Fang Lin had already reached the entrance of the banquet hall along with Ling'er.
An inexplicable sense of unease welled up within him. From beyond the grand doors came the sounds of lively conversation—laughter, clinking cups, overlapping voices. The noise felt distant yet oppressive, as if reminding him that this place did not truly belong to him.
Ling'er already told me on the way who has come… and where I'm supposed to sit, Fang Lin thought.
Still…
His deep train of thought was abruptly interrupted by Ling'er's voice.
"Fang Lin," she said softly, turning back to look at him, "what are you thinking about? Are you not going inside?"
He snapped back to his senses.
"No—no," Fang Lin replied, shaking his head lightly. "Of course I'll go in. After all… this banquet was prepared for me."
There was a brief pause, almost imperceptible.
Then, without another word, the two of them stepped forward and crossed the threshold into the banquet hall.
The moment Fang Lin stepped inside, his gaze swept across the banquet hall.
So this… is a banquet.
Golden lanterns hung from the carved beams above, their warm light reflecting off polished stone floors. Long tables were arranged neatly on both sides, laden with delicacies he couldn't even name. The air was filled with the faint fragrance of spiritual wine and rich dishes, mixed with laughter and conversation.
Not long ago, a place like this would have nothing to do with me, Fang Lin thought quietly.
I wouldn't even be allowed to stand near the entrance.
His eyes shifted to the guests—family elders, young disciples, even figures whose presence carried quiet authority. Some spoke casually, others watched with reserved expressions, but one thing was clear.
They're all here because of one reason.
His chest tightened slightly.
Because of me.
He clenched his fingers unconsciously, then relaxed them again.
An A-grade aptitude… one awakening, and everything changes. Status, treatment, even people's gazes.
If I'm weak, this warmth will vanish faster than it appeared.
Fang Lin exhaled slowly, steadying his heart.
This banquet isn't a reward.
It's a reminder.
A reminder that from this moment onward, he could no longer remain ordinary.
At first, no one noticed him.
The banquet hall remained lively—soft laughter, clinking cups, idle conversations flowing like an unbroken stream. Ling'er walked half a step ahead, her presence subtle yet familiar to everyone. To the guests, she was just another servant guiding someone inside.
Fang Lin followed quietly behind her.
His steps were light. His aura restrained. His presence… ordinary.
Eyes passed over them without pause.
Then—
Ling'er stopped.
She shifted slightly to the side, stepping away from Fang Lin's path.
And in that single motion—
The figure she had been shielding was revealed.
For a brief heartbeat, the hall did not change.
Then silence began to spread.
One gaze paused mid-conversation.
Another turned halfway, then froze.
A cup stopped just short of someone's lips.
Eyes—once scattered and indifferent—slowly converged.
On him.
Whispers died one by one, as if swallowed by an unseen force.
"That is… Fang Lin?"
"Isn't he the one who awakened yesterday?"
"So young…"
"That calm expression—doesn't look like someone with A-grade talent…"
Some eyes held curiosity.
Some carried disbelief.
Some burned with envy they couldn't hide.
A few elders narrowed their eyes, observing him carefully, as though trying to weigh his future with a single glance.
Among the younger generation, breaths grew uneven.
So this is him.
Fang Lin felt it clearly now.
Those invisible threads of attention wrapping around his body.
So these are the eyes that come with talent, he thought calmly.
Not warmth… but scrutiny.
He didn't lower his head.
Nor did he straighten his back in arrogance.
He simply stood there—quiet, composed—allowing their gazes to pass over him like a silent storm.
Only Ling'er, standing slightly behind him now, noticed how his fingers tightened for just a moment… before relaxing again.
The tense air in the banquet hall didn't last long. A boy was approaching at a brisk pace, moving so quickly that his robe fluttered with each step. He wore nothing luxurious—just a simple, slightly worn orange robe—and in his hand, he carried a sword. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Nothing legendary.
Still, his voice cut through the murmurs of the hall, calling out repeatedly:
"Fang Lin! Fang Lin!"
