The ceremonial bell's final echo faded into the heavy air.
At the heart of the grand hall, a great obsidian table gleamed, carved with ancient sigils representing balance—and power. Around it, the heads of the Four Families took their seats, each movement deliberate, each glance layered with meaning.
Liang Fei, poised and cool, represented the Liang Family. Lei Shuren, the storm barely held in human form, took his place without acknowledgment of the others. Bai Xueqin, serene yet dangerous, folded her hands gracefully before her. And though no seat was claimed for them, the Wu Family's presence—silent and invisible—loomed all the same.
Liang Yue stood behind Liang Fei's right shoulder, her small frame wrapped in ceremonial silks. She felt the tension coiling tighter with each breath.
This was not a gathering of allies. It was a battlefield dressed in silk and ceremony.
Liang Fei spoke first, his voice smooth but edged. "The purpose of this Summit is unity," he said, the word tasting strange even as he uttered it. "We face growing external threats. It would be wise to reinforce our alliances."
Lei Shuren chuckled under his breath—a low, rolling sound like distant thunder.
"Unity?" he repeated, raising a single brow. "When the Fourth Bloodline stirs again, when the balance we have kept is already trembling?"
The veiled accusation sent glances slicing toward Liang Yue.
She kept her face carefully blank, but inside, her heart hammered hard against her ribs.
Bai Xueqin smiled—an unreadable, delicate curve of her lips.
"Balance is... an evolving concept," she murmured. "We must be careful not to cling to old fears when new futures arrive."
A murmur swept the hall. Words—polished and diplomatic—but underneath them: threats, ambitions, and mistrust.
Somewhere in the dim shadows beyond the columns, Yue felt the unmistakable weight of a familiar gaze.
Wu Xian.
Not intervening. Not revealing himself. Simply watching.
Waiting.
The ceremonial stillness thinned as Lei Shuren leaned forward, the silver dragon emblem across his chest catching the muted light.
"And what of the Fourth Bloodline?" he said, his voice loud enough for all corners of the hall to hear. "Is it true the Liang Family intends to awaken it again? To tip the scales of our long-held balance?"
Silence fell. Even the air seemed to stop.
Liang Fei's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Across the table, Bai Xueqin watched with a calm smile that gave away nothing—offering no aid, no opposition.
This was deliberate.
A test.
A provocation.
Behind Liang Fei, Liang Yue felt every gaze narrowing toward her—some curious, some cautious, some hostile.
Slowly, Liang Fei rose to his full height. His voice, when it came, was as sharp as glass:
"The Fourth Bloodline is not a weapon to be wielded, nor a threat to be feared. It is a part of who we are. What we guard."
"And yet," Lei Shuren said, rising as well, "the old histories speak clearly. Where the Fourth Bloodline rises, chaos follows."
Several of the Bai envoys exchanged hushed glances, their subtle unease carefully masked.
Liang Yue's small hands clenched at her sides, hidden within her sleeves. She was only nine, standing among giants, but she understood something important in that moment:
They feared what they could not control.
Wu Xian's unseen presence shifted again—a silent, attentive watcher.
Would the Liang Family fold? Would they lash out? Would they reveal their hand too soon?
Liang Fei smiled—a slow, calculating thing.
"Chaos," he said, "comes not from bloodlines. It comes from fear. From families too eager to grasp at power rather than trust in their allies."
A direct blow—spoken with elegance.
Lei Shuren's eyes narrowed, but he did not reply immediately.
The Summit's first blow had been struck. With words, not weapons. But soon enough, everyone in that hall knew:
Steel would follow.
The ceremonial break was called, and the tension in the hall fractured into cautious movements. Servants glided between clusters of whispering families, bearing wine and platters none dared truly indulge in.
Liang Yue, heart pounding, slipped away from the main chamber under the excuse of needing air.
The side corridors were colder, quieter. Sigils traced into the ancient stones seemed to pulse faintly beneath her fingertips as she brushed the wall, steadying herself.
Low voices floated to her from around a shadowed corner.
"...can't allow it," one hissed—an envoy from the Bai Family.
"If the Fourth Bloodline awakens, none of us will stand equal," another voice rumbled—gravelly, unmistakably one of Lei Shuren's men.
"They must be... contained. Or eliminated, before it's too late."
Yue's blood froze. She pressed herself behind a heavy tapestry, heart hammering so loudly she feared it would give her away.
Footsteps approached—then paused.
A figure moved from the shadows.
Wu Xian.
He stood between her and the conspirators without a word, as if he had always been part of the wall, invisible and immovable.
The envoys walked past, oblivious to the silent guardian who shielded her.
For a long moment, Yue remained still, afraid to breathe.
Then Wu Xian turned slightly, the barest tilt of his head toward her—a signal she barely understood, but felt deep inside.
I saw you. I protected you. You owe me nothing.
And then he was gone, swallowed again by the shadows.
Yue pressed a hand against her chest, feeling the thunder in her veins.
This was not merely politics.
It was war. Silent, creeping war.
And she—child or not—was already a piece on the board.
Liang Yue stood there for a long moment, her reflection caught faintly in the polished black stone of the corridor walls. Her ceremonial sash felt heavier now, a chain instead of an honor. Somewhere deeper inside the estate, laughter and formalities resumed, the Summit carrying on as if nothing had shifted. But Yue knew better. Something had cracked beneath the surface today. And sooner than anyone expected, the world built on careful treaties and whispered alliances would come crashing down — dragging her with it.