As Long Huang and Fu Heng searched for Zhao Gun, he and Fu Heng split up to cover more ground. After a few hours of searching, Long Huang finally spotted Zhao Gun, who stood with an impatient scowl directed at a group of giggling noblewomen unabashedly stealing glances their way.
The Lantern Festival had descended upon Blossom City, engulfing the streets in a breathtaking spectacle of light and color that seemed to dance with every heartbeat of the night. Paper lanterns, crafted with meticulous care, adorned every corner, their intricate designs showcasing legendary beasts coiling gracefully amidst celestial maidens.
These lanterns cast flickering shadows across the cobblestones below, illuminating the faces of children and adults alike with a warm, golden glow. The air was thick with an intoxicating blend of aromas—spiced wine simmering in large cauldrons, roasted meats sizzling over open flames, and the sweet, inviting fragrance of festival treats—honey-glazed lotus buns, candied spirit fruits glistening like gemstones, and steaming cups of chrysanthemum tea enriched with rare, aromatic herbs.
Laughter and jubilant music wove through the air, saturating the atmosphere with a sense of joy and celebration as performers twirled and danced among the throngs of festival-goers. Graceful acrobats spun past, their movements fluid as silk ribbons caught the lantern light, while fire-breathers unleashed plumes of golden flame into the star-strewn sky, prompting gasps of wonder from children clutching their sugar-dusted dough figurines.
At the heart of the bustling plaza, a gigantic dragon puppet, fashioned from shimmering silk, undulated through the crowd, its body skillfully manipulated by a dozen agile acrobats. The resonant throb of drums kept time with the fluid movements of the dragon, the rhythmic beats pulsing through the ground like the very heartbeat of Blossom City.
Long Huang positioned himself at the edge of the vibrant festivities, his silver hair reflecting the glow of a myriad of lanterns. His emerald eyes scanned the jubilant scene with a mix of quiet amusement and palpable intrigue. He had found Zhao Gun, and then Long Huang plus Zhao Gun had now set out to find Fu Heng, though their paths soon diverged in the excitement of the festival.
"Must you always attract this much attention?" Zhao Gun muttered, adjusting the cuffs of his dark blue robes, embroidered with subtle lightning motifs that seemed to dance across the fabric, mirroring his mood.
Long Huang couldn't suppress a smirk. "You could always wear a mask, you know."
Zhao Gun's glare was fierce enough to melt steel. "I'd rather duel Liu Jian again," he shot back, the memory of his recent defeat stinging more than he cared to admit.
The mention of their earlier competition drew a chuckle from Long Huang, who waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. Tonight's about celebration, not competition."
Zhao Gun's expression remained sour. "But you look like you're plotting murder."
Leaning against a nearby stall showcasing intricately carved jade trinkets, Zhao Gun crossed his arms, the lanterns casting a warm glow that softened his usual scowl.
Long Huang, ever playful, tossed him a candied hawthorn skewer. "Just trying to enjoy the festivities, unlike you, who apparently has developed a habit of rescuing wayward brothers from spy-infested pleasure houses."
Zhao Gun's grip tightened around the skewer, snapping it in half with a sharp crack. "You talked to my uncle."
"He talked at me. There's a difference." Long Huang's expression turned serious, the light-hearted banter dissipating. "The Savage Marquis has eyes here, and that's not something to overlook."
Zhao Gun exhaled through his nose, frustration in his gaze. "I'm aware," he replied, his voice almost a whisper. He hesitated, then continued, "Ling Xiao was not merely a spy. She was probing for weaknesses—mine, my family's. And now she's gone."
Just then, a familiar voice burst through the din of the festival. "Brother Long! Over here!"
Fu Heng waved enthusiastically from a nearby stall brimming with sugary confections, his usual exuberance undimmed by the throngs of people. Yet what drew each eye was the insignia proudly displayed on his sash—the twin lotus crest of an Azure Lotus Core Disciple. A ripple of murmurs surged through the crowd, punctuated by gasps of disbelief.
Long Huang's eyebrows shot up, a wave of surprise washing over him. "Since when was Fu Heng a Core Disciple?"
"That's impossible!" Long Huang echoed, eyes wide as he struggled to fathom what he was witnessing. "He's always fooling around in the Martial Pavilion!"
Zhao Gun stiffened. "You didn't know."
"No," Long Huang admitted.
Long Huang narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Fu Heng's face as the jovial grin that usually adorned it now seemed heavy with unspoken weight. The playful glint in his eyes had sharpened, revealing an unexpected depth—a steely determination stirring beneath the surface.
The revelation hung in the air like a blade drawn in the dark, each heartbeat resonating with the gravity of the moment. Core Disciples were the elite of the Azure Lotus Sect, entrusted with secrets and training that transcended the ordinary. The festival's joyful atmosphere momentarily dimmed around them as Long Huang realized that the masked mirth of the night belied the shifting tides of intrigue and conflict brewing beneath the surface. Fu Heng stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Brother Long, we need to talk. Alone."