For the seated guests, it was barely noticeable, just another voice among the many. But for Fang Lin, it was a lifeline—a welcome interruption in the uneasy tension that had gripped him since he stepped inside.
Without hesitation, Fang Lin turned to look and immediately recognized Mu Chen, though he had no idea this boy was Lingyi's closest friend. A smile touched his lips, a flicker of relief crossing his mind.
"Mu Chen, you're late," Fang Lin said, his voice calm yet carrying a hint of familiarity, not yet aware of the bond Mu Chen shared with Lingyi.
The hall seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Even the whispers momentarily softened as Mu Chen's gaze met Fang Lin's. The ordinary boy had brought a spark of reality into the grand, artificial environment of nobles and elders.
For Fang Lin, it was more than just relief—it was an opportunity. A chance to step out of the spotlight, to feel a moment of normalcy amid the watchful eyes and unspoken judgments of the banquet hall.
Mu Chen finally reached Fang Lin's side. He was slightly out of breath, his chest rising and falling, yet he ignored his condition entirely as he spoke with bright eyes.
"Fang Lin, my friend… sorry I'm late," he said quickly, then grinned. "I was late because I brought something for you."
As he spoke, Mu Chen extended the sword in his hands toward Fang Lin.
"I had this forged by my grandpa," he continued proudly. "Now that you're the pride of our clan, I couldn't come empty-handed. Being your friend is something I'm proud of."
He scratched his head, then added, "I haven't named the sword yet."
Fang Lin paused for a moment before accepting it.
The sword felt light in his hands—almost unexpectedly so. It was only about the length of his forearm. The handle was made of plain metal, firm and practical. The scabbard wasn't fancy at all, just ordinary, with faint traces of dust still clinging to it, as if it had come straight from a workshop rather than a noble treasury.
When Fang Lin slowly drew the blade, a soft gleam flashed through the air.
The blade was extremely thin, refined to the point where it looked sharp enough to cut through light itself. Its light weight made it feel agile, alive—nothing extravagant, yet clearly crafted with care.
Mu Chen watched with wide eyes, anticipation written all over his face.
"So?" he asked eagerly. "What do you think, Fang Lin? Do you want to give it a name?"
Fang Lin was still staring at the blade, momentarily absorbed by its clean shine. Mu Chen's voice pulled him back to reality.
He spoke slowly, almost unconsciously.
"You brought this… for me?"
Then, after a short pause, he added honestly,
"It's really good."
His gaze softened slightly as a thought surfaced in his mind.
Lingyi really has an incredible friend, he thought. Someone who would go this far—have a sword forged just for him.
Lowering the blade, Fang Lin looked at Mu Chen and said, half uncertain, half amused,
"Do I really have to name it?"
Inside, another thought followed quietly:
He brings the sword… and I give it a name. Somehow, that feels heavier than holding the blade itself.
Fang Lin's fingers slowly traced along the thin blade.
The metal was cold, yet strangely gentle in his grasp—light, balanced, without any excessive ornamentation. It was nothing like the legendary weapons displayed in the Fang family vault, yet it felt… honest.
The faint reflection of the banquet hall's lights slid across the blade, casting a soft blue sheen over its surface.
Mu Chen watched nervously, his hands clenched behind his back.
Fang Lin finally lifted the sword slightly, letting the blade hum softly in the air.
"Azure…" he murmured.
The sound was calm, almost casual, yet it carried weight.
"…Silent Gleam."
The moment the name left his lips, the blade trembled ever so slightly—as if responding.
Mu Chen's eyes widened.
"Azure Silent Gleam…?"
Fang Lin nodded, a faint smile forming at the corner of his lips.
"It doesn't shout for attention," he said. "It doesn't need to.
It's sharp, light, and waits silently—then strikes when it must."
He lowered the sword and looked at Mu Chen.
"It suits me. And it suits the one who gave it to me."
For a heartbeat, Mu Chen forgot where he was.
Then he grinned, wide and unrestrained.
