Zhou Yang received the wooden box from the servant, its weight light in his hands but carrying an undeniable significance. Placing it carefully on the table, he paused for a moment, as though considering whether to open it. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, their curiosity palpable. Finally, with measured movements, he unlatched the box and opened it.
Inside lay the sword—a masterpiece radiating a faint pressure that spoke of its extraordinary origin. As Zhou Yang picked it up, its balance and craftsmanship became immediately apparent. The blade gleamed faintly under the hall’s light, carrying a presence so distinct it felt almost alive.
The room grew quieter as everyone stared at the sword, emotions ranging from awe to envy.
What a treasure, Zhou Yang thought, shocked not only by the sword’s magnificence but by something else entirely. Along the blade’s length, he saw words etched in pristine detail—Silent Reaper—written in English.
English? Zhou Yang’s grip on the sword tightened. He knew from his memories that this world’s language bore no resemblance to anything from Earth. The realization hit him like a tidal wave. Huo Tian... he was similar to me. He must have come from Earth as well, but thousands of years ago.
The discovery left Zhou Yang reeling. He stared at the sword, his mind swirling with questions.
“Brother Yang?” Su Yun’s voice broke through his thoughts. He blinked, startled, and turned to her.
She tilted her head slightly, her emerald eyes filled with curiosity. “Is something wrong?”
Zhou Yang quickly composed himself, shaking his head with a soft smile. “No, it’s nothing. I’m just surprised to receive something so valuable.”
Su Yun nodded, her expression softening. “That’s understandable. After all, Huo Tian is practically a god among blacksmiths. A named sword from him is beyond priceless.”
Zhou Yang pushed the thought aside. There was no point dwelling on it now; Huo Tian’s era was long past, and he had likely ascended by now.
---
At the main table, Zhou Wen and Zhou Mei exchanged words through a sound transmission technique.
Zhou Mei’s tone carried a mix of surprise and concern. This gift... I didn’t expect it. Why would they give Yang’er such a treasure?
Zhou Wen’s reply was calm, though tinged with curiosity. The old man must have his reasons. I doubt even I could have asked for this sword from him.
Zhou Mei frowned slightly. Word of this will spread quickly. It’s only a matter of time before greedy eyes turn toward Yang’er.
Zhou Wen’s tone remained steady. The Celestials and Shadows will protect him. And if that’s not enough, you can always call on your brother. He hardly has anything better to do.
That seemed to ease Zhou Mei slightly, though the worry lingered in her expression.
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Zhou Yang placed the sword back in its box and stored it carefully in his pouch, the crowd’s whispers still buzzing around him. The sword had left everyone amazed and envious.
The murmurs subsided as a light clearing of the throat—ahem—drew their attention. The sound came from Song Qian, the Saintess of the Radiant Spear Sect. She stood gracefully, retrieving a jade box from her storage ring.
“Well,” she said with a smirk, her tone playful yet confident, “I can’t let the Azure Sword Sect outshine us, can I?”
She passed the box to Zhou Yang through a servant. All eyes turned toward him as he accepted it.
Opening the box, Zhou Yang found a vial of liquid inside—a transparent substance tinged faintly with red. The momentthe vial was exposed, the hall’s temperature seemed to rise noticeably.
Song Qian straightened, her voice filled with pride as she announced, “This is the Phoenix Tear, a treasure from my sect.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Song Qian continued, her tone steady but firm, “As you all know, the Phoenix Tear is a miraculous elixir capable of restoring life to the brink of death, healing any injury or disease no matter how severe.”
Zhou Yang carefully examined the vial. He recalled from his memories the rarity of a Phoenix Tear—it was said that a phoenix only shed a tear when nearing its death or mourning a loved one. Each tear had a different effect depending on the circumstance.
“Thank you, Saintess Song,” Zhou Yang said earnestly.
Song Qian’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. She returned to her seat, clearly pleased by the reactions her gift had garnered. Zhou Mei also expressed her gratitude, while Zhou Wen nodded slightly, his composed demeanor unchanging.
---
The gift-giving continued, though none of the subsequent offerings could match the magnitude of the earlier treasures. Yet, they were still valuable—herbs, pills, artifacts, and weapons that would be prized anywhere else.
After the gift session concluded, an array of food was brought in, and the guests enjoyed a lavish feast. Conversations flowed freely, and laughter filled the hall as everyone dined on exquisite delicacies.
---
As the evening drew to a close, the guests began to take their leave. Zhou Yang watched as Wang Ming was dragged away by his father, Wang Bao, who muttered about getting ready for something.
“Traitor!” Wang Ming called dramatically, casting Zhou Yang a pleading look.
Zhou Yang chuckled softly, turning away. I guess running off without permission wasn’t a great idea after all.
Fei Liang and Song Qian also said their farewells, offering parting words to Zhou Yang and his parents before leaving. Soon after, Zhou Dan made his escape, grumbling about the banquet being over, while Zhou Xuan hurried after him, claiming she wanted to see her mother.
Zhou Wen left to attend to his work, and Zhou Mei approached Zhou Yang. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her golden pupils shimmering with warmth.
“I’m happy you’re well again, Yang’er,” she said softly. Then, with a playful smile, she added, “Spend some time with Su Yun before the evening ends.”
Before Zhou Yang could respond, she grabbed Zhou XinXin by the arm and whisked her away, leaving Zhou Yang alone with Su Yun.
---
The two walked through the manor, chatting about all sorts of things. They talked about cultivation and shared little stories. Zhou Yang found the simple conversation relaxing, a nice break from the busy day.
As they walked, Zhou Yang suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. A voice, calm and familiar, spoke from behind him.
“Yang’er.”
Zhou Yang froze, startled. He hadn’t sensed anyone approaching, and judging by Su Yun’s expression, neither had she—despite being in a higher realm than him.
Turning slowly, Zhou Yang came face-to-face with a man he recognized from his memories.
“Uncle Ling,” he murmured.
The man smiled warmly. He was Gu Ling, Zhou Mei’s younger brother.
“Congratulations on your recovery, Yang’er,” Gu Ling said, his tone carrying both fondness and pride.