Tiang Feng did not stride into the hall; he coalesced within it. One moment the space at the head of the table was empty, the next, he was there. He was a man carved from aged oak and mountain granite. His frame was broad and solid, not with the reinforced bulk of Jingdao, but with a dense, unwavering presence that seemed to make the very air heavier. His hair, black streaked with iron grey, was pulled back tightly. His eyes were the color of flint, and they held no warmth, only a profound, calculating focus. This was not a strategist playing games; this was a cultivator whose will was a force of nature, bent solely on ascending the path.
He inclined his head, the barest minimum of a bow, toward Immortal Jiang. "Jiang. You grace my home." His voice was a low rumble, like stone grinding deep underground.
Immortal Jiang returned the nod, a parity between them that was palpable. "Feng. The valley is tranquil. It suits you."
There were no smiles, no offers of tea. This was the language of peaks acknowledging each other's height. Tiang Feng's gaze swept over the children as if they were furniture. "They may wait outside," he stated, not a suggestion, but a decree.
Gen felt a flash of irritation, but a subtle glance from his father quelled it. With reluctance, he stood. Baili was already moving, eager to be away from the oppressive weight of the two men. Lorel rose silently, her movements fluid and soundless.
Under the sprawling branches of an ancient amberwood tree in the courtyard, the dynamic shifted. The manicured gardens were serene, but the air between the three youths crackled with unspoken tension.
Baili immediately rounded on Gen, his earlier reverence replaced by a sharp, competitive heat. "Your father's Sky-Dancer is an impressive beast. A Fourth Wheel equivalent. It must be thrilling to ride such power." The implication was clear: You have power because of him.
Gen shrugged, picking at a leaf. "It flies. It's faster than walking. What's your point?"
"My point," Baili said, taking a step closer, "is that true cultivators rely on their own strength. Not borrowed plumage. I've mastered the Third Wheel. Zhidow. Creation. I started there. Not with the simpleton's Jingdao." His pride was a brittle, shining thing.
Lorel, who had been hovering like a nervous spirit, touched her brother's sleeve. "Baili, please. He is our guest."
Baili shook her off without looking at her. "Stay out of this, Lorel. This is between cultivators."
Gen's boredom evaporated, replaced by a cold spark. He looked from Baili's arrogant face to Lorel's worried, downcast eyes. He saw it then—the possession, the way Baili considered her not a sister, but a belonging, one that was beneath him yet still his to command.
"Your sister asked you to stop," Gen said, his voice dropping from its casual tone into something flatter, harder. He didn't move from his slouch against the tree, but his posture changed, becoming ready. "Maybe you should listen. Out of respect for her, I won't beat the crap out of you for being rude."
Lorel's head jerked up, her twilight eyes wide. A vivid blush stained her porcelain cheeks, and for a moment, she looked at Gen—really looked at him—with something other than fear. Surprise, perhaps. A flicker of something warm.
Baili saw it too, and his face darkened. "You think you can? You, who has never had to fight for a single thing? You're a child playing with his father's toys. Lorel is our family's concern. Not yours. You don't get to stand in my way, especially not for her."
There it was. The core of it. Gen pushed off from the tree, standing to his full height, which was just a shade shorter than Baili but radiating a far more dangerous confidence. "I'm standing wherever I want. And right now, I'm standing here. You got a problem with the scenery, take it up with the tree."
For a long second, violence hung in the air between them. Baili's hands clenched, ambient energy subtly stirring around him—the precursor to a Zhidow construct. Gen's own Jingdao hummed just beneath his skin, a silent, golden promise of retaliation.
Then, with a sound of pure disgust, Baili turned on his heel. "This is pointless. Waste your time with the silent one if you wish. I have real training to do." He shot a last, searing look at Lorel—a look that promised a later conversation—and stalked away, his pride wounded but intact.
The quiet that followed was thick. Gen let out a breath, the readiness leaving his frame. He glanced at Lorel, who was studying the moss at her feet again, her hands clasped tightly.
"You should ignore him," she whispered, so faintly he almost didn't hear. "He… he is like that with everyone. He respects no one. Except…" She dared a glance toward the hall. "Except your father."
"Yeah, I noticed," Gen said, his tone returning to its normal, casual disinterest. He leaned back against the tree. "Thinks the sun shines out of his robe, huh? Weird. My dad's just… my dad."
Lorel didn't know how to respond to that. They stood in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong. It wasn't comfortable, but the earlier hostility was gone.
Their awkward peace was broken by the arrival of their fathers. Immortal Jiang and Tiang Feng emerged from the hall side by side, an image of contrasting power. Tiang Feng's expression was unreadable, his flint-like eyes passing over Gen and Lorel without a flicker of interest or disapproval.
"The visit is concluded,"
Immortal Jiang nodded. "Gen."
With a final, curious glance at Lorel—who gave him the barest, quickest dip of her head—Gen followed his father. As they walked back through the grand courtyard toward the waiting Sky-Dancer, Gen felt a gaze heavy on his back. He looked over his shoulder.
Tiang Feng stood at the entrance to his hall, watching them leave. Not with farewell, but with assessment. His face held no expression, but in the set of his jaw and the focus of his eyes, there was a strange, cold calculation. It was the look of a man examining a piece on a board, determining its future value and its eventual sacrifice.
Then the Six-Winged Sky-Dancer beat its magnificent wings, and the ground fell away, carrying Gen back to the sky, leaving the Stag's Rest Valley and its unsettling silence behind.