Chapter Eighteen: The Banquet

That night, owing to Yang Xuan’s arrival, the Zhou family hosted a small banquet in his honor.

How could one describe this banquet?

It was decadent, lavish, and filled with the intoxicating indulgence of the world’s elite. There were exotic fruits and fine wines, alluring beauties aplenty—everything imaginable was at hand. No wonder Zhou Sheng had seemed so eager earlier in the day. To speak truthfully, this gathering was so enticing that even Yang Xuan nearly lost himself in its pleasures.

After all, isn’t the pursuit of immortality meant to grant power and a longer life, so one might enjoy such delights? Those ascetics of the novels in his previous life, who spent their days sequestered in caves, closeted in endless cultivation, certainly existed here as well—but they were few and far between. Most belonged to the ranks of rogue cultivators.

The reason was simple: without wealth, a rogue cultivator could only devote himself to constant training, striving for higher realms, then heading to battlefields to earn merit and perhaps join a noble clan.

“Brother Yang, let us drain this cup together!”

The speaker was Zhou Qi, the second son of the Zhou family, and tonight’s host for Yang Xuan. Unlike the Yang family, which had only Yang Huaiyun, the Zhou family boasted no fewer than ten cultivators of the previous generation. Despite the greatly diminished fertility among cultivators, decades of effort had yielded quite a few younger members in their twenties—over a dozen, in fact.

Zhou Qi was the second among the younger generation. With the family heir, Zhou Liang, absent, he was all but the leader of his peers. Moreover, his cultivation had reached the Foundation Establishment stage, so the task of entertaining Yang Xuan had naturally fallen to him.

“Thank you, Brother Zhou! I am truly grateful for your hospitality!” Yang Xuan raised his cup and drank the spirit wine.

“I hear your journey this time is to join the frontier war?” another young master of the Zhou family inquired.

At his words, everyone turned their gaze to Yang Xuan.

Frontier development was no trifling matter. Each year, countless ambitious souls ventured to the frontiers in hopes of gaining merit and establishing a legacy, but few succeeded. Most perished at the hands of foreign tribes, or, realizing their dreams were out of reach, pledged themselves as guest elders to promising families of the frontier.

“Indeed! The Yang family’s foundation is too small to support many Foundation Establishment cultivators. Rather than burden my father, I might as well try my luck myself!” Yang Xuan replied.

“Brother Yang, your resolve is admirable! Unlike me, who can only idle away my days at home.”

Zhou Qi drank another cup, a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

Don’t be deceived by Zhou Qi’s current prominence; it was merely superficial. His status now was entirely due to the absence of Zhou Liang, the eldest son, who, like Yang Xuan’s brother Yang Li, had gone to the Phoenix Pass. Once Zhou Liang returned, Zhou Qi’s position would become awkward.

Though the Zhou family’s spiritual veins had reached the upper tier of the ninth grade after years of cultivation—enough for about ten Foundation Establishment cultivators—their numbers had long since reached saturation. Only an upgrade to the eighth grade would allow for more. Otherwise, Zhou Qi too might have to become a guest elder for another family with spiritual veins, or venture out to seek his fortune.

Moreover, unlike the Yang family, where Yang Huaiyun could fully support Yang Xuan’s expedition, Zhou Qi had no such fortune. The Zhou family’s strength surpassed the Yangs, but it was the result of centuries of accumulation. Over hundreds of years, even with their limited numbers, the Zhou family far outstripped the Yangs. Of the dozen young men present, if all went to the frontier, how much support could the Zhou family truly offer? Unless the family was willing to risk everything.

Thus, the Zhou family was indeed prosperous, but their troubles were not small. At the very least, arranging futures for the younger generation was no simple matter.

Yang Xuan offered no comfort for Zhou Qi’s dejection.

This was reality.

Outside of the eldest legitimate sons, all clan descendants faced such dilemmas. How could one advise them otherwise? These were rules—rules that had persisted for tens of thousands of years, and could not simply be broken.

Frankly, compared to the rogue cultivators outside, Zhou Qi and his peers were far more fortunate. At least they had their families behind them, while rogues, even with both parents alive, could hardly offer much support. And in noble families, those who ventured out were usually Foundation Establishment cultivators, whereas among rogue cultivators, many had to fight as early as the Qi Refining stage just to survive.

So, Zhou Qi’s sorrow was his own. Within the Xuanhuang Realm, he was considered blessed.

The banquet continued, undampened by Zhou Qi’s melancholy. Though it was Yang Xuan’s first time attending such a gathering of noble heirs, he showed no sign of discomfort. He conversed with young masters to the east, chatted with ladies to the west—everywhere he went, he was at ease.

There was none of the petty drama—contempt, provocation, hatred—that one might expect. Such scenes belonged only to the world of novels; noble descendants valued etiquette and family discipline above all. Should a brash, domineering fool appear, the first to correct him would be his elders.

To conceal one’s feelings was a basic requirement for the heirs of noble families.

In modern terms, it meant never letting others see your emotions. Even if you dislike someone, you must never let them know.

Put simply, noble clans were full of schemers, masters of performance.

After mingling with every Zhou family member present, Yang Xuan found only one left—the purple-fated Xiao Yun whom he had spotted earlier in the day.

He approached him directly.

“Brother Xiao, why do you drink alone? Is there something troubling you?”

Earlier, when the banquet began, Zhou Qi had personally introduced all the guests to Yang Xuan, including Xiao Yun.

“Brother Yang!” Xiao Yun rose and bowed.

Once seated, he replied, “There’s nothing troubling me. I simply prefer quiet. If I have disturbed your enjoyment, I ask your pardon.”

A fondness for solitude? Yang Xuan didn’t believe it. Most likely, this fellow had poor relations with the Zhou family youth, hence his solitary drinking.

“Brother Xiao, are you also planning to join the frontier war?” Yang Xuan inquired.

This had been mentioned by Zhou Qi during his earlier introduction.

“Yes, but unlike you, I am heading to the Phoenix Pass, not overseas,” Xiao Yun nodded calmly.

“That is truly unfortunate. I had hoped, if you were going overseas, we might travel together!” Yang Xuan replied, feigning disappointment.

In truth, he wasn’t disappointed at all. Had Xiao Yun been going overseas, Yang Xuan might have reconsidered his own plans.

Everyone knew that protagonists carried a natural aura of crisis. Their triumphs came at the cost of countless dangers. In his previous life in the Blue Sea Realm, a protagonist had spent only a few days in Yang Xuan’s main city, yet managed to draw a powerful sea clan Nascent Soul cultivator, who led an army in a siege and forced Yang Xuan into a survival mission.

That was an experience he never wished to repeat.