The moonlight poured over the city of Linh Uyên like silver rain, casting long shadows across the vast imperial estate. Tonight, under the pretense of unity and harmony, the four major sects had gathered for a grand banquet held by the imperial family.
But beneath the glamour, alliances were forged with hidden blades, and behind every toast lurked a poison of ambition.
Inside the Moonlight Pavilion, the air shimmered with spiritual energy. Elders, sect leaders, noble prodigies, and gifted cultivators sat around intricately carved jade tables, sipping rare spiritual wine and trading polite laughter.
At the far end of the hall, seated alone, was a black-robed figure, his face hidden beneath a silver mask.
Vạn Thiên Phong.
He had arrived not as a guest, but as a ghost. No one knew he was there, except for one—Bạch Tiêu Nhiên, the frost beauty of the Jade Moon Pavilion.
From across the room, her eyes flicked to the masked figure only once. That one glance sent a chill down the spine of many. Yet no one suspected she was staring at the man everyone believed dead.
"This is dangerous," whispered a voice beside her.
It was her senior brother, Tô Lạc Hàn, a righteous cultivator known for his serene demeanor and piercing insight.
"You're distracted, junior sister," he said softly.
She tilted her head, offering a faint smile. "Just thinking of old stories."
Across the hall, the Emperor of Linh Uyên stood, raising his goblet. "Tonight, we celebrate peace, unity, and the future of our cultivation world. Let old grudges be buried and new bonds formed!"
The crowd responded with respectful applause.
But Thiên Phong sneered beneath his mask.
Peace? Bonds? These people only knew how to smile with blood in their teeth. He could see it—envy hidden beneath praise, greed lurking in every smile, and fear barely concealed behind every gesture. This world had no peace. Only power.
He didn't come here to eat.
He came here to watch them bleed.
Moments later, a young genius from the Thunderfire Sect, Trác Vô Nhai, stood and raised his cup.
"I heard the genius of the Jade Moon Pavilion, Fairy Bạch, has recently broken through to the Peak of Golden Core. Perhaps she would honor us with a display?"
The crowd buzzed with interest. Bạch Tiêu Nhiên remained calm, brushing a strand of silver-blue hair behind her ear.
"I'm not fond of putting on a show," she replied coldly.
But Trác Vô Nhai smirked. "Then how about a friendly duel? Just a light exchange—our young talents would love to witness your brilliance firsthand."
He was mocking her. Everyone could tell.
Tô Lạc Hàn stood, clearly displeased. "Fairy Bạch has nothing to prove. If you desire a duel, I will entertain you instead."
Trác Vô Nhai laughed. "Afraid she might lose face?"
That was the moment the masked man finally moved.
Vạn Thiên Phong stood slowly, taking a step into the candlelight.
"Let me."
The entire room fell silent. Hundreds of gazes turned to him.
Trác Vô Nhai frowned. "Who are you?"
Thiên Phong's voice was low, calm, and carried the chill of death.
"Someone who despises arrogant dogs barking for attention."
A ripple of shock spread. Who dared insult a top-tier disciple like that?
The Emperor raised a brow. "Young man, state your name and your sect."
But Phong didn't answer. Instead, he stepped onto the dueling platform at the center of the hall and drew a long, black blade.
"If you're so eager for a duel, I'll give you one. But I won't go easy."
Trác Vô Nhai snarled. "You think I fear a masked coward?!"
In a flash, both cultivators launched forward.
The air shattered as their weapons clashed. Sparks erupted. Swords sang. Trác Vô Nhai's lightning-infused strikes lit up the hall, but Thiên Phong moved like a shadow, evading with unnatural precision.
He didn't just fight—he played.
Every move of Phong's was deliberate, taunting, surgical. He didn't aim to kill quickly. He aimed to humiliate.
Within thirty seconds, Trác Vô Nhai had slashes across both arms, a cut on his cheek, and blood dripping from his thigh.
"Y-you bastard…!" he roared.
Phong smiled behind the mask. "I thought you wanted a 'light exchange.'"
The next moment, he vanished.
Shadow step.
He reappeared behind Trác Vô Nhai, whispered a single word—"Fall."
And drove his blade through the boy's shoulder, pinning him to the jade floor.
The room erupted.
"Enough!" shouted an elder of the Thunderfire Sect. "This is not a life-and-death battle!"
Phong turned to the Emperor. "Did your invitation not include 'duels to bond hearts'? I was simply being… friendly."
The Emperor's expression froze.
Then came the voice no one expected.
"…You've improved."
Bạch Tiêu Nhiên.
She stood slowly, looking straight at the masked man. The crowd watched, confused.
"Tôi không biết người là ai," she said in perfect, calm Vietnamese.
No one understood—except Vạn Thiên Phong.
He smiled faintly. So she recognized him. But she wouldn't expose him.
Not yet.
He sheathed his blade, turned, and left the hall as quietly as he came.
---
Back in the dark alleys of Linh Uyên, Phong removed his mask and stared at the night sky.
The banquet had gone exactly as planned. A seed of fear now rested in their hearts. His face remained hidden, but his presence was unmistakable. The sects would start to whisper. They'd begin to search. Panic would spread.
And when they finally realized the villain they thought long dead had returned?
It would be far, far too late.
He gazed down at a parchment in his hand—a list of names. Elders, sect masters, noble families. Every name had a red mark.
"They danced with dragons," he whispered. "Now they'll burn with them."
---
[End of Chapter 16.]