Feiyun Xing poured essence into his blade. Tiny lightning bolts crackled along its surface—scattered at first, then drawn inward, concentrating until the entire weapon shimmered with electric light.

  He raised the sword and aimed it at his father.

  For a moment, the room held its breath.

  Then—

  A searing ray of light tore through the hall.

  The king exhaled sharply, bracing his core and flooding his midsection with essence—just before the strike landed squarely.

  A thunderous boom shattered the silence. The air rippled, and the faint scent of scorched cloth drifted through the room.

  “You lacked focus, son.”

  On his chest, the king brushed the burnt fabric. “You have no bond with that blade of yours. Furthermore, you use your essence in quantity, resulting in a weak attack.”

  Feiyun Xing’s grip tightened. He raised the sword again.

  Three lightning bolts exploded from the blade—

  Tzztch!

  Booom!

  Boom!

  But his father remained steady, the crackling energy dissipating harmlessly as he stepped through the assault.

  “Your emotions rule you like a tantrum-prone child,” he said coldly. “You are already twenty years old. What have you done with your life?”

  Feiyun Xing’s breath hitched, his voice sharp. “What do you think I’ve been doing?! I raised my sister—your daughter! While you couldn’t even care less!”

  The king’s expression didn’t shift. “Daughter or not, worth is what defines a person. The weak perish. The strong rule.”

  “Your own child died! Your own flesh and blood. And this is all you say afterward?!”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “Everything in this world is replaceable. Mourning is for those who have time to waste.”

  Feiyun Xing’s whole body trembled. “I can’t believe you. You will see why you should have cared.”

  Clenching his jaw, squeezing his eyelids—he poured every shred of essence into his blade. Lightning gathered; thicker and denser than before. Sparks crawled up his sword, snarling like a Tesla coil about to strike.

  His eyes snapped open—

  Krrrrrckkk!

  A beam burst from the blade, howling across the hall furious as though it was a living beast. The force threw Feiyun Xing backward a step, boots skidding across the polished floor.

  Ren Lin flinched, instinct taking over as she shut her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears.

  The blinding flash struck—then came the boom. Smoke spread across the hall, swallowing everything it touched.

  As the fume thinned, a strange silence fell. The wall ahead was scorched, cracked from the impact…

  But the king was gone.

  Feiyun Xing focused on his rough breathing—

  A foot planted itself silently in front of him.

  Too late.

  A firm shove from behind sent him flying forward. His sword clattered beside him, and he hit the floor hard, breath knocked from his lungs.

  “Closing your eyes in battle?” his father’s voice echoed coldly behind him. “I wonder, son—how did you ever think you’d survive against the other rising stars?”

  No answer; Feiyun Xing was busy trying to get up.

  The king circled him slowly, boots striking the marble with a calm, deliberate rhythm. His son tried to rise, only for a firm heel to pin his back. “Stay down. You have ridiculed yourself enough.”

  “Is that your punishment?! Beating me up?”

  The boot lifted—a swift kick to his ribs. The prince coughed and curled over, his sword lying just out of reach.

  “You keep looking in the wrong direction.” The king turned slightly, chin tilting toward the bench. “Crawl to her.”

  “…W-what?”

  Another savage kick. This time Feiyun Xing cried out, more from humiliation than pain.

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  “Are you this slow of a learner?” The king’s voice was soft, mocking. “Crawl. To. Her.”

  With trembling arms the prince pushed himself up, forcing his body onto his knees. Breath ragged, hands shaking, he glanced toward Ren Lin. Her face was unreadable.

  “That’s better,” the king murmured. “Go on, prince. She’s waiting.”

  Like an animal, Feiyun Xing dragged himself forward—each inch a blow to his pride. His eyes burned, not from pain, but from fury.

  The way to her felt like climbing an endless mountain. He reached out—fingers slipping against the floor slick with sweat and soot—until at last, his hand brushed the cool edge of the stone bench.

  Ren Lin followed him with her gaze.

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up, just enough to kneel beside her. Not looking at her—not yet. Couldn’t. The only sound he heard was his heartbeat. It felt as though the arteries knocked against his skull.

  A shadow fell over him as his father approached once more, arms crossed behind his back like a judge waiting to see if the convict would beg or break.

  “Ask her,” the king said. “Make it clear. A prince shouldn’t hesitate when taking what he desires.”

  He didn’t look up immediately. His hands curled into fists against the polished stone floor, nails digging into his palms.

  “This isn’t how I wanted this.”

  “Stop being a child,” the king replied coldly. “Speak. Or I will make her speak first—and I promise you, she won’t be more eloquent with blood in her mouth.”

  That did it.

  Feiyun Xing lifted his head, eyes locked onto Ren Lin’s. There was no royalty in him now—no princely posture or veiled charm. Only a young man kneeling before her, disarmed in every sense.

  His voice, when it came, was rough.

  “Ren Lin,” he said, averting his gaze. “Will you become my concubine?”

  Silence.

  Even the dust seemed to hold its breath.

  He braced himself—for scorn, for refusal, for pity. But Ren Lin’s eyes remained steady, measuring not just the words, but the weight behind them.

