Chapter Twenty: The Dragon Banquet — Where Numbers Meet Blood
The sun rose over Tianlong on the day of the banquet in a strange crimson hue, as if the heavens themselves were foretelling the torrent of spiritual essence soon to be spilled.
The city, already simmering beneath the surface, now erupted into ceaseless motion. Flying carriages pulled by Wind Steeds filled the sky, carrying the elite geniuses and elders of countless sects, all heading toward the Hanging Cloud Palace—the segment of the imperial palace suspended above White Jade Peak.
Zhuo Fan had completed his preparations.
He wore a green silk robe embroidered with threads of Spirit Gold, the official attire of the Seventh Peak elites of the Long Yuan Sect. The mask he wore—Long Xiao's identity—was not merely a change of appearance, but a full programmatic rewrite of his aura.
"Remember this, Ling'er," Zhuo Fan said as he gazed at his reflection in a bronze mirror.
"At this banquet, power does not belong to the one who shouts the loudest, but to the one who possesses the strongest constant in his equation. Show no emotion. Be a perfect zero beside me."
Ling'er nodded. She wore a disguise that made her appear as a high-rank spiritual attendant. The air itself felt heavy—Tianlong's defensive formations were operating at full capacity, creating a spiritual pressure that made breathing difficult for anyone below true cultivation.
Arrival at the Hanging Cloud Palace
At the entrance to the floating palace stood a line of elders testing the qualifications of each guest. Written invitations were meaningless here; every cultivator had to place their hand upon the Measurement Stone at the gate.
"Analysis complete," Zhuo Fan calculated as he approached.
"High-frequency crystal material… measures capacity and purity of spiritual essence."
When his turn came, he calmly placed his hand upon the stone. At that instant, he activated the Resonance Reflector Matrix etched into his palm.
The stone—expected to glow a deep green matching Long Xiao's strength—began to tremble violently. Colors collided at insane speed: red, blue, violet… before abruptly stabilizing into a deep, pale gold.
The overseeing elder froze.
"This… this purity!" the elder exclaimed. "It surpasses the limits of the fifth rank! Are you truly Long Xiao?"
Zhuo Fan smiled coldly and replied with arrogant indifference,
"My enlightenment in the Broken Bone Valley yielded certain insights. Is there a problem?"
The elder immediately stepped back in respect.
"N-No problem at all. Please proceed, genius."
Inside the Banquet Hall
The hall was vast beyond comprehension, its ceiling formed by an astronomical formation displaying the real-time movement of the stars. At the center, tables were arranged in a grand circle around an elevated platform where the Third Prince and the empire's highest elders were seated.
Zhuo Fan took the seat assigned to the Long Yuan Sect. He could feel countless gazes upon him—envy, curiosity, suspicion. Yet one gaze stood apart, sharp and piercing, emanating from the high platform.
Zhang Song. The Third Prince.
The banquet began with rare spiritual wines and dishes crafted from legendary beasts, yet no one truly ate. Everyone was waiting for the main event.
The Third Prince rose, and silence fell.
"Welcome, geniuses of our empire," Zhang Song declared.
"Today, we do not merely celebrate autumn—we seek the pillar that will carry our future. You have all heard of the Heavenly Balance. Today, it shall test not only your strength… but your potential to reach the Supreme Dao."
With a wave of his hand, the massive bronze mirror rose into the center of the hall, radiating a light that made every cultivator feel as though their soul were laid bare.
"We begin with Fei Yan of the Celestial Sword Sect," the announcer called.
A handsome young man stepped forward, channeling his energy into the mirror. The surface revealed an image of a sword cleaving the clouds, followed by an ancient Taoist numeral:
(78 / 100)
Gasps rippled through the hall.
"Seventy-eight! That's extraordinary!"
"A guaranteed Spirit Sovereign candidate!"
One by one, the geniuses stepped forward. The results ranged between 60 and 82. Zhuo Fan watched silently, his mind reverse-engineering the function behind the mirror.
"The Balance measures compatibility between a cultivator's soul and the natural frequency of the Dragon Vein," Zhuo Fan concluded.
"It seeks conduits—future energy batteries for the empire. The prince isn't looking for geniuses… he's looking for fuel."
At last, the name everyone anticipated was announced:
"Long Xiao, Seventh Peak."
Zhuo Fan stood.
Absolute silence descended.
Everyone had heard of his sudden rise in the Broken Bone Valley. He walked toward the mirror, each step causing imperceptible tremors within the hall's central formation.
He stopped before the Heavenly Balance. He did not release aggressive energy. He simply placed his hand gently upon the cold bronze surface.
Inside his mind, Zhuo Fan commanded:
"Initiate Imaginary Algorithm — Zero All Variables."
What followed defied all expectations.
The mirror displayed no image.
No number.
Instead, its white radiance collapsed into absolute blackness, a darkness so dense it began devouring the light of nearby candles and formations.
Cracks spread rapidly across the mirror.
The symbol that appeared at last was not a Taoist numeral, but something alien:
(∞) — Infinity.
A violent wave of spiritual pressure exploded through the hall. Several weaker cultivators dropped to their knees. The Third Prince shot to his feet, eyes wide with disbelief.
"This is impossible…" murmured the ancient formation expert beside him.
"The Balance cannot measure him… He is not a number within this system… He is the axiom itself!"
Zhuo Fan looked directly at Zhang Song and transmitted a coded spiritual message straight into the prince's mind:
"Your scale is too small to weigh nothingness, Your Highness. Shall we begin the real negotiations now?"
Zhang Song froze.
In that instant, he understood—
the Long Xiao before him was not the man he thought he knew.
This was a being capable of overturning his father's throne in the blink of an eye.
"The banquet…" Zhang Song said stiffly, forcing composure.
"…will continue in the inner pavilion. Long Xiao—you are invited to a private discussion."
Behind the mask, Zhuo Fan smiled.
The first piece on the chessboard had moved—
exactly as calculated.