He had really come!
Amid the dead silence, everyone turned their heads in unison.
He looked like an old man one might run into anywhere in the market streets—short, gaunt, hair white as snow, an amiable smile on his face, wearing a well-tailored suit of plain cloth, missing only a birdcage in hand.
He was utterly out of place in this magnificent, gilded banquet hall.
Yet it was precisely this short, thin old man who had plunged the entire room into absolute quiet. Countless attendees subconsciously rose to their feet and lowered their heads, moving to offer a deferential welcome.
It had been too long.
The authority established and the blood spilled over so many years had made them terrified to lift their heads and meet his gaze. At the first whiff of terror, their instinct was to fall to their knees and submit.
Yet, sensing the chilling gaze arriving from the other end of the hall, they froze in their tracks.
Like stalks of straw swaying between two raging gales, they were drenched in cold sweat, caught between a rock and a hard place.
"What's the matter, Shuo? Why the grim face?"
Ling Liu looked toward one of his once most favored adoptive sons, his face brimming with an unbroken, genial smile. "On such a wonderful day, you wouldn't hold it against an old man for showing up uninvited, would you?"
"Aiya, what are you saying, Elder Ling? Welcome, welcome!"
Ling Shuo clapped a hand to his forehead and barked, "What is the master of ceremonies doing? Why is Elder Ling still standing at the door? Anyone would think I have no manners and am turning the world upside down!"
With that, he gestured welcomingly. "Please, please come in! The seat of honor for our distinguished guest!"
Unfortunately, Ling Liu did not move.
The old man remained planted where he stood, showing not the slightest inclination to humor him.
"Barely a few months apart, and you've grown so distant?"
Ling Liu sighed with a wistful, half-mocking smile as he looked at him. "Won't you even call me 'Father'?"
Those eyes...
No matter how warm and genial the smile, those grayish-black eyes never showed a single ripple. Just being looked at made Ling Shuo feel as though he had plunged into an icy cavern. Countless past beatings and brutal temperings resurfaced in his mind, and cold sweat seeped from his pores.
His legs went weak beneath him.
If this were the past, would he not already be prostrate on the floor, kowtowing repeatedly?
Right or wrong, reason or excuse—none of it mattered. When the ruler was enraged, all a running dog could do was kneel and beg for mercy, weeping and wailing, enduring in silence, feeling the weight of every slap, swallowing blood and broken teeth.
House discipline was merciless.
Ling Liu had countless adopted sons, but unlike Lei Wuye, who kept them in check and held tight reins,
whenever Ling Liu spotted a nail sticking out, he gave it a bit of seed capital and cast it out to grow wild—even forcing his adopted children to fight, compete, and slaughter one another, cultivating them into loyal hounds. On this foundation, he had expanded his authority outward from Grey Harbor, radiating across the entire Endless Sea.
Over the years, godchildren beyond count had perished, while Ling Liu had only grown stronger and more prosperous.
Precisely because of this, he could never permit a stray dog like Ling Shuo to break free from his grasp—he couldn't even allow him to stick his head out!
Forget aspiring to become a Dragon Head and sit as equals; Ling Shuo's actions in the Seven Cities over the past few days alone had already made him a thorn in Ling Liu's side, an intolerable offense.
Where in the world did a father get driven out before he could even lift his chopsticks, while his son sat at another man's banquet stuffing his face until grease ran down his chin? If Ling Shuo succeeded through this, what would Ling Liu's other sons think? What would cross their minds?
When men's hearts scatter, a team becomes hard to lead; the consequences of shaken authority were far more severe.
People would die. Many people. Very, very many people.
Ling Shuo had imagined how ruthlessly his adoptive father would retaliate afterward—suppressing him by every conceivable means and waging a fight without bottom lines—yet he had never anticipated him arriving so quickly.
In just a few short days, without a sound, he had personally traveled from Grey Harbor to snuff out the spark before it became a wildfire.
He couldn't even wait for a single moment.
For a fleeting instant, Ling Shuo lowered his head out of habit. But in the end, he only gave a slight bow and smiled with complete nonchalance.
As if sensing that lofty gaze looking down from behind him, imbued with invisible strength, he straightened his spine before his adoptive father for the very first time in his life.
Head held high, chest out!
"What are you saying?"
Ling Shuo asked with a look of utter bewilderment. "You favored and prized me in the past, and I was all too grateful. How could I ever grow distant? It's just that circumstances leave me no choice now. We each serve our own masters, and there really isn't time to reminisce about old sentiments. It would be best if you simply addressed me by my title..."
He paused, then suddenly offered a brilliant smile:
"President Ling—how does that sound?"
Ling Liu said nothing. His smile remained as he stared straight at him, taking in the endurance, hesitation, fury, and resolve in those eyes. After a long while, he patted the arm Ling Shuo was using to guide him and let out a rueful sigh:
"...Mr. Ji really is something, picking up ungrateful white-eyed wolves and bringing them home."
"With a home, a dog can wag its tail and get a bone to eat. That's still better than starving to death and rotting in a gutter while being expected to give thanks, wouldn't you say?" Ling Shuo maintained his smile, his raised arm pointing steadily toward the seats without wavering. "A guest is a guest. Please, 'Elder Ling.' My modest venture can't support a grand Buddha like you, but a meal or two won't hurt.
"If you enjoy the food, you should come back often."
Two hypocritical smiles locked onto each other. Guided by Ling Shuo, the former father and son strolled slowly toward the banquet hall, their smiles fervent and demeanor intimate, looking for all the world like a real father and son.
Unfortunately, a discordant noise came from behind.
