The banquet venue was a sprawling, open-air pavilion built around a serene, lantern-lit pool. Cultivators in fine robes mingled, their laughter and conversation blending with the soft plash of water. It was a world away from the shattered arenas and silent paths of the Tower.
Madame Su led Gen and Liang to the entrance. Her gaze swept the glittering crowd, her expression unreadable. "Stay together. Behave. I will leave the younger generation to their... festivities." She handed her own invitation to a steward, who bowed deeply and gestured for her to follow him toward a secluded, raised pavilion where older, more imposing auras gathered—Varja's unmistakable mountain-like presence among them. She gave Gen one last, searching look before turning away.
*The only reason I am summoned to such a circle,* she thought, the old familiar bitterness a quiet companion, *is the shadow of his father's name. One day, I hope it will be for the light of his own.*
Unaware of his teacher's thoughts, Gen adjusted his own dark green cultivation robes, feeling oddly constricted. Beside him, Liang did the same, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. They recognized many faces from the Tower, but here, stripped of combat urgency, they looked different—polished, social, human.
Juxian waved at them enthusiastically from beside a heaving buffet table, his ever-present jar bouncing against his chest as he sampled a pastry. Li Zhan sat alone in a small, shadowed pavilion, sipping a delicate cup of wine, his eyes calmly cataloging the room. In another corner, Chubbs was engaged in what appeared to be a passionate, whispered debate with Lorel, who looked stunning in a dress of deep twilight blue. Yet she seemed to be trying to fold herself into the shadows of a pillar, her beauty a burden she was unused to bearing. Her eyes found Gen's across the room. She gave a small, hesitant wave, then looked away, shrinking back.
Liang nudged Gen hard in the ribs. "Aren't you going to go talk to her?"
Gen shoved him back, a grin spreading across his face. "What, and interrupt her bodyguard's grand strategy lecture? You want to get us both thrown in a fountain?"
Liang feigned a look of profound shock, then made a playful grabbing motion for Gen's throat. "I'll show you strategy!"
"If you two are quite finished." The voice was cool, familiar. Duo Yi appeared at their side. The angry, withdrawn girl from the Tower was gone. In her place was a young woman dressed in elegant, minimalist robes of silver-grey, her hair intricately pinned. A small, playful smile was on her lips, though it didn't fully reach her observant eyes. "I was beginning to think the Tower had melted your brains into simple brawling paste. You clean up adequately."
Gen's grin tightened. He remembered her cold shoulder on the Alter Ego Path. "We were just leaving to find better company," he said, grabbing Liang's arm.
Liang laughed, allowing himself to be dragged. "Don't be petty, Gen. She's trying to be nice."
Duo Yi simply fell into step beside them, utterly unbothered. "I still owe you for the forest. And you did not completely embarrass yourself in our fight. We should be friends now." She stated it as a simple fact.
Before Gen could formulate a retort, a hush began to spread through the pavilion. Prince Juo Si had arrived. He moved to the center of the gathering, his smile polished and warm.
"Honored guests, survivors of the Tower of Wonder," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Your performance was impressive. As a token of my appreciation, and as your first provision for the task ahead…" He clapped his hands once.
Attendants moved through the crowd, presenting each of the Tower's eight survivors with a small, lacquered wooden box. Gen opened his. Nestled inside on dark velvet was a jade pendant, cool to the touch, carved with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to hold a faint inner light. He closed his fingers around it. *Lolly. This is the first step.*
Juxian, a half-eaten fruit tart in one hand, held up his pendant with the other. "Your Highness! A vital question! When does the Sky Ocean expedition actually *start*?"
All chatter ceased. Every eye turned to the prince. This was the unspoken reason they had all come.
Juo Si's smile remained flawless. "The owner of the map is… a complicated individual. Rest assured, the moment all necessary pieces are in alignment, you will have immediate access. For now, recuperate. Enjoy the evening." He gave a final, gracious bow, preparing to take his leave to mingle with other dignitaries.
"Your Highness."
The voice was quiet, polite, and cut through the quiet like a razor. Li Zhan had stood up from his solitary pavilion. He placed his empty wine glass on a passing tray with delicate precision. His smile was the picture of respectful deference, yet it held a mocking chill that made the air grow cold. "A word of unsolicited advice. Playing with paws that are not on your own board… is a perilous move."
He paused, letting the cryptic warning hang. "The clash between the Unbreakable Varja and the Divine General Nix has been confirmed. It will not take place here, at Heaven's Gate, as you perhaps intended." His eyes locked with the prince's. "It will be fought in the Divine General's own territory. In the kingdom currently held by the Li family."
A wave of murmurs, sharp and surprised, rippled through the crowd. Eyes darted between the prince's suddenly rigid smile and Li Zhan's impassive face, trying to read the invisible game unfolding.
Duo Yi's playful facade vanished. Her expression turned stark and analytical as she watched the silent duel between the two young masters.
Gen leaned toward her, his voice low. "What's wrong? What does that mean?"
Juo Si's smile finally slipped, revealing a flash of tightly controlled anger before he masterfully restored it. "It means the battlefield has been chosen by the combatants. Nothing more. Now, if you will all excuse me." He gave a curt bow and swept away, his retreat pointedly not looking like a retreat.
Gen, Liang, and a now-serious Duo Yi found an empty pavilion near the pool and sat. Juxian, drawn by the tension, tried to join them, but Duo Yi pointed a finger without looking. "Go. Eat. We're talking."
Juxian pouted but wandered off, earning a stifled laugh from Liang that made Gen's cheeks burn with embarrassment. Ning was not at their table, but he had taken a seat on a nearby bench, clearly within earshot, his blindfolded face tilted slightly toward them.
Duo Yi didn't wait for questions. "You know the Four Kingdoms were once one," she said, her voice low and intent. "Now they exist as one in name only, governed by four powers: the Li family you just saw, the Kang family in the Bamboo Groves, the Juo royal family here in Heaven's Gate, and my own Doom College in the Crimson Plateau." She glanced toward where Juo Si had vanished. "Varja fighting for *any* of these kingdoms is a political earthquake. Whoever's territory hosts that fight becomes the epicenter of the next shift in power. Juo Si wanted the prestige and security of hosting it here. Li Zhan just stole that from him. Publicly. The Damocles in the sky are a timer. These games below are deciding who will be standing when it goes off."
Gen's face darkened as the pieces clicked into a picture he didn't like. He wanted to be the one to crush the Divine Generals. To avenge his father personally. But these intricate, cold political machinations were a web he didn't understand, and they were now tangling with his own goals, using a Pillar as a pawn. A sour, confused feeling settled in his stomach. *Do I want Varja to win? Or do I want the Divine General to lose? Are they the same thing?*
The rest of the evening continued, the music playing, the pool shimmering. Their little group—Gen, Liang, Duo Yi, with Juxian eventually sneaking back and Ning a silent satellite—talked. They argued about Wheels, mocked each other's fighting styles, laughed at Juxian's endless appetite. For a few hours, they were just teenagers, the weight of the world held at bay by friendship and food.
But elsewhere, in shadows no banquet light could reach, the one Faceless Ting had called the "ghost"—the tall, serene figure in black robes—continued to move. His unseen hands stirred lines on a board vast and terrible, patiently dedicating the flow of events toward a single, silent goal. The laughter in the pavilion was a brief, bright spark against the encroaching, orchestrated dark.