“You… You’re…”
High upon the grand wedding platform, where crimson silks and golden brocade had been meticulously draped, Wei Jian’s face was a study in profound misery and unadulterated terror. Before him stood Song Lia, radiating an icy calm, her sword an arc of shimmering steel that seemed to cleave the very air. The sheer force of her aura, a tidal wave of spiritual power, caused Wei Jian’s legs to tremble beneath his splendid, yet now-ridiculous, ceremonial robes. It was a rather undignified display for a groom.
Li Xuan, seated at a discreet table meant for those of less consequence — a vantage point he rather preferred for its unobstructed view of the surrounding garden’s camellias — found himself observing the scene with a detached fascination, as one might watch a particularly dramatic opera. The flash of steel against the setting sun was quite remarkable, really; it reminded him of the way light splintered off a perfectly polished stone in the market, simple yet captivating.
*How was this possible?*
Wei Jian’s mind reeled. Song Lia had arrived in Yanwu City mere days ago, and what he had seen then was nothing more than a fading cultivation, barely clinging to the rudimentary Qi Circulation Realm. The dismissive contempt he’d showered upon her had been predicated entirely on the assumption that a woman with such scattered qi, regardless of her family’s prestige, would be nothing more than a convenient, silent alliance. But now? Now she stood like a vengeful deity, her spiritual energies blazing.
“I don’t believe it!” Wei Jian snarled, his voice cracking, a rather unconvincing show of defiance. He gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with a hateful resentment that spoke of a deep-seated humiliation. “You were promised to my House of Wei! You dare to put on this act here?” He simply could not accept that a ‘waste’ could regain such power so swiftly. It defied all logic, all decorum. He refused to believe it.
Li Xuan sipped his jasmine tea, finding the drama of the moment only mildly distracting from the subtle nuances of the brew. He wondered if Wei Jian had ever truly considered what made something ‘waste.’ A chipped cup, perhaps, or a withered flower? Yet, even those held a certain utility, a quiet beauty in their imperfection or their eventual return to the earth. To label a person as such seemed… rather shortsighted. He mused that perhaps true power lay not in grand displays, but in the quiet resilience of things that endure.
Song Lia’s lips curled into a slow, mocking smile, her sharp gaze sweeping over Wei Jian as if he were nothing more than a particularly bothersome insect. “Waste?” she echoed, her voice clear and cutting, carrying effortlessly across the hushed assembly. “And what, pray tell, does that make *you*?” Her gaze hardened. “You, Wei Jian, are no gentleman. You are utterly unworthy of me, Song Lia.”
With those words, her sword—which, to Li Xuan, seemed to hum with a subtle resonance, like a well-tuned zither—slashed through the air. A single, luminous arc of sword light shot towards Wei Jian. The strike sent a ripple of astonished gasps through the assembled guests. These were no ordinary spectators; they were cultivators of standing, patriarchs and elders from across Yanwu City, each a master of their own spiritual arts. They saw what Wei Jian could not: Song Lia’s cultivation had soared, undoubtedly reaching the illustrious Soul Core Realm. The daughter of the House of Song’s patriarch, once dismissed, was now a legend in the making. Whispers, like agitated cicadas, began to spread: “The Azure Phoenix Awakened,” “A Dragon Amongst Maidens.” For Li Xuan, it was just a particularly impressive display of martial skill, quite elegant in its precision.
“Hold!” bellowed Patriarch Wei, a formidable figure of the Spirit Weave Realm, his face contorting in a mixture of fury and shock. He had sensed a disturbance, a subtle shift in the spiritual currents around Song Lia, but had dismissed it as feminine jitters. Now, he understood the source of his unease. Losing face was anathema, but allowing his grandson to be skewered on his wedding day was even worse. He lunged forward, sweeping his sleeves in a forceful defensive gesture, fully confident that his superior cultivation would effortlessly nullify Song Lia’s Soul Core strike.
But Song Lia’s technique was not so easily dismissed. The single arc of sword light, in an instant, fractured and multiplied, a dazzling array of silver threads. A significant portion of this fragmented sword qi bypassed Patriarch Wei’s block entirely, striking Wei Jian with startling force. To Li Xuan, it looked like a sudden, elegant dance of light, a beautiful fragmentation, much like how a single drop of ink could spread into intricate patterns on wet parchment. He found it quite aesthetically pleasing, if a bit dramatic.