They slipped away to a secluded courtyard, the glow of lanterns casting eerie shadows on the cobblestones. Fu Heng wasted no time. "The Sect's been monitoring Chi Qide for years. His connections to the Northern Jain Kingdom are deeper than anyone suspects." He flicked a glance at Zhao Gun, his tone growing serious. "Your family's involvement complicates things."
Before Long Huang could process this new information, the crowd split abruptly. A troupe of performers burst into the clearing, their movements eerily synchronized, captivating and strange. But an unsettling energy radiated from the center—Ling Xiao, the dancer from the Red Fairy Pavilion, glided between them. Her crimson sleeves billowed like wings as she spun, silver bells at her ankles chiming an intoxicating rhythm. For a fleeting moment, her piercing gaze locked onto Long Huang's, sending a chill down his spine before she darted into a shadowy alley.
A trap? A warning?
Zhao Gun suddenly stiffened. "That's impossible. She was—"
"Under house arrest?" Fu Heng interjected quietly, his hand hovering near his sword hilt. "Exactly."
Long Huang felt a cold prickle of danger. The way Ling Xiao had moved, so unnaturally, set off alarm bells in his mind.
Then, locking eyes with them once more, Ling Xiao spun with a flourish, and the night erupted in fireworks.
The first explosive burst turned the dark sky crimson. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the chaos unfurling. Then, as the arcane lights illuminated the plaza, Zhao Gun sprang into action.
"Enough of this illusion!" he growled, his voice a powerful echo. In an instant, he unleashed his surge of energy, shattering the deceptive art Ling Xiao had cast around him. A crackling wave of lightning erupted from his body, lighting up the night. His bloodline power burst forth for the first time, sending jagged arcs of electricity racing through the crowd, the scent of ozone sharp in the air.
"Zhao bloodline! The Lightning Boar!" gasps erupted from the onlookers, who were now caught in the maelstrom.
Long Huang barely had time to realize the implications before Ling Xiao reappeared, midair, her fingers twisting into razor-sharp claws aimed directly at Zhao Gun's throat. He dodged, but not in time; a line of crimson blossomed along his collarbone.
Fu Heng was already moving, his Core Disciple robes billowing as he drew twin shortswords from his sleeves. The blades shimmered with swirling qi patterns—a technique Long Huang had never seen him use before.
"Ambush!" Fu Heng shouted. "They're Northern Jain operatives!"
The plaza erupted into chaos. The performers shed their disguises, revealing blackened daggers and the unmistakable crimson sashes of the Savage Marquis's assassins. Panic spread like wildfire as festival-goers began to stampede, and stalls overturned in the frenzy.
Long Huang's Frostbite Serpent Sword leapt into his hand, the icy edge intercepting a dagger that was aimed for his ribs. The assassin, a woman with hollow cheeks and lifeless eyes, hissed as frost crept up her weapon, rendering it useless.
"You're not taking him today," Long Huang growled, steeling himself for the onslaught.
" Oh.., and who's going to stop me, you ?" said Ling Xiao mockingly.
Behind them, Zhao Gun roared, his body now enveloped in a crackling aura, forming the head of a boar made of pure electric energy behind him.
Ling Xiao's laughter rang out, sharp as shattering glass. "Oh, this is precious. The Zhao runt finally shows his fangs!" With a flick of her wrist, a flurry of needle-thin projectiles shot toward Zhao Gun's eyes.
But before they could reach him, a powerful gust of wind intercepted the attack.
Huang Min landed with an elegant grace, her moon-white robes swirling around her. The air vibrated with the energy of her Heavenly Moon Spirit Bloodline, shimmering with ethereal light. The needles hung frozen in the air, suspended by her sheer will before clattering harmlessly to the ground.
"Run along now," she said sweetly, her tone deceptively calm. "Or I'll peel that pretty face off your skull."
Dawn broke over the ravaged festival. The assassins had fled, leaving a trail of destruction—a few city guards lay lifeless, and half the plaza was in smoldering ruins.
Zhao Gun slumped against a fragmented cart, blood pooling along his collarbone, his bloodline energy spent. "They knew," he whispered, anguish evident in his eyes. "They knew about my bloodline. About everything."
Fu Heng, a dark gash marring his cheek, tossed aside a shattered assassin's mask. "Worse. They wanted you to reveal it publicly."
Long Huang's stomach twisted. This wasn't merely an attack—it was a bold message. The Savage Marquis was preparing to make his move, and now, Zhao Gun's bloodline had become a weapon of political machination.
Across the ruined plaza, Huang Min helped a sobbing child find their parents. Her gaze met Long Huang's, an unspoken understanding passing between them. The real festival had ended.
The pressure was grim and the game was just beginning.