Tonight promised anything but peace.
Every building within the Sinan Family’s ancestral compound had been refurbished, their carved beams and painted rafters gleaming brilliantly under bright lanterns. Festive red banners draped everywhere. Multicolored lights—red, orange, yellow—sparkled across the lavish gardens, painting ponds, bamboo groves, and rockeries in vivid hues. Even the night sky glowed like daylight.
The giant bamboo forest encircling the compound had been cleared, revealing the full splendor of the architecture. The East, West, South, and North Courtyards stood open to guests, while the central courtyard remained shrouded in darkness. The relocated bamboo now formed a tight barrier around it, barring outsiders.
The birthday banquet’s main venue lay at the junction of the West and North Courtyards. Hundreds of ornately decorated round tables filled the wide lawn beside the lotus pond, strung with bright fairy lights that banished every shadow. Servers poured aged wine and carried platters of exquisite dishes, amplifying the opulence.
Already, representatives from Imperial Capital’s major powers gathered by the pond. Every figure was prominent—most were faction leaders, the least a senior elder or heir. None dared show disrespect to the Sinan Family’s invitation.
A single wooden bridge spanned the lotus pond, serving as the sole entrance to the lawn. This streamlined security and ensured every guest received a personalized announcement—a calculated display of respect.
Yet treatment varied sharply. Powerful factions drew fawning crowds upon arrival. Lesser ones received only polite nods from acquaintances. Alliances and rivalries laid bare: enemies traded barbed compliments wrapped in silk words; minor factions scrambled to brush shoulders with giants. This was no mere birthday feast—it was the Capital’s power grid laid bare. By dawn, whispers of new alliances and shattered ties would ripple through the city. Joy and dread hung equally thick in the air.
As the banquet began, guests still flooded across the bridge. Attendants boomed each name with practiced flair.
“Master Xiuchun Liang of Xiuchun Workshop! Young Miss Xiuchun Fang! Elders Gold and Silver!”
Four figures in hybrid warrior-formal attire entered. The imposing middle-aged leader was followed by a sixteen-year-old girl whose sharp brows radiated fierce grace.
“Patriarch Chen Sheng of the Chen Family! Heir Chen Sheng! Elder Chen Yulong!”
Three men in long robes glided in. Their leader exuded scholarly calm, his refined heir mirroring his quiet elegance.
“Well, well. If it isn’t little Brother Chen Sheng?” Xiuchun Liang’s greeting dripped with mockery. “Dressed so plainly—are we visiting a clinic tonight?”
“Brother Xiuchun,” Chen Sheng retorted smoothly, “I’d heard martial artists only enjoy the clash of blades. Yet here you are, drawn to this grand feast.” Their eyes locked, sparks flying.
“Xiuchun Liang and Chen Sheng—clashing again, just as expected.”
“Their feud runs deep. This’ll be entertaining!”
Onlookers murmured, clearing space. This rivalry was far beyond their paygrade.
“How fares your clinic lately, Brother Chen?” Xiuchun Liang pressed. “Heard your medicines caused… complications recently.”
“Thanks to your relentless creation of wounded clients, our coffers overflow,” Chen Sheng shot back. “After the Clan Competition, I suspect your own family will grace our patient lists.”
“My son will ensure our business thrives,” Chen Sheng declared, clapping his heir’s shoulder with pride.
“Hmph. Since when do healers draw blood? My Fang will settle this!” Xiuchun Liang thrust his daughter forward, chest puffed with arrogance.
Neither father noticed the flicker in their children’s eyes—not hostility, but a quiet, lingering warmth.
Just as the tension threatened to snap—
“Young Miss Sinan Xiao of the Sinan Family!”
All heads turned. The first direct descendant of the Sinan bloodline to appear. Rumors painted her a brilliant scholar; tonight, all craved proof.
Escorted by maids, Xiao entered in a deep purple gown, a white shawl draped over her shoulders. Elegant, yet the formal dress hung on her like sleepwear. Tucked under her arm was her ever-present leather-bound tome—a permanent extension of herself.
Noble heirs swarmed her immediately. But Xiao, awkward with strangers, mumbled brief replies before hiding behind her book at the edge of the crowd. Disappointed suitors drifted away.
“Heir Sinan Xing of the Sinan Family!”
A collective rustle swept the lawn. Xing appeared in black formalwear, two attendants trailing him. Conversations died as every eye fixed on the bridge. Faction representatives surged forward—but knowing Xing’s famously icy demeanor, noble ladies wisely held back.
Xing moved with unhurried grace, acknowledging each greeting with poised calm. No crowd could drown his steady presence. Ladies sighed inwardly: *Such a fine young man… why so cold?*
“Second Heir Sinan Feng of the Sinan Family!”
Another roar erupted. Feng strode in, laughing, flanked by five stunning women. His fitted attire showcased a powerful physique; his companions ranged from elegant to fiery, all breathtaking.
“Master Feng!”
“He’s even more handsome tonight!”
“Master Feng, might you have time later? I’d love to…”
Noble daughters mobbed him, jostling his companions aside. Though infamous for his arrogance and womanizing, Feng remained the easiest heir to sway—flattery and favors bought his ear.
“Third Heir Sinan Qianming and Fourth Heir Sinan Cheng of the Sinan Family!”
Heads snapped toward the bridge again. Two young men approached. Qianming wore rebellious, modern attire that matched his devil-may-care charm. Cheng trailed behind in an ill-fitting suit, his round face pinched with anxiety.
Qianming’s striking looks and magnetic aura drew a crowd rivaling Feng’s. The darling of high society, he charmed women with witty, respectful banter—infinitely preferable to Feng’s crude appetites.
Beside his dazzling brothers, poor Cheng stood nearly alone. A few polite guests exchanged words with him. He stammered replies, eyes darting toward Qianming, desperate to retreat to his protective shadow.
The heirs’ arrivals ignited the crowd. Three distinct clusters formed around Xing, Feng, and Qianming—Feng’s the largest, Xing’s and Qianming’s evenly matched. Cheng huddled with other overlooked heirs, united by shared insignificance.
Just as the factions solidified, the announcer’s voice cut through the buzz—trembling with barely contained awe:
“Lord Philip Tatalia, Head of the Tatalia Family! And his daughter, Lunara Tartalia!”
