Chapter 146 - 145: Banquet
In the hours before evening, the sprawling provincial palace of Sky Jade City transformed into a grand theater of light and celebration. Attendants moved swiftly along the sweeping eaves of the Grand Banquet Hall, hanging hundreds of glowing lanterns that bathed the surrounding courtyards in warm, golden light.
This was no ordinary dinner. It was a carefully arranged display of provincial power. Tonight, Lord Zhao Shenming was hosting a formal banquet for every notable guest, clan patriarch, and leading sect representative from the Zhao Province who had arrived in the capital ahead of the tournament.
More importantly, it was the traditional stage upon which the Provincial Lord would officially announce his Participating General for the Lord Tournament. For a long time, it had been a poorly kept secret that the coveted position was destined for a prodigy of the prestigious Han Clan. Almost everyone present had already assumed they knew who would receive the honor.
Only Bai Qingyue and Envoy Zhao Wuhen knew the truth.
The decision had already been made.
Lord Zhao Shenming had chosen Lin Yuan.
Within the quiet sanctuary of the royal quarters, Lin Yuan stood behind Bai Qingyue’s wheelchair.
"The evening air in the capital carries a sharper chill than the valley," Lin Yuan murmured softly, ensuring the fabric was perfectly arranged to ward off the drafts.
Bai Qingyue reached up, her fingers resting over his warm hand. "I will be perfectly fine, Yuan. You worry too much."
"Worrying about you is the only habit I refuse to break," he replied, a small smile touching the corners of his lips.
The heavy doors slid open, and Bai Chen stepped into the room. The young Foundation Establishment cultivator had clearly spent the last hour meticulously grooming himself. His hair was slicked back flawlessly, his robes were crisp and immaculate, and he nervously adjusted his cuffs for the third time in ten seconds. It was a subtle, telling display.
Lin Yuan immediately filed the observation away—Bai Chen was clearly hoping that a certain young woman named Su Yin might be among the allied sect guests tonight, though her attendance hadn’t been confirmed. Lin Yuan noticed the nerves, but chose to say nothing yet, allowing the boy his quiet anticipation.
"We are ready, Brother-in-law," Bai Chen announced, clearing his throat to mask his jitters.
"Then let us go," Lin Yuan nodded, taking the handles of the wheelchair.
When they arrived at the Grand Banquet Hall, the sheer scale of the venue was staggering. The room was arranged in a massive, wide horseshoe, with long tables stretching out from the center, all facing the elevated, heavily adorned dais where Lord Zhao would eventually sit. High above, the banners of allied clans and sects hung from the rafters.
Easily eighty or ninety guests had already filled the lower tables by the time they crossed the threshold. The murmur of countless private conversations blended into a low hum of speculation, ambition, and subtle martial posturing. Everyone seemed to have their own reason for being here, whether it was to strengthen an alliance, gather information, or simply witness which forces would rise above the others during the upcoming tournament. Near the dais stood Envoy Zhao Wuhen, quietly observing the gathering in his silver-threaded robes.
The seating arrangement itself revealed the hierarchy of the guests. The closer one sat to the dais, the greater their status within the Zhao Province. Those seats were reserved for the province’s most influential figures, powerful clan patriarchs, and representatives of the strongest sects. Farther from the dais, closer to the grand entrance, sat the lesser guests, minor clan elders, and opportunists hoping to use the banquet to climb higher.
A high-ranking palace attendant bowed deeply to Lin Yuan’s party, gesturing for them to follow. The attendant did not lead them to the lower tables, nor even the middle sections. Instead, he guided them straight toward the second tier, positioning them at a table situated directly beside the dais itself. It was close enough to Lord Zhao’s own seat that the placement was an unmistakable political statement.
This was where Han Zilie was already seated.
Han Zilie was young, handsome, and dressed in the exceptionally fine silks befitting an allied clan’s young master. Pinned at his collar was a glowing jade token bearing the emblem of the highly respected Han Clan, a symbol of the lineage and status he carried with pride. He was in the middle of a conversation with two fawning companions, clearly enjoying the anticipation of his clan receiving the honor it had been expecting for so long.
But the moment the attendant seated Lin Yuan, a crippled woman in a wheelchair, and a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator directly beside him, placing them even closer to the dais than his own seat, Han Zilie’s conversation died mid-sentence. His smile slowly faded as his eyes shifted toward the unexpected guests, and for a moment, he simply stared at the seating arrangement as though wondering if he had somehow misunderstood what he was seeing.
