Just as the last elder of Bai Clan stepped back, a tall figure in regal purple robes approached, his posture upright and his eyes carrying a noble sharpness.
The Third Prince of the Desolate Heaven Empire, Yu Wenzhao, exuded a calm and composed aura—one befitting imperial blood.
His lips curled into a polite smile as he stopped before Bai Zihan.
“Happy birthday, Young Master Bai!”
He said, offering a long, narrow case made of dark ironwood, etched with cloud patterns and the royal crest.
“This is but a token of appreciation from me.”
Bai Zihan accepted it calmly and opened the case.
Inside rested a finely forged Low Earth-grade sword, its blade sheathed in a deep blue scabbard, subtle runes flickering along the surface like flowing water under moonlight.
Yu Wenzhao gestured toward it lightly.
“The sword is named Clearflow. Forged in the inner halls of the Imperial Arsenal and tempered with glacial steel from the Northern Abyss.”
The crowd murmured once again. This item was very rare and very precious.
It could even be an heirloom of some medium clan but to Bai Zihan, it was one of the least exciting gifts.
Having Heaven-Grade Sword, what’s the use of Low Earth-Grade Sword?
But of course, the people at the party would be shocked because Earth-Grade Artifacts are still valuable to them.
If not for what they had already seen, this gift could have caused a big commotion.
After all, it wasn’t normal for a prince to give such a thing to someone else—it was usually the other way around.
Yu Wenzhao was a bit disappointed, as he had thought his gift would be the best among all.
But he had greatly underestimated the Bai Clan—especially Mu Yuelan.
In any case, it was still among the most valuable gifts, and he thought Bai Zihan would appreciate it.
But of course, there wasn’t much change in Bai Zihan’s expression—almost as if he were looking at some trash.
“I thank Your Highness!”
Bai Zihan still thanked him politely. But no one could tell whether the gift had made any impression on him at all.
Yu Wenzhao’s eyes narrowed slightly at Bai Zihan’s composed reaction. He leaned in ever so slightly, lowering his voice.
“The court watches the rise of dragons. There are many who would rather fear than support you.”
He smiled faintly—like a blade hidden behind silk.
“But not me. The Empire needs true pillars—those who don’t just shine, but hold the heavens up.”
A veiled proposition.
A subtle rope extended in the form of flattery and promise.
But before he could say more, Bai Zihan tilted his head slightly, as though confused.
He looked at the sword again, then at the prince.
“The Empire truly spares no effort in craftsmanship,” he said casually.
“To receive something forged from the Imperial Arsenal is… an honor!”
Yu Wenzhao’s smile stiffened slightly.
He had carefully woven his words to hint at an alliance—flattery, veiled loyalty, subtle positioning.
Yet Bai Zihan responded like he hadn’t heard a thing.
Still polite, but utterly noncommittal.
He tried again, voice a shade deeper.
“Bai Zihan,” he said, “what I mean is, the time will come when men of vision must stand together. Gifts are but gestures. What matters is understanding one another.”
Bai Zihan blinked once, brows drawing together in apparent puzzlement.
“Ah,” he said slowly.
“”So… Your Highness means that… We share the same appreciation for craftsmanship?”
There was no malice in his tone—only sincere confusion.
Or rather, perfectly feigned confusion.
Yu Wenzhao’s jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place.
The crowd didn’t notice much, but to the prince, it was clear: this brat was mocking him—politely, carefully, but unmistakably.
“…Right,” Yu Wenzhao said after a pause. “May it serve you well.”
Without waiting for a further response, he turned sharply and walked off, his sleeves billowing with restrained irritation.
He knew that Bai Zihan wasn’t an idiot and was deliberately avoiding the topic, which could only mean one thing—he had no interest in forming an alliance.
Yu Wenzhao might have acted out, if not for being in the Bai Clan’s territory—with so many eyes watching him.
A few sharp-eyed elders noticed the Third Prince’s clenched fist as he passed.
Just as the tension began to settle, a delicate hush fell over the courtyard—a subtle shift in the wind, as though even the air sensed a new presence.
From among the guests, a figure stepped forward.
Clad in flowing lavender silk that shimmered like moonlight on still water, Yu Qingya, the Fourth Princess of the Empire, entered with quiet grace.
Her gaze was calm, her expression unreadable—beautiful, but distant.
She did not even glance at her brother.
Her steps were light, each one measured with imperial poise.
