The banquet hall was now alive with chatter and laughter as guests mingled, their voices blending into a low hum. Almost everyone had arrived, except for a few notable exceptions. Zhou Yang stood near his designated seat, exchanging greetings with the arriving guests.
Each person who saw him approached, offering congratulations on his recovery. Some marveled at his cultivation. “To recover so quickly, Young Master Zhou, and to reach Foundation Building in just a week... remarkable!”
Zhou Yang maintained his composure, greeting them back with polite nods and a faint smile. It’s surprising to them, he thought. But for someone in this family, it's almost expected.
Zhou Dan stood nearby, arms crossed, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark or two when a guest lingered too long. Zhou Yang chuckled at his cousin’s antics, engaging in casual banter with him when a sudden, almost imperceptible pressure filled the room.
The air grew still as every conversation abruptly halted. All eyes turned toward the grand entrance.
Zhou Yang followed their gazes and saw them—two figures stepping into the hall.
At the front was a young man in his early to mid-twenties, clad in a pristine white robe with hints of blue beneath it. He exuded a natural, commanding presence, his every step measured and confident. The pressure radiating from him wasn’t deliberate but seemed to emanate from his very being.
Behind him walked a young woman, also in her early twenties. She wore a fiery red robe adorned with delicate golden embroidery, her attire tailored to perfection. Her features were soft and elegant, with a sweetness that could charm anyone, yet her presence carried the same weight as her companion’s.
The guests whispered among themselves.
“Isn’t that Fei Liang, the Saint of the Azure Sword Sect?”
“And beside him, Song Qian, the Saintess of the Radiant Spear Sect!”
“They’re here? Saints from two holy sects at the Zhou Family’s banquet… incredible.”
“They say the Zhou Family rivals even those sects. I suppose it makes sense they would attend.”
Zhou Yang, too, was surprised. Meng Yao did mention members from those sects, but saints?
As the two entered, Zhou Dan scoffed beside him, breaking the quiet. “Show-offs,” he muttered, his annoyance plain.
Zhou Yang chuckled softly. “Always so welcoming, Brother,” he teased.
Zhou Dan huffed, crossing his arms. “Look at them. Saints or not, why are they trying so hard to make an entrance?”
Before he could ask more, the two saints approached. Their movements were calm, their presence unwavering as the crowd parted to make way for them.
Fei Liang reached Zhou Yang first, smiling brightly. “Congratulations on your recovery, Young Master Zhou, and on reaching the Foundation Building stage so quickly. The title of genius isn’t just for show, it seems!”
His tone was warm and friendly, accompanied by an easy laugh that made him seem more approachable despite his imposing aura.
“Thank you,” Zhou Yang said, smiling back.
Song Qian stepped forward, her sweet appearance belying the fiery determination in her eyes. “Recover quickly and grow stronger, Zhou Yang. I can’t wait to cross swords with the Heavenly Tiger.”
Zhou Yang raised an eyebrow, amused by her bluntness. A battle maniac, he realized, noting the stark contrast between her appearance and personality.
“Why not,” he replied casually. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while.”
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Her lips curved into a grin. “I’ll be waiting.”
The subtle banter continued for a moment until another figure entered the hall. Zhou Yang turned and immediately recognized him.
The young man wore blue martial robes, his demeanor calm but confident. He glanced around briefly before making his way toward Zhou Yang.
“Wang Ming,” Zhou Yang murmured, recalling the memories.
Wang Ming, the nephew of Physician Wang Du and son of the Wang family patriarch, approached with a wide smile.
“Zhou Yang!” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d be fine. And you’ve already advanced to Foundation Building? As expected!”
“Thanks,” Zhou Yang replied, smiling.
Wang Ming’s expression darkened slightly. “Hmph. If I find that bastard Ye Tian, I’ll kill him.”
Zhou Yang chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Leave the past behind, Wang Ming. It’s over. Thinking about it won’t solve anything.”
