Volume 1: Bo'an Awakening & The Calamity Storm
Chapter 19
The Ling Clan Banquet & The Vassal Contract
Night descended over the pine-clad northern hills of Bian’an City, shrouding the rugged wilderness in deep indigo shadows. Amidst the secluded mountain peaks, the Ling Clan’s Moon Garden Manor blazed with resplendent light, radiating like an opulent open-air palace carved into the hillside.
Hundreds of enchanted crystal lanterns mounted along the pristine white stone ramparts cast a haughty golden glow across the broad gravel driveway. Polished mana-powered sedans adorned with gleaming silver filigree and embossed with the six-pointed snowflake crest of the Ling Clan rolled through the gates in a smooth, continuous procession.
From the chauffeured vehicles stepped the upper echelon of Bian’an City: merchant tycoons weighed down by gem-encrusted rings, high-ranking municipal officials dressed in crisp tailored formalwear, and licensed Intermediate Mages proudly displaying their polished elemental badges. Lighthearted social laughter and polished pleasantries drifted on the night breeze, blending with the pungent, aromatic aroma of burning enchanted tobacco. The air was intoxicating, extravagant, and thick with the unmistakable stench of old money and unchecked privilege.
Amidst this glittering sea of silk and tailored velvet, a lone, slender figure stepped onto the blue-stone staircase.
He wore a faded Feng Lan High uniform shirt under a plain grey windbreaker, his frayed sneakers making scarcely a sound against the flagstones.
Lin Feng.
Two private security guards clad in polished mana plate armor stood sentry before the towering wrought-iron archway. The moment their eyes fell upon his worn clothes, their expressions curdled into sneering disdain. Raising their electrified shock batons, they blocked his way with a sharp metallic clatter.
“Halt right there!” the guard on the left barked, his voice dripping with contempt. “Tonight is the exclusive gala of Patriarch Ling himself! Slum-dwelling trash aren’t allowed within a mile of these grounds. Scram before we crack your skull open!”
Lin Feng didn’t flinch. Calmly reaching into his windbreaker pocket, he retrieved a gold-embossed invitation card sealed with crimson wax bearing the Ling Clan’s snowflake insignia.
The guard snatched the card, his sneer already curling toward a mocking jeer—until his gaze caught the elegant calligraphy personally penned by the manor’s head steward: Cordially inviting student Lin Feng, top ranker of Feng Lan Magic High’s annual assessment.
The guard’s face drained of color. His hand froze in midair, the electric baton sputtering with a faint hiss. Exchanging a panicked glance with his partner, he clumsily lowered his weapon, stepped aside, and bowed with stiff reluctance.
“Please... please enter, young master.”
Lin Feng tucked the invitation back into his pocket and strode through the gilded gates without sparing the men another glance. His spine was rod-straight, his silhouette standing out against the gaudy splendour around him like a solitary mountain pine towering amidst a sea of ornamental flowers.
Before he had set out for the estate, his father, Lin Hai, had gripped his shoulders tightly. The old man’s hands, rough and calloused from over a decade of wrestling the heavy steering wheel of mana-freight trucks, had been trembling violently. Lin Hai knew all too well what kind of beast the Ling Clan was. More than a decade earlier, desperate for wages to buy medicine and feed his family, he had spent an entire night kneeling in the freezing mud outside these very gates, swallowing the bitter insults and mockery of the Ling family’s stewards just to retain his hauling contract.
Yet Lin Feng had merely smiled, gently patting his father’s weathered hands.
”Father, stay home and drink a warm cup of tea with Xiao Mo,” he had reassured him with absolute calm. ”Times have changed. If the Ling Clan thinks they can swallow me whole, they’d better make sure their teeth are hard enough to bite into steel.”
Passing through the massive, intricately carved rosewood double doors into the grand ballroom, a wave of heated, perfume-laden air washed over Lin Feng. The mirror-polished marble floors reflected the dazzling radiance pouring from enormous crystal chandeliers that cascaded down from the vaulted ceiling like shimmering waterfalls of liquid light.
The sudden entrance of a youth in humble cotton attire drew immediate attention. A ripple of whispered commentary washed across the floor:
“Who is that? Dressed like a pauper—how in the world did he get past the outer gates?”
“Keep your voice down! That’s Lin Feng—the cargo driver’s kid who pulled off an S-Rank in Feng Lan’s midterm trial. Word is he awakened an unusually explosive Fire element. But so what? At the end of the day, he’s still mud-born trash from the South Street slums. How could a destitute commoner ever compare to the scions of noble bloodlines?”
Scornful chuckles and hushed murmurs drifted from the clusters of aristocrats lingering by the wine bars.
