Chapter X: The Storm Approaches
All four siblings surrounded Zhang Wei as he went through the 156 steps, moving steadily like a normal person.
It had been a week since the incident, and the foolish disciple who had tried to insult him had already been punished by Zhang Mi. Zhang Wei's meridians weren't perfect—they had endured countless tortures—but they were enough.
Zhang Chuan had tried every possible way to make Zhang Wei's life miserable, even banning carrots because Elder Mi's cries were too troublesome. Yet here Zhang Wei was, humming a soft tune as he moved, his face calm and almost playful.
"Enough," Zhang Lin finally said, allowing Zhang Wei to collapse onto the floor. He landed with a soft thud… then rolled onto his back, flopped his arms theatrically, and let out a dramatic sigh. "Ahhh… what a heroic walk," he said with mock seriousness, a grin tugging at his lips.
The siblings froze. Walking… that was all? And he was actually enjoying it?
"Zhang Wei, you should practice your swordplay more," Sang Sang said gently. Her eyes were still covered, but her movements carried the precision of someone who could see everything.
Zhang Wei propped himself on one elbow, winking cheekily. "Swordplay, huh? I was thinking more along the lines of mastering the ancient art of… napology," he said, patting the floor next to him. "Anyone care to join? It's very… rigorous."
The others couldn't help but chuckle. He wasn't cowering, anxious, or cautious—he was playful, carefree, and somehow irresistible.
Then, with a sudden leap, he stood and spun once, landing gracefully, and bowed deeply like a performer taking applause from an imaginary audience. "Ta-da! The fearless, slightly ridiculous, but very adorable Zhang Wei!" he announced, grinning like a little trickster.
Their hearts lifted. For all their scheming and worries, the boy wasn't afraid. He wasn't fragile. He was fearless, mischievous, and utterly charming.
"The clan leader wishes to test you tomorrow," Ning said, trying to sound serious. "Your mother might protect you… but she may not attend, so be serious, okay?"
Zhang Wei tilted his head, pretending to ponder, then smirked. "Serious? Absolutely… after a nap, a snack, and maybe a quick dance break," he said, twirling once more.
The siblings exchanged glances, a mix of relief and amusement spreading across their faces. They had expected fear, trembling, maybe even tears. Instead, they had a boy who laughed at his struggles, teased them, and somehow made the world feel lighter. And somehow… that made them feel guilty for ever doubting him.
But the carefree mood shattered in an instant.
Suddenly, Zhang Wei's vision went blank. For a heartbeat, the world dissolved into darkness, replaced by a vision from the novel—a scene of his own death, cold and merciless. A whisper slithered through his mind, sharp as a blade: "You are nothing more than borrowed time."
"Zhang Wei…"
The voice faded, but its weight lingered, sinking into him like icy chains. His body trembled uncontrollably, not from exertion, but from fear.
The others panicked at the sight of his face, twisted in pain, but Zhang Wei didn't hear them. Every nerve in his body screamed as he picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Unyielding.
And then the name hit him.
Bi Lianhua.
He had never met her. Not in person. Not even in passing. Yet the name alone carried a weight that made his blood run cold. Bi Lianhua—the female protagonist of the novel, the storm whose arrival would change everything.
Before anyone could react further, a maid hurried into the clearing, face pale, whispering urgently:
"Young masters, attention is needed in the Great Hall… immediately."
The words sent a shiver racing down Zhang Wei's spine. The Great Hall. His father. And whatever awaited them there.
The Great Hall was vast, echoing with faint whispers and the rustle of silken robes. Zhang Wei's steps felt impossibly heavy as he followed his siblings.
Even from the entrance, he sensed her. A presence that didn't announce itself with noise, but with an undeniable weight—cold, sharp, and utterly commanding.
Then he saw her. Bi Lianhua.
Long, dim-blue hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of twilight, each strand shimmering faintly in the candlelight. Her robe, deep indigo with subtle silver embroidery, flowed around her like water, and every movement she made was precise, deliberate, and terrifyingly elegant.
Her gaze landed on Zhang Ning, sharp and calculating, as if she had been waiting solely for him.
"Young Master Zhang Ning," she said, her voice smooth and merciless. "The engagement long arranged between our families is ready to take root. Your acceptance is required."
Ning's jaw tightened. He straightened his back, trying to assert control. "I… I cannot—"
Her cruel smile cut him off. "You may refuse. But refusal will not change the outcome. You are already part of the path your family has chosen for you."
Ning stepped forward, attempting to challenge her, but her aura swept over him like a tidal wave. Every muscle froze mid-action, every ounce of strength drained away. He staggered back, defeated, cheeks flushed in frustration.
Zhang Chuan's face darkened, disappointed. "Then the engagement stands. The date is set. There is no more argument."
The siblings exchanged glances, silent sympathy passing among them—but none dared intervene. Ning ground his teeth, fury and humiliation warring in his chest, while Zhang Wei's chest tightened in terror.
So it's really happening, he thought, a cold shiver crawling down his spine. The story… it's begun.
Even though Bi Lianhua hadn't looked at him, her presence pressed down on every fiber of his being. Fear coiled in his stomach, twisting tighter with every heartbeat. He wanted to move, to flee, to vanish—but his body refused.
Father… what have you done?
Zhang Wei's eyes darted to the nearest pillars, the shadows, the corners of the hall—every escape route his mind could imagine. His hands clenched slightly, not in defiance, but in preparation, every muscle coiled to run if needed.
The siblings were near him, but even their presence offered little comfort. Ning's defeat, Chuan's disappointment, and the weight of Bi Lianhua's aura made it clear: the danger was absolute, and the story had begun.
A soft draft stirred Bi Lianhua's dim-blue hair, a subtle movement that sent shivers crawling down Zhang Wei's spine. She hadn't spoken to him. She hadn't acknowledged him. But her presence alone was enough to make him acutely aware of every weakness in his body, every vulnerability in his mind.
And for the first time, Zhang Wei realized, with icy certainty:
Nothing would ever be the same again.
The storm had arrived.