*Bang!*
Behind the flustered Patriarch Wei, Wei Jian’s ceremonial robes shredded, leaving him in a rather sorry state of dishabille. His body convulsed as if struck by lightning, and he flew backward, tumbling ungracefully from the high platform to land in a crumpled heap amidst the scattered rose petals. He gasped, spitting a mouthful of blood, his eyes wide with horror and a pathetic, childish indignation. “You lied to me! You must have lied!” he shrieked, refusing to accept the reality of Song Lia’s sudden, overwhelming power. It was truly a pitiful sight, Li Xuan mused, like a puppy yelping at a tiger.
Song Lia merely sneered. “Heh, lied to you? What are you, Wei Jian, that you are worthy of my deception?” She retrieved her sword with an air of complete indifference, the blade gleaming innocently once more, and turned her piercing gaze to Patriarch Wei. “This marriage is concluded.”
Patriarch Wei’s eye twitched uncontrollably. The combined weight of the numerous gazes from the assembled guests felt like a physical burden, searing his skin. Yet, he had to rein in his fury. At that moment, a figure from the House of Song, Elder Song Lian, a man of profound spiritual strength and even greater diplomatic acumen, rose to his feet.
“Patriarch Wei,” Elder Song Lian stated, his voice calm, yet resonating with an undeniable authority that seemed to humble even the grand pillars of the Wei Estate. “Given that our young lady’s cultivation has been fully restored, there is no longer any basis for this alliance. As for the betrothal gifts from the House of Song… you may keep them.”
Elder Song Lian harbored no pretense of caring for Patriarch Wei’s wounded pride. Indeed, he had no need to. His own cultivation surpassed that of Patriarch Wei, and the House of Song, a power truly revered across the Azure Empire, owed no apologies or courtesies to the House of Wei. Dignity, after all, was earned through strength, a rather brutal truth in Yanwu City’s high society.
Without waiting for any response, Song Lia descended from the platform, her movements fluid and purposeful, and strode towards the exit of the Wei Estate, followed closely by Elder Song Lian. The hushed whispers erupted into a cacophony of speculation and gossip. Li Xuan, ever the connoisseur of quiet moments, finished his tea. He felt a mild satisfaction, as if a particularly complex knot had been untangled. He quite enjoyed a good, decisive ending.
“Well,” Li Xuan commented softly to himself, adjusting his simple robes, “that was certainly a thorough unraveling.” He picked up a stray rose petal from the table, examining its delicate veins. “A good show, indeed.”
Beside him, Master Hu, a burly stonemason with calloused hands and a keen eye for worldly affairs, scoffed. “Tsk, the House of Wei has certainly lost face tonight. Look at these grand cultivators, all with their own powerful houses. They’ll go back and chatter, mark my words. A reputation can shatter faster than a cracked jade.”
As Elder Song Lian reached the perimeter of the courtyard, his gaze, perhaps out of habit or idle curiosity, drifted towards the table occupied by mere mortals. It was then that his eyes landed upon a small, delicate silver cat. Its fur seemed to shimmer with an unnatural luster, and its eyes, deep pools of jade and shadow, held a profound, ancient power. Elder Song Lian, a man who had faced beasts of legend and wielded formidable qi, felt an instant, overwhelming coercion emanating from the creature, a pressure that brought him to the brink of collapse. His heart seized. *How could a Nine-Life Jade Spirit Cat be here, sitting so calmly amidst mortals?*
“Leave,” a voice, cold and arrogant, echoed directly within Elder Song Lian’s mind, clear as a bell, yet utterly devoid of sound in the physical world. He snapped back to reality, sweat beading on his brow. The silver cat, Linglong, merely flicked her tail, a seemingly innocent gesture. But to Elder Song Lian, it was a warning. He felt an instinctual terror, a primal understanding that to linger a moment longer would invite a fate far worse than mere humiliation. Hastening his pace, he practically fled the Wei Estate.
