Within the grand hall, the banquet was set in ancient style, with seats arranged on both sides of the aisle, paved with emerald jade. By some enchantment, it shimmered mysteriously in the twilight. Over twenty dancers, swathed in gossamer, moved gracefully to the music of bells and lutes, their alluring curves barely hidden as they cast bewitching glances, their unspoken charm more captivating than any song.
At the head of the left row, Zha Junhong sat, beside him a tall, composed man in his late twenties, bearing a slight resemblance to Song Zining—none other than the Song Zicheng they had mentioned earlier.
The hall was already half-filled, with a motley crowd gathered, each with their own affiliations. Though this was a public performance at a pleasure house and not a private gathering, only the main family or at least powerful branches of the Song clan could find a seat here.
Song’s Seventh Young Master was renowned for his love of beauty and fine wine, being a frequent guest at many pleasure houses. Servants recognized him from afar and hurried over to guide them.
Just then, the music and dance came to a halt, and the dancers parted to either side, bowing to the guests. The hall erupted in cheers, and the men scanned the dancers with eager eyes, evaluating and appreciating.
Qian Ye and Song Zining found an empty spot, hardly noticed by anyone. As Song Zining’s gaze swept across the hall, his eyes lit up. “These are the young beauties Zhiyuan trained? Indeed, they are quite something.”
Before the servant could speak, he turned to see another person rush in. “Seventh Young Master, your keen eyes never fail. Look, here comes Zhiyuan.”
The newcomer was a lively, good-natured man in his early twenties, the youngest son of Count Gu Xun, Song Zhiyuan. Qian Ye remembered the girl he met at the armory was his younger sister.
After the introductions, the three sat down together. Zhiyuan immediately praised the dancers he had trained, summoning two to pour wine. His enthusiasm did not wane even though Qian Ye was just a guest warrior, indicating a close friendship with Song Zining.
Qian Ye found the atmosphere somewhat noisy, his senses overwhelmed by various fragrances. The Song clan’s dancers used the finest perfumes, natural and alluring, unlike the cheap scents in small taverns on the Evernight Continent. The sweet, pervasive aroma seemed to seep into one’s very bones, making one lose oneself in its allure.
Beside him, Song Zining was merrily flirting with the beauties, and soon the focus of their teasing shifted to Qian Ye.
A dancer, adorned with a purple chrysanthemum, stood before Qian Ye, her supple waist bending as if boneless. She held a goblet between her lips, extending it to him.
Not only Song Zining and Zhiyuan, but also others nearby cheered. The atmosphere in the hall grew livelier as the dancers dispersed, urging the guests to drink, often causing bursts of laughter.
Qian Ye smiled, taking the goblet from her mouth and drinking it in one gulp.
Song Zining groaned, covering his face. “Wasn’t that meant for your hands?”
The dancer, still in her pose, suddenly moved, her slender waist tilting to kiss Qian Ye’s cheek.
Song Zining burst into laughter, draping an arm around Qian Ye. “Brother, don’t let the ladies’ kindness go to waste.”
Her lips were soft, and her scent was not overpowering, with the chrysanthemum’s fragrance mingling with the aroma of wine, invigorated by her youthful essence, creating a intoxicating blend.
Qian Ye, not minding the subtle dizziness, took hold of her chin and kissed her. She sighed, her waist arching back, lying down on his lap, her lips eagerly responding, their breaths intertwining.
Suddenly, Zha Junhong at the head table raised his glass towards Song Zining.
Song Zining’s eyes flickered, and he drank it down in one go.
Zha Junhong then turned to converse with Song Zicheng.
This exchange did not go unnoticed. Those who needed to know about the events on the road to Wen Dao Manor that afternoon, including the incident between Song Zining, Song Ziqi, and the Zhao brothers, were already informed.
Even Song Ziqi, who had observed the event from a distance, could not explain what happened. His servant saw Zhao Jundu and Song Zining exchange a few words before a punch was thrown, and before anything else, Zhao Junhong intervened, leading to Song Zining and his warrior leaving.