"Heh… then it's settled," he said proudly.
"From today onward, this sword has a name."
Fang Lin lowered his gaze to the sword in his hand, his grip unconsciously tightening.
Lingyi… he thought silently.
'You fell asleep too quickly. You should have seen this.
You should have seen how loyal your friend truly is.'
A faint warmth spread through his chest.
In my real world… I never had a friend like this.
Before the thought could settle, a loud, heavy voice cut through the noise of the banquet hall, pulling Fang Lin back to reality.
"Fang Lin."
The voice carried authority without needing to rise.
He looked up.
Standing upon the raised stage was Fang Qinxian, the head of the Fang family. He was dressed in a flowing white robe that radiated a quiet, royal dignity. In one hand, he held a cup of wine, his posture relaxed yet commanding—like a ruler addressing his domain.
"Since you're here," Fang Qinxian continued, his gaze steady,
"don't linger any longer. Come. Enjoy the banquet."
At his side stood Fang Qing.
Gone was the disheveled, unstable youth of before. Now, he appeared refined, dressed like a proper noble heir, his expression composed—too composed.
Beside him stood Fang Qinxian's wife, her golden-blond hair falling neatly over her shoulders. She wore a gentle smile, elegant and flawless, though something about it felt distant… practiced.
Not far from them stood Fang Lin's parents.
They wore no extravagant clothes, only simple garments befitting their status. Yet the way they stood—straight-backed, eyes shining—made it clear that no finery could compare to what they felt at that moment.
Pride.
Pure, unmistakable pride.
To them, Fang Lin himself was more valuable than any title or jewel.
Several elders of the Fang family were also present, watching silently, their gazes filled with varying emotions—curiosity, calculation, disbelief.
From behind, Mu Chen gave Fang Lin a light look before turning away.
"Go," he said with a grin, already walking back toward his seat among the other youths.
"Enjoy it. Today is your day."
He paused for a brief moment, then added quietly,
"Who knows when a moment like this will come again."
Fang Lin watched him leave.
Then, without hesitation, he secured the sword—Azure Silent Gleam—at his waist.
The blade rested lightly there, as if it had always belonged.
Taking a slow breath, Fang Lin stepped forward.
Toward the stage.
Toward the eyes of the entire banquet hall.
Fang Qing stood beside the stage, his posture calm, his expression refined.
At least, that was how it appeared to everyone else.
The moment Fang Lin stepped forward, the cup in Fang Qing's hand froze mid-air.
His eyes followed that figure instinctively—
the white-silver robes, the calm steps, the sword hanging at his waist.
"That sword…
And he already has another one."
His fingers tightened around the wine cup.
"I still haven't received a single sword worthy of me, he thought coldly.
And you—
You already have two."
The murmurs in the hall grew louder, yet to Fang Qing, everything blurred into a dull hum. His gaze remained fixed on Fang Lin alone, as if the rest of the world had been erased.
Look at them…
All of them.
The elders.
The guests.
Even his own father.
Their attention wasn't on him anymore.
It was on Fang Lin.
A faint smile remained on Fang Qing's lips, perfectly controlled—but beneath it, something twisted violently.
Pride?
Admiration?
His nails dug into his palm.
"That should be mine."
"Every leading word his father spoke.
Every approving glance from the elders.
Even this banquet—"
"All of it was supposed to revolve around me.
The sight pierced deeper than any blade."
A dark thought surfaced, sharp and venomous.
"You were supposed to disappear.
You were supposed to stay broken."
Slowly, Fang Qing raised his wine cup and took a sip.
The liquid tasted bitter.
Without waiting for Fang Lin to reach the stage, Fang Qing turned away.
The sound of his footsteps echoed lightly as he stepped down from the platform, moving toward the side exit.
From behind, his voice came out low and restrained—
"Enjoy it while you can, " he thought, his smile finally wavering at the edges.
"Heaven has a habit of taking back what it gives."
Then he disappeared from the stage area, leaving behind a faint chill in the air.