly, his voice rich and resonant. "It is truly an honor. Coldwind City has grown quite colorful after your family raised the standard to be the fifth great family."

Fang Yuan inclined his head with impeccable grace. "Your Highness honors our humble estate with his presence."

Lukas chuckled softly, the sound meant to disarm. "Humble? After acquiring a Spirit Pond? I daresay, your Fang Family is anything but."

He looked Fang Yuan over with casual admiration. "And so young, too. I believe we're of similar age. Quite refreshing. Most clan heads I meet have white in their beards and more politics than blood in their veins."

Fang Yuan's expression remained perfectly composed. Pleasant, even but distant, as though every word washed over him like rain on stone.

"I was merely entrusted with the role early," he said evenly. "Responsibility doesn't always wait for age."

Lukas raised an eyebrow, clearly hoping for more, but received nothing in return. The air between them remained polite but just shy of warm.

A flicker passed across the prince's face. Then he turned slightly.

"Teacher Ian," he said, tone light, "would you be so kind as to bring the gift?"

The grey-robed cultivator—calm, unreadable—stepped forward and produced a long lacquered box, sealed with a royal emblem.

Lukas took it into his own hands and turned back to Fang Yuan with an easy smile.

"I wanted to present this personally," he said. "A token of goodwill, from the capital to Coldwind City… and to the man who's been stirring quite a ripple here."

The box gleamed under the lanternlight, fine carvings etched with spiritual resonance.

The guests murmured softly behind their sleeves.

Still, Fang Yuan didn't reach for it.

He merely nodded, voice smooth and controlled. "The Crown Prince's generosity is noted."

Not "appreciated." Not "gratefully accepted." Just… noted.

The unspoken barrier lingered in the air.

Lukas tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

He wasn't offended by the attitude of Fang Yuan instead he was more curious.

He had offered warmth, familiarity, even status.

But Fang Yuan had not offered him a single crack.

No smile, no flicker of openness. Not even a sliver of vulnerability.

Stone wrapped in silk. That was what he faced.

The prince laughed softly, hiding a breath of irritation behind the sound.

"Well," he said, extending the gift fully now, "perhaps you'll indulge me… in time."

Fang Yuan reached out finally, his fingers brushing the royal box but his gaze never softened.

"I indulge many things, Your Highness," he said with quiet edge. "But rarely twice."

He took the gift without bowing. The gesture was respectful.

But it was not submission.

Just then, the silence shattered.

A chair scraped harshly against stone as one of the Fang Family elders abruptly stood.

It was Elder Fang Guo—his face red with indignation, eyes burning with suppressed rage.

"Is this how you act before the royal family?!" he snapped, voice ringing across the courtyard. "You dare show such coldness to a prince of the Empire? Are you trying to doom our entire clan, Fang Yuan?!"

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd like a wave.

Some guests drew back slightly, others leaned in with glimmering eyes—sensing drama as keenly as blood in the water.

Fang Yuan slowly lifted his head, still holding the ornate box the Crown Prince had handed him.

His midnight-black robe shimmered faintly as he straightened, the silver trim catching the lanternlight like moonlight on a blade.

Then—he smirked.

A faint curve of the lips, cold and deliberate. Like a chess master seeing a familiar gambit finally unfold.