“You’re too soft, brother,” Wang Ming replied, his tone frustrated. “He tried to kill you.”
Zhou Yang deflected the comment with a slight change of topic. “Uncle Wang didn’t come with you?”
Wang Ming scratched the back of his head sheepishly, a sly grin creeping onto his face. “Well... let’s just say I didn’t exactly wait for his permission before leaving.”
Zhou Yang laughed lightly. Ran off from home? he thought rhetorically, the corners of his lips quirking upward.
Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the laughter of Zhou XinXin and others nearby, who had overheard Wang Ming’s excuse.
---
As Zhou Yang continued to chat with the group and greet arriving guests, his thoughts wandered. Almost everyone is here now, he noted. Except for Su Yun’s family and the Crown Prince.
It wasn’t long before his peripheral vision caught movement at the entrance. He turned slightly and saw a middle-aged man accompanied by a young woman stepping into the hall.
The young woman was none other than Su Yun. She wore a light green dress that accentuated her slender figure, the color perfectly complementing her emerald eyes. She carried herself with quiet confidence, her beauty subtle yet undeniable.
Beside her was Su Yaofeng, the patriarch of the Su family. He looked unassuming, dressed in a modest robe that gave no indication of his strength. But Zhou Yang could feel it. This man is dangerous, he thought. Not because of his appearance, but because of how ordinary he looks.
The pair greeted guests as they made their way toward Zhou Yang. When they reached him, Su Yaofeng offered a calm, soothing smile.
“Congratulations on your recovery, Zhou Yang, and your swift progress in cultivation,” he said, his tone steady and composed.
“Thank you, Patriarch Su,” Zhou Yang replied respectfully.
Su Yaofeng didn’t linger, smiling as he said, “I’ll leave you kids to talk.” He departed, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
Zhou Yang turned to Su Yun just in time to catch her chuckling softly. He raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the group that had just dragged the Saint and Saintess away despite Song Qian’s protests. Seriously?
“Congratulations, Brother Yang,” Su Yun said, her tone light yet sincere. “On your recovery and your advancement to Foundation Building.”
Zhou Yang nodded. “Thank you. But I guess we’ll have to hold off our cultivation talks for a while, Sister Yun.”
Su Yun smirked. “You’re right, but I’m sure it won’t be for long. Not for you.”
Zhou Yang smiled faintly. She’s not wrong, he thought. This body has the foundation of a genius. It won’t take long to catch up.
---
Away from them, Wang Ming was being scolded by his father, who had arrived moments earlier. The patriarch’s stern voice carried faintly across the hall, causing a few amused glances.
Meanwhile, Zhou Wen and Zhou Mei entered the hall, their presence commanding immediate respect. The seated guests instinctively rose, bowing deeply as they greeted the couple. Zhou Yang followed suit, bowing along with the others.
Not everyone stood, of course. Figures like Su Yaofeng and Wang Bao remained seated, their stature affording them that privilege.
Zhou Mei’s eyes scanned the hall briefly before they landed on Zhou Yang. A warm smile spread across her face as she walked toward him, her grace undeniable.
“Yang’er,” she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s good to see you mingling with the guests. And Su Yun, how lovely to see you again.”
Su Yun greeted her warmly. “Aunt Zhou, it’s wonderful to see you as well. Zhou Yang has been an excellent host.”
Zhou Mei smiled faintly and gave her son a brief look of pride. “I’m glad to hear that. Enjoy the evening.”
Zhou Yang nodded, his smile faint. “I will.”
After a moment of quiet exchange, Zhou Mei turned to leave, making her way toward Zhou Wen, who was speaking with some prominent guests. She joined him shortly after, and the two made their way to the head of the hall, taking their seats at the elevated platform.
The room settled as Zhou Wen addressed the gathering, his usual composed expression unwavering.
“Thank you all for attending this banquet to celebrate my son’s recovery,” he said, his tone steady but authoritative. “I hope you enjoy the evening.”