No one dared to make hasty judgments. Zhao Jundu, the fourth young master of the Zhao clan, was known for his unpredictability, often turning on those who approached him. In contrast, Zhao Junhong, while aloof, was seen as comparatively decent.
Thus, no one mocked Song Ziqi for retreating, as they would have done the same. Despite the expectation that high-born clansmen should stand united against outsiders, the Zhao brothers inspired caution among the Song clan’s younger generation.
Zhiyuan whispered to Song Zining, “Zhao Second Young Master seems to favor you.” He had witnessed the fanfare when Zhao Junhong entered, and even a glance from the Second Young Master was a privilege, let alone an acknowledgment.
Song Zining smiled noncommittally. This favor could bring both fortune and misfortune, likely intended to suppress the earlier strange encounter with Zhao Jundu without causing further issues.
Zhao Junhong, though unremarkable, had impressed Song Zining with his precise and measured demeanor, indicating a man of deep insight.
Zhao Junhong rose, leaving through a side door. Song Zining followed, stepping out of the hall.
Qian Ye released the dancer, running his hand through her silken hair, his thoughts wandering. She clung to him, her cheeks flushed, her breaths coming in soft gasps.
Outside, the moonlight bathed the courtyard, its light soft and gentle, like a veil of mist.
At the end of a secluded path, Song Zining saw Zhao Junhong. Smiling, he said, “Junhong, do you have something to tell me?” The air grew cool, and the “Three Thousand Falling Leaves” technique isolated the area, cutting off external sounds.
Zhao Junhong remained calm, saying, “Song Zining, with your accomplishments, you are surely the top of the current generation of the Song clan. Unfortunately, time is not on your side.”
Song Zining paused, then smiled. “Junhong, are you here to discuss my affairs?”
Zhao Junhong replied, “If you are willing, the Zhao clan’s legitimate daughters can be yours, even Zhao Yuying is not entirely out of the question.” Zhao Yuying, born to a branch of the Zhao clan, was said to be only slightly inferior to the four young masters and Zhao Ruoxi.
Song Zining felt a chill run down his spine, his palms sweating. This was the third marriage proposal this year, ignoring his existing noble engagement, a sign that the proposer disregarded the Song clan’s will.
While the attitudes of independent nobles were ambiguous, Zhao Junhong’s proposal was different. Zhao Yuying’s status in the Zhao clan was higher than Song Zining’s in the Song clan. Using her for a union wasn’t about marrying her into the Song clan; Zhao Junhong’s direct statement hinted at a deeper reason.
Silent for a moment, Song Zining responded, “Zhao Second Young Master, you truly honor me.”
“This is also my younger brother’s intention,” Zhao Junhong continued, “With much to do, we leave tomorrow. It’s best to clear up any misunderstandings now.” A hint of melancholy crossed his face, “My brother only hopes for Qian Ye’s safety. Please forgive any rash actions.”
Song Zining laughed, “Let me tell you a story, Junhong.”
“About half a year ago, I helped Qian Ye kill a foe, a minor general of the Evernight Expeditionary Army. A commoner on record, he was actually the illegitimate son of the Huaiyang Wu family.”
As he spoke, both turned to see Qian Ye approaching.
Song Zining nodded to Qian Ye, allowing him entry, and continued.
“That man built a city, showing his talent. Later, he learned of his origins and reconnected with his family. When we struck, his transactions were closely linked to the Huaiyang Wu family.”
Qian Ye, recognizing the story, realized it was about Wu Zhengnan.
“During the investigation of his forbidden deals with dark races, the Huaiyang Wu family remained silent, quickly severing all ties.”
“Most interestingly, despite the Wu family’s mediocre martial arts, he sought bloodline fusion with the vampires to heal his wounds, ultimately falling to the dark side.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Zhao Junhong’s expression shifted several times before he finally smiled bitterly, “I think I understand, Zining.”
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