Fang Yuan panicked not.
He simply rose from his seat, the final formation flag still glowing faintly on the table behind him, and extended a hand.
The air within the chamber stilled. Then—
Boom.
A ripple of pure spiritual will surged out from him like a tidal wave.
Invisible to the naked eye but unmistakable to any who cultivated, the spiritual wave shot through the estate and beyond, blanketing the entirety of Coldwind City in a breathless instant.
It wasn’t violent. But it was absolute.
In the hearts of those sensitive to qi, it was as if the sky had leaned down to whisper in their ears.
And it whispered power.
Across the city, four distinct locations erupted in simultaneous chaos.
Zhao Clan, perched in the northern high halls of Coldwind Ridge—Zhao Ming, the elderly Patriarch, trembled mid-ditation, his eyes snapping open.
"Nascent Soul!" he croaked, leaping to his feet.
He Family, their underground arena buzzing with fighters—He Long, mid-spar with his third son, faltered as his knees bent involuntarily. Sweat poured from his brow as he turned toward the source.
"Impossible..."
Lin Pavilion, a spire of knowledge and arrays—Matriarch Lin Xi’s tea cup cracked in her hand. Her expression remained unreadable, but her fingers trembled against the lacquered table.
Wu Fortress, ho to Coldwind’s most militant family—Wu Shun growled low in his throat. "Who the hell stepped into that realm in our backyard?!"
And above them all, beyond the city walls, on a royal path lined with guards in ceremonial armor—
A silver-gilded carriage rolled to a halt.
Inside, the young man wearing imperial colors sat up straighter, a flicker of awe in his gaze. He turned to the man beside him, a calm figure robed in grey with a scroll sealed to his back.
"Teacher Ian," the prince murmured, "is that... what I think it is?"
The one called Ian closed his eyes, letting the ripple wash over him before nodding once.
"Yes, Your Highness. A Nascent Soul cultivator... no doubt."
He cracked open one eye, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"And it would appear they reside in the very city we’re heading to."
The prince’s eyes glead.
"How intriguing indeed."
Back within the estate, Fang Yuan lowered his hand, expression unreadable.
That brief sweep hadn’t just been a show of power—it had been a search.
He had tasted every sliver of spiritual movent, examined every thread of qi that stirred in response. From the central market to the outskirts, from the forests to the underground vaults.
Fang Yuan stood alone in the center of the quiet chamber, the final echo of his spiritual wave fading into the still night like the last ripple on a calm lake.
Monts passed.
Then, like a net tightening, his mind snapped into focus—mories, impressions, qi threads all aligning with a single realization.
He found out where Fang i was and who was responsible for this case of kidnapping.
At least they were close enough to not actually hurt her so he didn’t really felt it necessary to go to her right now.
The other party... may have been cautious or being overly restrained. But they were unaware that their little antics hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.
Fang Yuan’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
he murmured, half-amused, half-predatory. "Interesting."
Fang Yuan snickered softly under his breath, eyes glinting.
He turned slightly. "Felicia."
The maid stepped in from the side room, her posture straight despite the lingering tension.
"Family Head?"
"Bring my robe," he said, his voice light now, relaxed. "I have an event to host."
She hesitated. "And Fang i...?"
"She’ll be fine," Fang Yuan said simply, brushing a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve. "She’s in the middle of a little ga. She won’t be hurt."
Felicia gave a short bow. "Understood."
Monts later, she returned, arms cradling a garnt of midnight black—trimd with elegant silver lining the cuffs and collar.
The robe shimred faintly under the light, woven from spiritual thread, the inner lining made from thinly tanned hide of a low-tier thunder beast.
An outfit worthy of the Fang Family Head.
Crafted not only for its appearance but to withstand force, speed, and power. Defensive in structure, graceful in movent. Authority made wearable.
Fang Yuan slipped into the robe with practiced ease, the fabric settling around his fra like it belonged there.
He then reached to a small lacquered box on the nearby shelf. With a soft click, it opened to reveal an insignia to recognize the mark of a Golden Core cultivator.
He stared at it for a long mont.
Then closed the lid.
"Today," he muttered, voice laced with dry amusent, "is a day of surprises."
He swept out of the chamber, Felicia falling into step just behind him, her steps quiet, her face unreadable.
The lantern light caught on the silver trim of his robe as the two vanished into the deeper halls of the estate.
He moved through the estate like a blade through silk—quiet, unopposed.
By the ti he stepped into the courtyard, the crowd had already begun to gather beneath the twilight sky.
Lanterns swayed gently overhead, their warm glow dancing across polished stone tiles and satin-draped tables.
The air was heavy with perfud incense and the faint clinking of wine cups.
Guests—rchants and dignitaries from across Coldwind City—filtered in with guarded smiles and eager eyes, their robes bright and their words brighter.
As Fang Yuan stepped forward, the crowd parted almost instinctively.
He was a striking figure in the silver-trimd midnight robe, calm yet commanding. The very air around him felt different; colder, sharper, like sothing just beneath the surface had teeth.
But not everyone greeted him with silence.
From near the platform, a voice spoke up, tinged with impatience and sothing darker.
"You’re late."
The speaker was Elder Fang Guo, one of the older family mbers, his hands folded into his sleeves, his expression neutral but only barely.
The line of his jaw was tight, and his narrowed eyes held a faint glimr of challenge.
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