Lin Feng ignored them entirely. Walking unhurriedly over to the buffet station, he picked up a crystal goblet, filled it to the brim with chilled fruit juice, and took a measured sip. His dark, fathomless eyes swept slowly over the chamber, observing every doorway, every security detail, and every calculating glance with tranquil detachment.
“Lin Feng. You actually had the nerve to crawl into this place?”
A shrill voice laced with venomous spite rang out from behind him.
Lin Feng turned around to see Ling Bai and his lackey, Li Peng, marching toward him. A short distance away, Ling Bai’s father—Deacon Ling Gang—was deeply engaged in conversation with an elder of a cadet branch, occasional stern glances drifting in their direction.
Tonight, Ling Bai was dressed to perfection in a tailored midnight-blue suit, his hair swept back with pomade and a luminescent mana timepiece glinting at his wrist. He looked every inch the refined noble heir. Yet his narrow eyes were bloodshot with barely suppressed fury.
The recent midterm assessment had been an absolute nightmare for Ling Bai. He had spent months boasting about his Ice element, fully intending to use an A-Rank score to crush Lin Feng beneath his heel and cement his standing as the school’s undisputed prodigy. Instead, Lin Feng had detonated an unprecedented, flawless S-Rank, reducing the reinforced training target to a pile of smoldering cinders with a single strike of Crimson Sparks and turning Ling Bai into the laughingstock of the entire institution.
“Why wouldn’t I dare come?” Lin Feng set his glass down onto the linen-draped table, his eyes passing over the pair with utter indifference. “Your Ling Clan went through the trouble of delivering an invitation straight to my door. Or are you telling me this grand gala was hosted solely so you watchdogs could bark at the threshold?”
“Who the hell are you calling a watchdog?!” Li Peng erupted, his face flushing crimson as he lunged forward, clawing toward Lin Feng’s lapels.
“Li Peng, stand down!” Ling Bai snapped, grabbing his crony’s sleeve and yanking him backward.
Ling Bai took a slow, deep breath, forcing his contorted features into a condescending, patronizing sneer.
“Lin Feng, do you really think scoring high on a high school exam makes you something special? The real world of magic out here is ten thousand times crueler than that little sandbox at Feng Lan! Without a clan’s backing and endless resources, an ordinary mage is nothing more than cheap labor, breaking his bones for scraps until he rots in obscurity. That our Patriarch personally summoned you tonight is a blessing accumulated across three lifetimes of your family’s ancestors!”
Lin Feng observed Ling Bai’s strained smirk, the corners of his own lips curving slightly.
“I haven’t noticed any of this so-called ‘blessing’ yet,” Lin Feng remarked smoothly. “But seeing how bitter and nauseous you look, ready to choke on your own bile? That alone made the walk up the hill worth every step.”
“You——!” Ling Bai’s chest heaved violently, his fingers trembling with rage.
Before he could lash out, the clear, resonant chime of a silver bell echoed across the vaulted ballroom.
The room fell instantly silent. The gathered nobles, merchants, and mages set down their glasses and turned with deferential solemnity toward the sweeping spiral staircase draped in crimson velvet.
A broad-shouldered, barrel-chested middle-aged man descended the stairs at a stately pace. He wore a heavy black velvet mantle trimmed with pristine white ermine. His square-jawed countenance was austere and imperious, accented by a neatly trimmed mustache. With every step he took, an invisible aura of heavy authority seemed to press down upon the room, causing the very air to thicken.
The supreme patriarch of the Ling Clan in Bian’an City—Ling Zhuofeng!
Flanking him was a retinue of grey-robed clan elders and heavily armed guardian mages, their sharp gazes sweeping the perimeter. Ling Zhuofeng marched directly to the elevated dais, taking his place upon a grand high-backed throne upholstered in the thick pelt of an Ironclad Battle-General Tiger. The beast’s snarling head, mounted over the apex of the chair with jagged fangs bared, radiated a faint, residual bloodlust that made the surrounding guests avert their eyes.
Ling Zhuofeng sat back, crossing one leg over the other. His heavy-lidded, fathomless gaze swept across the crowd before coming to rest squarely upon the lone youth standing in cotton clothes below.
With a slight wave of his broad sleeve, Ling Zhuofeng’s deep, booming baritone resonated through every corner of the hall:
“Today, this patriarch has convened this gathering for two reasons. First, to express my heartfelt appreciation to our esteemed associates and partners throughout Bian’an City for your unwavering support over the past year. Second, to celebrate the emergence of a truly remarkable magical talent from our city’s younger generation. Lin Feng, young man, step forward.”
The assembly parted immediately, opening a wide lane through the center of the ballroom. Hundreds of inquisitive, mocking, and calculating eyes bored into the sixteen-year-old youth.
Lin Feng walked calmly to the foot of the dais, stopping a few paces from the throne, and offered a curt, measured cupped-fist salute.