Linglong, for her part, offered a quiet huff in her heart, then, with a graceful leap, landed back in Li Xuan’s lap, settling comfortably. Li Xuan, oblivious to the eldritch encounter that had just transpired, merely stroked her soft fur, thinking she had perhaps become restless from the ongoing commotion.
“The House of Wei’s wedding is certainly unfinished business,” Li Xuan remarked, more to Linglong than anyone else. “And I’ve had my fill of dramatic performances. The medical hall will need me soon.” He patted Linglong gently, stood, and offered a polite nod to Master Hu and the few remaining guests at their table. He felt a slight pang of regret that he hadn’t had the chance to truly savor the braised duck, but the day’s spectacle had, in its own way, been rather filling.
Back on the elevated platform, Wei Jian, his clothes torn and spirit shattered, was being hoisted up by several guards. He looked utterly deranged, muttering incoherent phrases about disbelief and deception. Patriarch Wei, witnessing his grandson’s pathetic state, could no longer contain his own monumental rage. He brought his hand down, a resounding slap echoing through the courtyard, sending Wei Jian reeling and stumbling once more.
“You evil blight! You have brought utter disgrace upon the House of Wei!” Patriarch Wei’s voice trembled, but not with fear, but with impotent fury. What could he do? Song Lia’s public rejection was not merely a loss of face; it was a wound to the very honor of his family. And the humiliation was compounded by his own inability to counter her. His Spirit Weave Realm cultivation, mighty as it was, had failed to stop a mere Soul Core practitioner’s blow. His own prestige was now irrevocably tarnished. He cast a despairing glance at the departing guests, their faces a tapestry of various emotions—pity, schadenfreude, calculating interest. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that from this night forward, the House of Wei’s standing in Yanwu City was precarious at best. With a forced, placating smile, he began the agonizing process of apologizing to the remaining guests, spinning a fabricated tale of unforeseen complications.
*If only she hadn’t appeared at all.* The thought burned in his mind.
Then, an arrogant, derisive laugh, booming and undeniable, descended from the heavens. “Heh, it seems the House of Wei truly is made of soft bone!”
Patriarch Wei, his face already purple with suppressed rage, bristled. His beard quivered. “Who dares to be so arrogant and presumptuous!? Show yourself!”
As if in answer, a figure of breathtaking beauty and unearthly grace materialized in the air above the Wei Estate, clad in robes of shimmering violet silk. She looked down upon the assembly, her posture one of utter condescension, yet her presence was captivating, drawing every eye. All present gazed up, dumbfounded. To Li Xuan, she simply appeared as a vibrant burst of color against the pale twilight sky, like a perfectly ripe plum blossom. He wondered if such a garment was comfortable to wear.
Linglong, in her true, majestic form, smiled contemptuously. Her fingers, as slender and white as jade, traced a delicate line across her crimson lips. “Who are you?” Patriarch Wei narrowed his eyes, a cold dread twisting in his gut. This woman was exquisitely alluring, yet radiated an unsettling power.
“Why, Patriarch Wei,” Linglong purred, her smile widening, her tone laced with playful mockery, “have you so quickly forgotten the injured creature you pursued through the city streets this very morning? Can you not recognize my true visage?” Her red lips curved into a mesmerizing, dangerous arc. Then, her voice abruptly turned glacial, and Patriarch Wei’s pupils constricted. He suddenly remembered.
“You! You are the gravely wounded Nine-Life Jade Spirit Cat!”
“Indeed,” Linglong affirmed, her jade hand opening to reveal a terrifying surge of energy that warped the very air around her. Her eyes, now glowing with ancient power, deepened into bottomless wells. “And regrettably for you, Patriarch Wei, I am no longer gravely wounded.”
The majestic coercion, a force that transcended mortal understanding, descended upon the courtyard. Every guest, every guard, every member of the House of Wei, collapsed to their knees, gasping for breath, their own spiritual energies utterly dwarfed. Even those of considerable power, like Patriarch Wei, found themselves powerless, crushed by an overwhelming presence. There was only one explanation for such a force: this was the boundless, terrifying power of a Celestial Ascension Realm master. And Li Xuan, utterly absorbed in petting the gentle, purring cat on his lap, simply wondered why everyone suddenly decided to take a collective bow. He presumed it was some local custom he hadn't yet grasped.