  Ren Lin’s voice was soft as silk, yet unwavering.

  “If that is your wish, Your Highness… then I will accept.”

  She paused just enough to let the words settle, then added—barely louder than a whisper and still it was louder than his hammering heart:

  “But I ask you to remember something.”

  Feiyun Xing’s eyes flickered back with uncertainty. “What is it?”

  She met his gaze—calm, composed, unreadable.

  “I may serve as a concubine, but I will never be just an ornament. If I stand beside you, it will be as someone who helps you rise. Not someone who drags you down.”

  She dipped into a graceful bow. “If you can carry the weight of that promise… then so can I.”

  “Of course. I would love that.” The prince’s heart filled with gratitude.

  His father let the silence linger a bit longer.

  Not approval. Not rejection. His expression betrayed nothing. Only that glint in his eyes—the kind that calculated everything and gave nothing away.

  “Interesting,” he said at last. “You speak well, girl. Not like the usual peasants.” His gaze turned slightly. “Feiyun Xing. This woman chose you even after you became a fool. Since this is your first woman, let me give you a hint: there is no real love. Have fun without getting attached.”

  Feiyun Xing nodded once. The ache in his ribs flared, but he didn’t wince. Not now.

  The king turned, his robe brushing the floor like drawn silk. “Get up.”

  Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, though Ren Lin tried to help.

  “Now that the theatrics are concluded,” he continued, “we proceed to her training.”

  Feiyun Xing stiffened. “Training?”

  His father did not look back. “A concubine is not a wife. She is not a lover. She is a tool—one that must be honed to precision.” His fingers flexed, essence rippling around them like heat haze. “You think I would allow filth from the gutter to share your bed without first being scrubbed clean?”

  Ren Lin’s spine straightened imperceptibly, yet her face remained smooth as glass.

  Feiyun Xing’s hands curled into fists. “Father—”

  “Silence.” The king flicked two fingers, opening the doors and startling the guards outside. “You will send her to the Blooming Pavilion for preparation. Three months, no less.”

  Ren Lin bowed. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but this lowly peasant wonders: what exactly is the Blooming Pavilion?”

  Almost dryly, he replied, “The training grounds for future concubines. Etiquette, court speech, rituals, dress, dancing, ink, music, discipline… and obedience.”

  Feiyun Xing’s jaw set. “Is that necessary?”

  “Don’t embarrass yourself further,” the king snapped, though his tone remained calm. “You bring a street-born mortal into the imperial house, and you think she’ll survive without knowing the rules? Without refinement? She’ll be devoured alive before the year’s end.”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “And if she fails to adapt, she will be dismissed. You may entertain her at your estate—but she will not step foot in the inner palace again.”

  Feiyun Xing’s fists clenched at his sides, however, he gave no reply.

  Ren Lin did not look offended. In fact, she bowed again—deeper this time. Not in submission, instead with the tact of someone who understood politics far too well for a “village girl.”

  “I welcome the training,” she said smoothly. “But I have another proposal.”

  The king arched a brow. “And what is that?”

  “I don’t wish to become another nameless concubine. I would like the chance to refine the Obelisk.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “The Obelisk?”

  “Yes. I have heard that Your Highness seeks to control the floating islands through it. And even nurtures many people in high hopes.”

  “That is correct. You seem unusually well informed.”

  “I’m not worth the praise,” she replied calmly. “I’m aware of the risk. No one truly knows what happened to those who tried before. All we know is that if one fails, their soul becomes trapped within it forever.”

  “And knowing this,” he said, voice low, “you still intend to try?”

  “If no one dares, no one will ever succeed.” She met his gaze. “My king, I am worth nothing as I am. The Obelisk is my only chance to connect with the Veil—to cultivate, and to matter.”

  He studied her. “You seem confident. Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It feels like a pull—like it’s my destiny. I know how foolish that sounds. But since I was a child, I’ve thought of nothing else. Please, Your Majesty. Give me the chance. You risk nothing, and stand to gain everything.”

  The king fell silent, considering. The proposal was reckless—but not without merit.

  If he sent his son with her, it could serve as a trial for both. Feiyun Xing, though a genius and already Third Order at his age—a feat the king himself had not achieved so young—lacked experience. A journey to the Obelisk would harden him.

  And as for Ren Lin… success or failure would cost her, not him.

  If she succeeded, he could enslave her mind and seize control of the islands through her.

  Why not do so now? Because the Obelisk tested the soul itself. This is the reason even mortals could refine it. His methods of control would remodel hers; stripping her of individuality, leaving her hollow—and doomed to fail.

  Besides, his son would be there to watch her.

  At last, he spoke. “Very well. I will allow it. The prince will accompany you to the Obelisk.”

  Ren Lin bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Still standing at the edge of the hall, Feiyun Xing, remained silent.

  As the king turned to leave, his voice echoed through the chamber:

  “You wished to take a woman? Then take responsibility. She is yours now—in every sense. What she becomes will reflect what you are capable of building.”

  The great doors closed behind him with an eerie finality.