The Ascension of the suppressed Dragon

chapter 7:the banquet

Lin Mengyao was still staring at the crumbling Power Stone when I turned the corner and let the shadows swallow me. I didn’t slow. I didn’t hesitate. Whatever fracture had just opened in her world wasn’t my concern. I had already spent ten years buried beneath other people’s grief. I wasn’t interested in carrying hers.

Footsteps echoed behind me, but I didn’t look back. The corridors of the sect bent inward as I moved, lantern light thinning, stone walls breathing cold. The closer I got to the Great Hall, the thicker the air became—perfume, incense, roasted meat, wine. Celebration. Excess. The sound of laughter drifted toward me like rot disguised as sweetness.

“Mo Ying! Get your worthless hide over here!”

The Head Steward’s voice cracked through the corridor like a lash. I stopped just short of colliding with him. He stood at the entrance to the Great Hall, robe immaculate, posture rigid, clutching a silver tray of crystal carafes like a weapon. His eyes skimmed over me with open disgust.

“You think you can wander off because you’re a Null?” he hissed, shoving the tray hard into my chest. The glass rattled. Wine sloshed

dangerously close to the rim. “Tonight hosts the elite families of the Three Provinces. If you spill a single drop on a Ling Clan robe, I’ll peel your skin off and hang it in the kitchens as a warning. Do you understand?”

I adjusted my grip, steadying the tray. “Yes.”

“You’ll pour. You’ll bow. You’ll disappear.”

“The Ling Clan?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

He sneered. “Lord Ling Zhaoyang. Guest of honor. Chosen of the heavens. Now move.”

The Great Hall swallowed me the moment I crossed the threshold.

Light exploded from every surface—lanterns of jade and gold, silk banners cascading from the ceiling, phoenixes embroidered so densely they seemed ready to lift from the walls. Long tables stretched the length of the chamber, sagging beneath platters of food and crystal goblets. Nobles reclined in layered finery, laughter spilling freely, every sound polished and practiced.

“Servant!”

“More wine here!”

“Careful with your hands, boy.”

I moved as I always did—head bowed, steps measured, presence thin enough to slip between breaths. Years of invisibility had taught me where to place my feet, how to angle my shoulders, when to vanish from notice even while standing directly in front of someone.

Then I saw him.

Ling Zhaoyang sat at the high table, draped in crimson and gold, robes heavy with embroidered authority. Time had been kind to him. No—time had avoided him. His face was unlined, his posture relaxed, his expression indulgent. He looked like a man who had never paid for a single crime.

Beside him sat Wei Wuji, smiling too easily, leaning back with careless confidence, as though the world had already been handed to him and he was merely waiting to claim it.

Zhaoyang rose.

The room stilled instantly.

“Friends,” he said, voice warm, measured, rehearsed. “Ten years ago, the Ling Clan endured a great tragedy.” He paused, letting the silence work for him. “My beloved brother fell. His only son perished alongside him.”

Murmurs rippled across the hall—sympathy offered like currency.

“Yet from sorrow,” Zhaoyang continued, “the heavens granted renewal.” He lifted his hand.

Golden flame bloomed at his fingertips.

Gasps followed.

“The Heavenly Fire Root.”

“A divine gift.”

Zhaoyang smiled, basking in it. “The heavens chose me.”

With a flick of his wrist, the brazier at the center of the hall ignited. Fire roared upward, a towering pillar of gold and white. Heat slammed into my skin. The wine in my tray vibrated faintly.

Applause erupted.

“Incredible!”

“Unmatched control!”

Wei Wuji stood, clapping enthusiastically. “Truly, Uncle! No one in the Three Provinces can rival your flame!”

Zhaoyang inclined his head, magnanimous. His gaze swept the room—and landed on me.

“Pour the wine, boy.”

I stepped forward.

The fire loomed inches away as I passed. I felt its hunger. Its arrogance.

I flicked my fingers.

The flame vanished.

Not weakened. Not dimmed.

Gone.

Cold slammed into the hall like a blade. The applause died mid-sound, hands frozen in the air.

“What just happened?”

“The fire—where did it go?”

Zhaoyang stared at the dead brazier. His smile faltered. “Who did this?”

“I—I don’t know,” the Sect Leader stammered from below. “My Lord, perhaps the formation—”

“Nonsense!” Zhaoyang snapped. “Relight it!”

He snapped his fingers.

A spark flared—and disappeared.

Silence crushed the room. No one breathed.

I poured the wine. The sound of liquid striking crystal rang far too loud.

“You,” Zhaoyang said slowly.

I bowed. “Yes, My Lord.”

“You walked past the brazier.”

“I did.”

Wei Wuji surged to his feet. “It’s him! The beggar from the gate! The Null!”

“With what power?” I asked calmly, meeting his glare. “The stone said I have none.”

“That’s true,” someone whispered. “He’s a void.”

Zhaoyang’s gaze locked onto me. He studied my face, eyes narrowing, something uneasy shifting behind them

“You look familiar,” he murmured.

“I serve many faces.”

“No,” he whispered. “You look like—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Impossible. Get out of my sight before I burn you.”

I reached forward to set the goblet down.

My sleeve snagged on the jagged edge of his chair. Fabric slid back.

Light struck my wrist.

The scar caught the firelight—jagged, star-shaped, unmistakable.

Zhaoyang lunged, grabbing my arm. “Where did you get this?” he roared.

The hall froze solid.

“It’s old,” I said evenly. “From family.”

His grip trembled. “I made this.”

“You gave it.”

“I saw you fall,” he whispered, horror bleeding through his voice. “The Void took you.”

“The Void returned me,” I said quietly.

Golden flames exploded around his hand. “Guards!” he screamed. “Kill him!”

“Uncle, stop!” Wei Wuji shouted.

I stepped back. The tray tipped. The carafe slipped from my fingers and shattered against the floor. Wine spilled outward, dark and spreading, pooling around my boots like blood.

“The banquet is over, Zhaoyang,” I said.

Outside, darkness swallowed the sky. Shadows peeled from the walls, crawling toward the high table. Zhaoyang stared at my wrist, then my eyes, terror finally cracking through his arrogance.

“You…”

I smiled for the first time in ten years.

“I’m back.”