“Patriarch Ling.”
Ling Zhuofeng narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “Not bad. You have real backbone—standing before this old man without a flicker of fear. Years ago, your father, Lin Hai, drove trucks for our estate. An honest, hardworking man, though far too timid. Who would have guessed that a barren swamp like South Street could cultivate a Fire-element S-Rank seed like you?”
The words carried the cadence of generous praise, yet every single syllable dripped with condescension, deliberately highlighting Lin Feng’s lowly pedigree. Sycophantic snickers echoed among the surrounding aristocrats.
Lin Feng stood straight as an unyielding javelin, his eyes calm and level.
“Patriarch Ling flatters me. Mud or jade, where a seed takes root is of little consequence. What truly matters is the color of the bloom it yields. I assume Patriarch Ling did not summon me all the way to Moon Garden Manor merely to reminisce about my father’s old haulage routes. What guidance do you have for me tonight?”
The genial smile on Ling Zhuofeng’s face flickered, stiffening ever so slightly.
He had expected an impoverished youth from the slums to be intimidated by the splendor of the manor and the weight of his presence—either stammering nervously or groveling for favor. He certainly hadn’t anticipated such composure, nor a retort that carried the razor-sharp poise of an equal.
After a few brief toasts to placate the onlookers, Ling Zhuofeng set his silver goblet upon the side table and made a subtle gesture.
From behind an embroidered silk partition, an elderly, hunchbacked steward reverently stepped forward, carrying an ornate silver platter. Resting upon the tray was a thick, sheepskin parchment dossier bound in heavy gold silk, exuding the faint, refined scent of enchanted indigo ink.
“Lin Feng, my Ling Clan has always treasured genuine talent,” Ling Zhuofeng spoke, his thick fingers drumming slowly against the tiger-pelt armrest. His tone was expansive and magnanimous, like a sovereign bestowing imperial grace upon a beggar. “Your aptitude in the Fire element is undeniable. However, the path of magical cultivation is an endless abyss that consumes staggering fortunes. How could a destitute laborer’s family like yours ever hope to afford the Magic Crystals and arcane tools required for higher breakthroughs? If you remain trapped in that squalid slum, your natural gifts will inevitably be ground into dust by the harsh reality of poverty, until you are reduced to nothing more than another wasted has-been.”
The hunchbacked steward glided to a stop before Lin Feng, raising the silver platter until it sat level with the youth’s chest.
“This is the Solemn Covenant of Lifelong Fealty to the Ling Clan,” Ling Zhuofeng announced, his voice ringing loud and clear across the hall. “The moment you sign your name and affix your mana fingerprint, our clan will assume full sponsorship of your tuition and living expenses at Feng Lan High. You will receive two Primary Magic Crystals every single month to fuel your meditation. Furthermore, upon your graduation, you will be gifted an entire enchanted Magic Shield defensive set valued at five hundred thousand magic coins!”
A collective gasp of awe rippled through the ballroom!
Murmurs of breathless admiration for the Patriarch’s lavish generosity broke out like wildfire. Below the dais, Ling Bai’s lips curved into an arrogant sneer of supreme victory. Li Peng gazed at the gold-bound document with burning envy and ravenous greed, saliva practically pooling in his mouth.
Five hundred thousand magic coins! Two Magic Crystals a month! To any commoner, this was a windfall beyond their wildest dreams.
Yet Lin Feng’s gaze did not waver. Not a flicker of greed stirred in his dark eyes.
Extending a steady hand, he lifted the gold-silk-bound dossier from the silver tray, untied the ribbon, and began flipping through the enchanted sheepskin pages, reading every single term with cold, surgical focus.
Lines of text inscribed in glowing indigo mana ink leaped into view:
Clause 1: Party B voluntarily submits to the imprinting of a Soul-Brand Covenant upon their Spiritual Sea of Consciousness, placing their spiritual foundation under the perpetual supervision and authority of the Clan Elder Council.
Clause 2: Upon graduating from Feng Lan Magic High School, Party B must enlist into the Ling Clan’s Private Retainer Corps, pledging thirty years of unconditional service and executing all military, tactical, and security directives without question.
Clause 3: Party B is strictly prohibited from enlisting in the Imperial Military, joining the Magic Tribunal, or affiliating with any external magical association or faction. Eighty percent of all spoils, mana cores, and bounties obtained from monster-hunting expeditions must be surrendered directly to the Ling Clan treasury.
Clause 4: Party B’s father, Lin Hai, and adoptive sister, Lin Xiaomo, must relocate permanently to the designated West Compound of Moon Garden Manor to ensure unified logistical management, security, and welfare.