Unlike the Third Prince’s performative confidence, hers was effortless—etched into every gesture, every breath.
She stopped before Bai Zihan.
“Happy birthday, Bai Zihan!”
She said, her tone soft but cool—like porcelain kissed by frost.
In her hands, she held a long, rectangular box tied with a golden ribbon.
“This is a rare spirit armor. Qi-sealed, woven with starlight silk. Top Earth-grade. It can endure the strikes of even a Great Ascension cultivator.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The gift clearly outshone the Third Prince’s sword.
Anyone could tell that the prince and princess were serious about trying to win Bai Zihan to their side.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have dared to spend so much on a single person.
The Third Prince glanced at Yu Qingya with anger and frustration.
Not only had he failed, but now his gift was overshadowed by his sister’s—a blow to his pride that made him appear inferior.
Bai Zihan accepted the box with both hands and gave a slight bow.
“Many thanks, Your Highness!”
His voice was polite and composed—neither cold nor welcoming. Just perfectly balanced.
Yu Qingya’s gaze lingered on him, eyes as calm as deep water. Her fan opened with a faint flick, and she leaned in—not too close, but close enough to signal intent.
“But even armor blessed by starlight,” she murmured, “cannot shield one from all dangers.”
A pause.
Her eyes gleamed with something subtle. Then, in a voice only a few nearby could catch, she added.
“But what if you are married to a Princess?
Gasps spread like ripples across still water.
Many of the gathered nobles, elders, and envoys froze in place.
An imperial proposal!
Yu Qingya had just offered herself.
And with that, she had offered the Bai Clan an unshakable alliance with the Imperial Family.
A future secured by marriage and imperial blood.
Even some of the older Bai Clan elders, who had remained passive through the previous exchanges, shifted in their seats.
Some straightened. Some furrowed their brows. Some… smiled.
They understood what was being placed on the table.
Power!
Security!
Of course, that would also mean getting invovled in succession war which they don’t want.
And there was also a fact that Bai Zihan was already engaged.
Yu Qingya’s gaze never wavered. Her voice, though cool, was firm with intention.
“Bai Zihan,” she said softly, “join me, and the Bai Clan will never stand alone again.”
She glanced once—just once—toward Chu Ziyan.
Her meaning was clear.
This was a challenge.
Chu Ziyan’s face paled. Her fingers curled slightly into the silk of her sleeve.
She had always known others desired Bai Zihan. After all, his reputation was completely different than when she was engaged to him.
Her title as his fiancée kept many away, but it was clearly not enough to deter someone like a princess.
But to be so thoroughly dismissed—to be ignored as though she didn’t even exist?
The humiliation bit deep.
She was obviously angered but she forced a calm expression. She looked toward Bai Zihan, uncertain, expectant… afraid.
But Bai Zihan?
He smiled.
A warm, gentle smile.
Then turned slightly—just enough for the crowd to see—and reached out.
With a swift, casual motion, he took Chu Ziyan’s hand in his.
“Your Highness,” he said lightly, “this one is flattered beyond words. Truly!”
He turned to face Yu Qingya fully now, still holding Chu Ziyan’s hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“But I’m afraid the position beside me has already been claimed… by my beautiful fiancée.”
A pause.
Then a deeper silence than before.
Chu Ziyan blinked in shock, her lips parting.
Her eyes widened.
She hadn’t expected him to say that.
Certainly not with that tone—warm, teasing, real.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and her face flushed deep red.
(I almost fell for it—)
She thought. It is clear that Bai Zihan was using her to reject the princess, though she can’t deny that she felt a bit happy when he did.
Yu Qingya’s eyes narrowed slightly.
She turned her gaze to Chu Ziyan, expression as smooth as ice.
“An engagement,” she said softly, “is a matter of the past. It can be broken.”
She took a graceful step forward, gaze cutting through the space between them like a sword sheathed in silk.
“I offer more than affection or beauty. Something no other girl can.”
She was clearly suggesting the throne.
“You should consider it seriously, Young Master Bai Zihan. And give me a proper answer.”
And with that, she turned.
No theatrics. No lingering glances.
She simply walked away—flowing like moonlight through a field of trembling grass, vanishing back into the noble court.
But her presence lingered. Pressing. Heavy.
The elders whispered. The guest took mental notes. The young nobles stared in awe and envy.
And Bai Zihan?
He stood calmly in the courtyard, holding a flustered Chu Ziyan’s hand, as though he hadn’t just refused the Fourth Princess of the Empire.