The Risen Ghost: Master of the Chaotic Origin

Chapter 6 (The Emperor’s test) Chen’s POV

The Imperial Banquet Hall was enormous and lavish, with golden pillars, high balconies, and thick silk curtains hanging along the walls.

Gold leaf clung to every pillar, and the air was thick with the scent of liquor and roasted wild beast. I entered with the other invited cultivators and took my seat near the lower end of the large hall.

My "Xiao Feng" persona remained intact—shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast, the perfect image of a rogue cultivator overwhelmed by imperial splendor.

Clan leaders and sect heads filled the hall, their auras restrained but sharp, silently measuring one another's strength. Feigned laughter drifted through the room.

At the far end of the hall sat Wei Jue.

He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a sage.

As he spoke, an invisible pressure washed over the room. It was his Divine Sense — thin as a spider’s silk —brushing against every guest.

When it reached me, I felt the Void Script in my soul pulse.

He was gauging our strength. The others didn't even notice — novice, all of them.

As Wei Jue's gaze finally settled on us, his lips curved into a faint smile. ‘Peerless cultivators,’ he said, beckoning us forward.

We offered obeisance. As we raised our heads, his gaze lingered on me.

‘Section C.” He said calmly, his voice carrying without effort. “Yet undefeated.”

The other cultivators straightened instantly.

I inclined my head. “Luck favors the unnoticed, Your Majesty.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Luck,” he repeated. “That word has buried more corpses than war.”

His stares lingered enough to make any cultivator tremble.

"Xiao Feng, I presume,” his voice, smooth and measured. "The man who breaks bones without spilling a drop of Qi. Your technique is... nostalgic."

"You flatter me, Your majesty.” I replied, letting my voice tremble slightly. “I am but a blunt instrument. A mountain man who knows only how to move weight."

He nodded slowly, and waved the other cultivators back to their seats before gesturing to an attendant to pull out a seat several positions below the major sect heirs.

“Sit. Xiao Feng?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The instant I turned, his pressure descended on my core.

Not a hostile pull — a probing presence brushing my dantian and sliding across my meridians, measuring my limits.

I let my breath stutter. Let my aura wobble. I restrained myself from reacting.

Wei Jue’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Your cultivation is… uneven,” he observed aloud. “Your foundation lacks refinement. And yet your control surpasses many Core Disciples.”

“I learned alone,” I replied. “Mountains do not teach elegance.”

By then, the hall’s attention had turned to us.”

“Mountains teach survival,” Wei Jue concurred. “But survival rarely produces restraint.”

His Qi pressed harder.

I did nothing.

I allowed him squeeze my core as he pleased. To his senses, I became a flame struggling against the wind, but I kept my face neutral, as if I was numb to the pain.

A ripple of amusement passed through the hall.

“You can even swallow pain,” Wei Jue murmured. “Interesting.”

He lifted his wine cup. “You defeated Zhang Bao without circulating Qi.”

“I didn’t need to,” I said, straightening my robe.

A sect elder scoffed. “Arrogant for a Body Refiner.”

Wei Jue raised a finger and silence fell instantly.

“You shattered his Qi core in seconds,” Wei Jue continued, his gaze locked on me. “That requires precision and experience. Do you have any special abilities?”

I met his eyes for the first time.

“Pain your majesty.” I replied calmly. “It teaches faster than scriptures.”

The hall became still.

Wei Jue studied me openly now. “You remind me of someone,” He mumbled.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice almost conversational. “If I place you in my imperial guard” he said, “would you kneel?”

It wasn’t rhetorical. It was a test.

“I would stand,” I replied calmly. “Unless kneeling served a purpose.”

A sharp intake of breath came from somewhere behind me.

Wei Jue laughed softly.

“Good answer,” he said. “Dangerous but honest.”

He leaned back slightly, the pressure easing.

“Men like you are why I issued this decree,” he continued. “Yan does not need loyal dogs. It needs fangs that know when to bite.”

He let the silence settle.

“Serve me,” he said, “and you will have resources your mountain could never imagine. Pills, Techniques and Protection.”

Openly throwing me a deal means refusal would attract punishment.

“And if I refuse?” I asked and a gasp spun from behind me.

Wei Jue smiled.

“Then you will remain what you are,” he said like he was daring me.

I bowed. “Then I accept.”

That answer pleased him, so he gestured for the banquet to start.

I ate sparingly, I was never going to fall prey to being poisoned again.

As the third course was served, wines and strong liquor accompanied it.

An attendant carrying the Emperor’s jade goblet stumbled in front of me. The goblet tipped, almost slipping.

Without thinking, my fingers shot out, steadying it before it could fall. The moment my palm touched the jade, a vibration raced up my arm.

It was a familiar pulse. I quickly withdrew my hand and settled back in my seat, but it was too late. My blood stirred — and I froze. My heart hammered at unimaginable speed.

It wasn’t a spell cast by Wei Jue or anyone present. It was something that recognized me.

Not just one of the Long Clan’s relics. It was my father’s special goblet. A symbol of his achievement in winning battles.

I bit hard on my lower lip stopping myself from attacking Wei Jue.

As its effect settled, another resonance stirred. It wasn't just one, but many, all of the Long clan’s relics still alive.

A decade had passed. Without a Long descendant to nourish these relics with ancestral blood, they should have turned to grey stone and dust. Yet, they were vibrant. They were still breathing.

I looked up and caught Wei Jue’s gaze but it didn’t linger. It slid away before I could even catch a hint of his thought.

Soon dancers arrived. The banquet loosened, and attention drifted to the performance.

An hour later, I feigned drunkenness and slipped into the shadows.

I followed the resonance. It didn't lead to the treasury or the armory. It led toward the Azure Lake, where a single, windowless tower stood, suspiciously guarded by the strongest Yan guards.

I hid in the dark assessing the situation when, I felt it.

A cold shiver ran down my spine as a faint, silver light pulsed from my chest—the Long pendant I shared with my sister. A spiritual tether, known to locate bloodlines even in death.

Mei Ling.

She wasn't dead.

She was alive.

I looked up at the Water Prison, my vision blurring with a cold, murderous red. The "Xiao Feng" mask didn't just crack; it vanished.

Without knowing what horror waited inside, I made my move.