Clause 5: Any unilateral breach or termination of this covenant shall require Party B to reimburse one hundred times the total value of all resources consumed. Furthermore, Party B must voluntarily surrender their magical core to be shattered by the Ling Clan, forfeiting their Star Dust and permanently crippling their cultivation for life...
Lin Feng’s fingers tightened against the parchment margins, the thick magical vellum creaking beneath the strain of his grip.
A sponsorship agreement?
A benevolent opportunity?!
This was the most ruthless, brazen Slave Contract imaginable!
They wanted to toss a few pitiful scraps of Magic Crystals to buy out thirty years of his youth, his freedom, his dignity, and his very soul! The second he pressed his thumb to that ink, he would become nothing more than a collared attack dog chained to the Ling Clan’s estate, answering their beck and call until they bled him dry.
And Clause Four was the most venomous poison of all: moving his father and disabled sister into their “custody compound”—a thinly veiled hostage trap designed to keep a noose wrapped around his throat forever!
Images flashed through Lin Feng’s mind.
He saw his father’s stooped, exhausted figure returning late at night, coughing from mana exhaust after countless overtime shifts behind the wheel. He saw his little sister, Xiao Mo, quietly enduring the pain in her crippled legs, sitting in her battered second-hand wheelchair while knitting him a warm red scarf. And he remembered the bitter humiliation his father had recounted—kneeling in the freezing downpour outside these manor walls, subjected to the ruthless sneers of this very same Ling Zhuofeng...
They had walked all over his father like dirt. And now, they dared think they could turn that father’s son into a leashed hound groveling at their feet?!
“Hahaha...”
Noticing that Lin Feng remained motionless, his eyes buried in the parchment, Ling Zhuofeng let out a low, smug chuckle. In his eyes, the boy from the slums had clearly been stunned senseless by the astronomical wealth and resources laid before him.
The patriarch lifted his right hand from the tiger pelt.
BOOM!
Without warning, the terrifying mana pressure of a peak Intermediate Mage detonated from Ling Zhuofeng’s body like an erupting volcano!
A wave of suffocating, bone-chilling cold swept across the entire ballroom. Frost instantly crept over the marble floor, and fine ice crystals coated the nearby crystal wine glasses, causing several to crack and shatter with sharp, brittle snaps.
That crushing, monolithic aura converged into a focused spear of gravity, bearing down squarely upon Lin Feng’s shoulders. Ling Zhuofeng intended to snap the boy’s last shred of stubborn pride, to bend his spine until he dropped to his knees in unconditional surrender:
“For the whelp of a wretched cargo hauler, this is a favor higher than the heavens! Sign it!”
“Lin Feng, what are you waiting for?! Drop to your knees and thank the Patriarch!” Li Peng shrieked sycophantically from the crowd.
Beside his father, Ling Bai watched with gleaming, spiteful eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his breath hitching in anticipation as he waited to witness this arrogant commoner collapse onto the floor, reduced to a groveling retainer of his noble house.
The entire ballroom plunged into a breathless, terrifying silence. Hundreds of pairs of eyes locked onto the solitary boy standing under the thousand-pound weight of Bian’an City’s supreme overlord.
Yet, under an Intermediate mana pressure fierce enough to make an ordinary Primary Mage vomit blood and collapse, Lin Feng’s spine did not bend.
It did not yield by even a single millimeter.
Wuuuuum——!
Beneath the thin fabric of his uniform shirt, resting silently against his chest, the pitch-black Primordial Dragon Pendant suddenly flared with a warm, ancient radiance. A surge of primeval heat coursed effortlessly through his meridians, and the crushing chill bearing down from Ling Zhuofeng was pulverized into utter nothingness before it could even touch his skin!
Deep within the dark expanse of his Spiritual Sea of Consciousness, seven incandescent scarlet Star Cores of the Fire element and seven crackling violet Star Cores of the Lightning element flared simultaneously! Flame and lightning roared in unison, vibrating with primal indignation at the insolence of a mortal attempting to subjugate their master!
Lin Feng slowly, deliberately closed the enchanted sheepskin dossier.
Every treacherous clause, every shackle designed to enslave him and endanger his family, was etched indelibly into his memory. But beneath the surface of his dark pupils, there was no terror. There was no hesitation.
There was only a frost so chilling it could freeze marrow.
Slowly, Lin Feng lifted his head and met Ling Zhuofeng’s imperious gaze head-on.
That stare—sharp as twin blades forged from eternal ice—struck Ling Zhuofeng like a physical blow. The old patriarch seated upon the tiger throne felt a sudden, inexplicable tremor race down his spine. The self-satisfied smirk on his face froze solid.
Under the watchful eyes of hundreds of Bian’an City’s elite, Lin Feng’s slender, steady hands took hold of the edges of the gold-embroidered contract...