"Young Master Yun! What an immeasurable honor for the humble Fang Family to receive a guest of your exalted stature!"

Patriarch Fang nearly threw himself to the ground as he rushed forward, his posture bent so low it bordered on prostration. His voice trembled with reverence as he welcomed the three figures who had just arrived.

If at this time Song po was to witness this scene, his decade old rival, bowing in front of someone like a dog wagging his tail excitedly for a treat, he would have surely coughed up blood.

Old man fang you are truly shameless! Alas he wasn't here.

At the center stood the so-called Young Master Yun—a young man clad in extravagant robes woven with faintly glowing patterns. A lazy, almost bored smile rested on his lips as his gaze swept across Patriarch Fang, lingering only for a heartbeat before drifting past him, as if searching for something hidden deeper within the residence.

Behind him stood two middle-aged men, silent and expressionless. Their presence was oppressive. Sharp, restrained auras clung to them like drawn blades waiting for the slightest excuse to strike. These were no ordinary guards—they were dharma protectors, men who had long since accepted that their lives existed solely to shield the one before them.

Patriarch Fang's heart skipped a beat.

He had known the Yun Family would send envoys today—but never, even in his boldest imagination, had he expected the Young Master himself to arrive. Had he known, he would have prepared ten times the grandeur, emptied half the treasury if necessary.

After a brief moment of flustered panic, Patriarch Fang forcefully steadied himself. Drawing on decades of experience, he straightened his back, donned the mask of a dignified clan head, and personally led the trio toward the grand hall.

The banquet was already underway.

Exquisite musicians sat to the side, their fingers dancing across instruments as strands of innate qi flowed into sound, producing heavenly melodies that soothed the nerves and masked the tension beneath polite smiles. Tables overflowed with rare delicacies—phoenix liver gleaming with oil, spirit beasts roasted to perfection, and jars of thousand-year wine exuding a rich, intoxicating aroma.

Yet Young Master Yun seemed only mildly interested.

His gaze continued to roam, sharp beneath its lazy veneer, scanning faces and corners alike. When whatever he sought failed to appear, the faint amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by clear dissatisfaction.

He finally spoke, his tone calm, unhurried—and unquestionable.

"Where is she?"

The hall fell deathly silent.

"She?" Patriarch Fang echoed, feigning confusion. Yet with his sharp instincts, how could he not understand what the Young Master was asking?

A practiced smile spread across his face as he replied smoothly, "Oh, little Biyu. She's far too excited about her journey to the Soaring Dragon Continent. The girl has been spending all her time dressing herself, afraid she might embarrass the family."

As he spoke, Patriarch Fang casually pointed toward a servant, giving a subtle gesture.

The servant immediately bowed and hurried away without uttering a single word.

"Please, Young Master," Patriarch Fang continued, his tone deferential, "enjoy the finest delicacies of the Azure Dragon Continent while we wait for their arrival."

Young Master Yun's lips twitched, clearly tempted to scoff. For a brief moment, disdain flickered in his eyes. Then, as if indulging a trivial amusement, he nodded.

"Very well."

At Patriarch Fang's signal, another servant approached with a jade bottle of Wind Spirit Wine, carefully pouring a crystal-clear stream into a delicate glass. Before Young Master Yun could even lift it, one of his dharma protectors reached out, calmly taking a sip.

Patriarch Fang didn't react. This was expected. To someone of Yun's status, poison checks were as natural as breathing.

Moments passed amid forced pleasantries and soft music.

Then the earlier servant returned.

His face was pale.

Patriarch Fang's pupils shrank instantly. A chill crawled up his spine.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice suddenly sharp and cold.

The servant's legs gave out. He dropped to his knees and began kowtowing violently, his forehead striking the jade floor again and again.

"Reporting… reporting to the Family Head—Young Miss…" His voice cracked.

"There is no sign of Young Miss anywhere."

The hall fell into absolute silence.

Patriarch Fang's brows shot upward, a deep crease forming between them as a chilling aura gathered in his eyes.

"What do you mean there is no sign of Young Miss?" he demanded coldly. "Explain clearly—before I break your legs."

The pressure pouring out of him intensified without restraint. To the trembling servant, it felt as if a mountain had descended. His bones groaned under the weight, blood surging painfully in his veins. A mere Qi Refining cultivator, he was utterly helpless before the fury of a Golden Core expert.

Patriarch Fang was truly enraged.

Fang Biyu was his daughter. Of course he knew she opposed the arrangement. But opposition was irrelevant.

"She was brought into this world by me," he thought grimly. "Raised by me. Fed by me. Sheltered by my name."

"This is the least she owes the family."

Yet now, that unfilial girl had humiliated him—humiliated the Fang Family—before an honored guest from the Yun Family.

His anger boiled over, veins bulging on his temples as if smoke might burst from his ears.

Across the hall, Young Master Yun's expression darkened. He had noticed the shift in atmosphere the moment the servant returned pale and trembling.

"What is the meaning of this, Patriarch Fang?" he asked, his voice deliberately subdued.

But restraint could not hide the irritation beneath his tone.

The two middle-aged dharma protectors beside him exchanged a glance.

In the next instant, an overwhelming pulse of divine sense erupted from them, spreading outward like a raging tide. The invisible wave swept through the Fang estate, surged beyond it, and flooded the surrounding city, cataloging every qi signature it encountered.

They were searching for one person.

Suddenly, their expressions shifted.

The divine sense paused—then lingered—around a shabby-looking pagoda encircled by fragile walls, utterly out of place amid noble residences.

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