The grand hall of the Sheng Clan was tense, heavy with expectation. Shadows of the ornate pillars stretched across the polished floor, and the cold light of the hanging lanterns cast sharp reflections on the faces of those gathered.
Sheng Haoren’s voice cut through the thick silence like a blade, sharp and accusatory.
“Xing Liuyue… the way he behaved—it was beyond recklessness!” His words carried not just anger, but the weight of a patriarch’s authority, reverberating across the chamber.
As if triggered by Haoren’s accusation, the elders began to speak one after another, their voices a rising tide of condemnation.
Each elder, seasoned and shrewd, found fault in Xing Liuyue’s actions. “I cannot believe it,” one elder spat, his voice quivering with indignation, “if only Sheng Linyue had not dishonored us, this Xing Liuyue would not dare speak like this!”
Their criticisms grew sharper, more venomous, like daggers aimed at a target too powerful to strike directly.
The air thickened with tension, elders whispering behind hands, pointing fingers, their eyes alight with righteous anger.
Every voice added another layer of judgment, until the hall seemed to vibrate with their collective disapproval. And then—suddenly—a commanding presence silenced them all.
“Shut up. Everyone.”
Shen Zhenwei’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of absolute authority, slicing through the chaos like a blade.
All conversation halted abruptly. He raised a hand, pointing directly at one of the elders. The hall seemed to hold its breath.
With a subtle flourish, his Nine-Petal Power flared around him, a golden aura that radiated sheer force.
The aura was not loud, but it was undeniable—a force that spoke of consequences, of the immutable boundaries of respect.
“How dare you,” Zhenwei’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, “you may blame the bastard of Linyue all you wish, but you have no rights to speak of my daughter, Linyue.”
A collective shiver passed through the room. Every elder bowed instantly, their arrogance quelled by the sheer presence of the patriarch’s wrath.
Some lips trembled with unspoken apologies; eyes lowered in fear. Even those who had believed themselves untouchable were reminded, in that single, silent command, of the true extent of Zhenwei’s power.
Zhenwei sank his head into his hand, the weight of responsibility pressing upon him. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause.
Time itself stilled, every sound muted, every movement frozen. A surge of energy rolled across the Sheng Clan, powerful enough to knock many unconscious, their bodies succumbing to the overwhelming force.
Yet Zhenwei remained, straining to trace the source of this sudden, immense power. His efforts, however, were intercepted—blocked by Xing Liuyue, whose own aura surged invisibly, hiding the origin from even the most vigilant eyes.
Far beyond the Sheng Clan, the echoes of this power reached other families of the martial world. Long Matriarch Long Meiyun felt a stirring of power in her chest. Huo Zhenhai, the Huo Patriarch, stiffened, his gaze sharp, sensing the tremor. Feng Tianshu, the Feng Patriarch, almost stumbled, his heart pounding.
Across the lands, the martial world itself seemed to pause, gripped by a sudden tension, as if the heavens themselves were acknowledging the force that had been unleashed.
and then Add to home screen.