It was Ling Liu's attendants—Ling Shuo's "Second Brother" and "Third Sister."
"Terribly sorry, you two."
Old Chu, withered and gaunt, popped out from nowhere and blocked their way. A repulsive smirk spread across his wrinkled face as he informed them, "Without an invitation, you cannot enter."
The duo's faces instantly turned livid, glaring daggers at Ling Shuo.
The little mongrel had grown feathers on his wings and dared to put on airs in front of them?!
These two, Ling Liu's top henchmen and trusted confidants, had only ever deigned to speak softly to Ling Shuo or look him in the eye as an immense favor in days gone by. Yet now they were being deliberately obstructed.
Ling Shuo acted as if he hadn't seen a thing, merely looking at Ling Liu. "Rules are rules. My apologies, Elder Ling. Surely you wouldn't embarrass me here, would you?"
"Of course. It's your birthday; you're the boss."
Ling Liu's smile didn't waver. He simply waved a hand behind him. "Guests defer to the host. Didn't you hear what he said? Wait outside the door."
The two fell silent, gave Ling Shuo and Old Chu a cold glare, and turned to walk outside.
Meanwhile, the smiling Ling Liu had already taken his seat at the table, sitting alongside the envoys of the three Wild Gatherings, talking and laughing cordially. Yet despite the apparent warmth, everyone present felt choked for air.
In the bustling, noisy hall, the boisterous voices from moments before grew softer and lower, like the murmurs of countless gnats in the dead silence before a thunderstorm.
No matter how hard the master of ceremonies tried to liven up the atmosphere and roll out thrilling performances, the vast majority of eyes remained fixed on the father and son, drifting incessantly between Ling Liu and Ling Shuo.
Until Ling Shuo, holding a wine glass, slowly rose to his feet.
His gaze swept coldly over his adoptive father and the Wild Gathering representatives at the other table. He stepped onto the stage, dismissed the singing and dancing girls, and reached for the microphone in the host's hand.
The master of ceremonies hurriedly handed it over and stepped back as if granted a royal pardon.
When Ling Shuo turned back to face the floor, a smile had already surfaced on his face.
"Today is a good day. It's rare for all our friends and relatives to gather in one place for such an exceptional occasion."
He raised the glass in his hand and said slowly, "I believe this first toast should go to the Seven Cities, and to Mr. Ji. Without Mr. Ji, there would be no Seven Cities today, and none of the modest success I have achieved."
He paused, then asked abruptly, "What do you all think?"
Instantly, the dead silence vanished. Roaring, enthusiastic responses surged like a tide. Admiration and delight broke out across every face as people nodded vigorously and stood up of their own accord.
"Hear, hear!"
"That's right!"
"Spot on!"
"A toast to Mr. Ji is only right! Here in the Seven Cities..."
"Then to Mr. Ji!"
Ling Shuo grinned and held his glass high. "To the Seven Cities!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he tilted his head back and drained it in a single gulp. Acclamations and cheers rang out incessantly, casting a shadow over the smile on Ling Liu's face—a person who hadn't even shown up, who hadn't even appeared, could eclipse every dissenting whisper with nothing more than his name.
Such was authority...
Though his eyes were clouded, his smile remained. He drank as if nothing were amiss, yet the faint chill radiating from him made those beside him feel thorns prickling against their backs.
Several others, including Aogao, shifted slightly in expression. They had not anticipated that in just a few short months, Ji Jue could cast such a deep, pervasive shadow over these Wild Gathering subordinates in the Seven Cities.
Yet just as they hesitated in thought while raising their glasses, they felt a quizzical look directed at them from another table—the youthful monster, holding a glass of fruit juice, had suddenly turned to look at them.
A flicker of doubt showed in those eyes: *Why aren't you drinking?*
Aogao's smile stiffened for an instant. He tilted his head back, concealing the sharp jolt of alarm he felt, and drank with an appreciative smile, as if savoring fine wine.
The gaze moved away.
He glanced at Ling Liu and could glean nothing. He looked toward Himawan and Abadesa; both wore customary expressions, as though they hadn't noticed a thing.
One toast, one name, and the banquet hall returned to normal. The stiffness and paralysis vanished, replaced once more by laughter and merriment.
"This second glass is for everyone present..."
Ling Shuo took a second glass from the master of ceremonies and raised it. "Thanks to your generous support and favor, I, Ling, have been able to serve as head of the association and take charge of commerce across the Seven Islands. Yet I am still young, and should I fall short in anything moving forward, I ask that everyone please bear with—"
*Crash!*
A sharp noise rang out. In the front rows of the banquet hall, a middle-aged man with a flushed face suddenly shot up, shattered his glass against the floor, shoved aside someone trying to restrain him, and pointed at Ling Shuo on stage:
"Bullshit!"
In an instant, dead silence fell over the hall once more. Everyone looked at each other in bewildered disbelief.
Yet who knew how many secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
It was as though, after the long sizzle of a fuse, they had finally heard the roar of the explosion.
It was here. It was finally fucking here...
Yet no one could have anticipated that Rutswan of Four Islands Building Materials—the very man who had bowed and scraped before Ling Shuo just days ago, growing fat on Seven Cities reconstruction contracts thanks to Ling Shuo's patronage—would be the first to launch an attack.
"Talk about status? How many uncles and elders do we have in the Seven Cities? Talk about ability? Which one of us didn't crawl out of a sea of blood and mountain of blades? Since when is it your turn, you bastard named Ling, to call the shots?!"
Rutswan threw his head back and demanded in fury, "The Seven Cities' industries were built on the sweat and blood of all of us! Who the fuck does this Ji fellow think he is?!"
Chapter 854