Han Zilie’s eyes followed the seating arrangement with open disbelief. His gaze slowly settled on Lin Yuan, and the faint smile on his face disappeared. His expression twisted into cold contempt as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Someone he had never heard of had been given a seat closer to the Provincial Lord than him, the young master of the Han Clan. The realization was difficult for him to accept, and the more he looked at Lin Yuan, the more displeased he became.
"Forgive me," Han Zilie said, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry through the ambient hum to the nearby tables, dripping with polished venom, "but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. And yet here you are, seated above the young master of the Han clan at Lord Zhao’s own banquet. I confess, I’m curious what merits such an honor."
Lin Yuan did not flare his aura. He did not narrow his eyes. He merely inclined his head politely, completely and utterly unbothered by the posturing of a lesser existence.
"Lin Yuan. Guest of Lord Zhao’s household."
"Guest," Han Zilie repeated, tasting the word like it was a piece of rancid meat that didn’t sit right in his mouth. "How generous a title for someone I’ve never once heard mentioned in the same breath as any respectable sect or clan. Tell me, Guest Lin—which lineage do you hail from? Which elder trained you? I ask only so I might know whose achievement to credit for a seat so far above my own family’s standing."
A ripple of quiet interest spread through the nearby tables. No one openly mocked Lin Yuan yet, but the atmosphere had changed. Conversations gradually softened as cultivators turned their attention toward the exchange, waiting to see how it would unfold. They were all accustomed to the subtle games of status and reputation played at gatherings like this, and everyone wanted to see whether Han Zilie would force this unknown guest into an embarrassing position.
Bai Chen, fiercely protective and easily riled by any slight against the man who had elevated his cousin, immediately stepped forward, his hand dropping toward the hilt of his sword. He opened his mouth to snap a response, but Lin Yuan lightly touched the young man’s arm beneath the table.
It was a silent command: Let me.
"No lineage worth boasting of," Lin Yuan said evenly, his deep purple eyes locking onto the young master with a calm that was far more terrifying than anger. "I imagine that’s disappointing to hear."
"Disappointing is one word for it," Han Zilie said, a thin, mocking smile forming on his face as he leaned back in his chair. "Careful is another. This is the Lord Tournament, Guest Lin, not some village tournament where enthusiasm counts for something. Lord Zhao’s generosity is well known throughout the Zhao province—perhaps too well known, if I’m honest. It would be a shame to see it wasted on someone who mistakes a kind host’s favor for actual standing."
Bai Qingyue’s expression did not change. She maintained the calm composure expected of a former Saintess, her face revealing nothing as Han Zilie’s words reached her ears. Yet beneath the edge of the table, Lin Yuan felt her fingers tighten slightly around the arm of her wheelchair. It was the only sign that she had noticed the insult hidden beneath the young master’s polite words.
Lin Yuan held Han Zilie’s gaze a moment longer than was comfortable for the younger man, his voice still perfectly level, yet carrying the faint pressure of a gathering storm.
"You’re right that enthusiasm doesn’t count for much," Lin Yuan said, the words smooth as jade. "Fortunately, I wasn’t relying on it."
The line landed with just enough razor-sharp edge that a couple of the older guests at the nearby tables couldn’t quite hide their quiet amusement. Han Zilie’s smug smile thinned even further, the first genuine flicker of humiliated anger showing beneath his aristocratic polish.
"We’ll see," Han Zilie sneered, abandoning the veneer of politeness, "whether Lord Zhao’s favor holds up once the proceedings actually begin and the real champion is announced. Favor is a fragile thing, Guest Lin. Results are not so easily faked."
"I look forward to demonstrating the difference," Lin Yuan said simply. He then turned his attention deliberately away from the young master, focusing entirely on adjusting Bai Qingyue’s teacup. It was not a formal dismissal exactly, but the absolute, crushing indifference of the gesture stung far worse than a slap to the face.
Before Han Zilie could muster a retort to salvage his pride, a series of clear, resonant trumpets sounded from the grand entrance of the hall.
The assembled guests instantly rose to their feet in unified respect as Lord Zhao Shenming entered the banquet. The Provincial Lord moved down the central aisle toward the dais, radiating the heavy authority of his station, with Envoy Zhao Wuhen walking silently a half-step behind him.
But before taking his own seat at the head of the horseshoe, Lord Zhao paused.
He stopped deliberately, unmistakably, at the second tier. In full view of the hushed, watching hall, Lord Zhao reached out and rested a heavy, familiar hand briefly on Lin Yuan’s shoulder.
"Lin Yuan," Lord Zhao said, his voice warm, booming, and intentionally carrying across the silent room. "I trust the seat suits you. I had it arranged personally."