Chapter 25: The Birthday Banquet

That night, “Li Manor” was ablaze with light. Scarlet brocade adorned the carved balustrades, multicolored lanterns dotted the rooftops, and the darkness of night was as bright as day. The air was thick with music and dancing, intoxicating melodies, and the opulence of wealth. In the grand hall, a tide of guests filled the space—representatives from every sect who had come to offer birthday congratulations. Whatever schemes they harbored in secret, their faces were all smiles as they conversed animatedly, the atmosphere lively and festive. At that moment, a loud voice announced, “The Master and Young Master have arrived—” and everyone hastily rose, turning toward the entrance.

A soft sedan chair appeared, its four sides draped with pale green gauze. Through the faintly translucent curtains, one could make out a figure in a high crown and splendid attire sitting within, accompanied by a tall silhouette. Six men in black bore the sedan chair, moving with measured, steady steps until it gently touched down.

The green gauze was lifted, revealing an exceptionally beautiful hand—long, fair, delicate fingers, smooth as jade. A youth stepped out, clad in a deep red robe, crowned with jade, a vermilion mark on his brow. His features were strikingly vivid, and his expression was cold and impassive as he surveyed the room before turning back to lift the curtain and softly call, “Brother.”

A low “Mm” came from within the sedan, and the man in the high crown and splendid attire slowly descended. He wore a robe of inky green, the collar edged with a band of dark gold embroidery. His gaze swept lightly over the assembly, so cold and imposing that everyone instinctively drew in a breath, bowing respectfully with cupped fists. “Greetings, Master, Young Master. We wish the Young Master boundless fortune and a long life!”

Beigong Juechen nodded and, with Beigong Qiyi at his side, walked unhurriedly toward the seats of honor. All along their path, people bowed their heads in deference. Beigong Qiyi smiled faintly, following the man to the head table; only then did the guests straighten up.

“Be seated,” Beigong Juechen said, lifting his right hand. The guests finally resumed their places in turn.

At that moment, a group of dancers glided gracefully into the hall. Musicians played lutes and flutes, and the dancers moved in time with the music. The hall blossomed with flowers, gold shimmered everywhere—a feast of luxury. Delicacies from land and sea and fine wines were served in succession. Beigong Qiyi swirled his wine cup, watching with a smile the myriad expressions below.

His gaze soon found Chu Muji, who still seemed affected by some intoxicant, slumped half-asleep at the table, rubbing his shoulder from time to time. Beigong Qiyi’s smile grew. Sensing someone’s eyes on him, Chu Muji looked up and met Beigong Qiyi’s dazzling face.

Beigong Qiyi raised his wine cup toward him. Chu Muji shot him an annoyed glance, then, in a fit of pique, downed his wine in one gulp. The liquor of Li Manor was always strong; Beigong Qiyi was satisfied to see Chu Muji sputter and cough, and only then did he leisurely finish his own drink.

From the moment he had entered the hall, Beigong Qiyi had felt a gaze lingering on him, subtle but persistent. He swept his eyes carelessly around and happened to meet Helian Wei’s. Beigong Qiyi smiled, nodded slightly, and looked away. Helian Wei’s heart surged and fell; watching the youth turn to speak to the man at the head table, he sighed and drank gloomily alone.

“Brother,” Beigong Qiyi called softly, wine cup in hand. Beigong Juechen lowered his head slightly. In the brilliant light, his cold green eyes softened, taking on a dreamy gentleness. He turned to the youth, raising an eyebrow. “Are you drunk?” Beigong Qiyi shook his head, then nodded, then laughed quietly. “It’s not the wine, but the mood that intoxicates.” His gaze was misty, a little unsteady, as if tipsy.

Beigong Juechen narrowed his eyes and chuckled. “Half-drunk, half-sober—you’re at least a third gone.” Beigong Qiyi widened his eyes at him. The youth’s eyes were dark as onyx, bright and moist. He shifted, leaning his head against the man’s shoulder, and smiled softly. “Brother is right.” Beigong Juechen looked down at him; the stern lines of his face softened. He stroked the youth’s smooth cheek and said in a low voice, “If you’re not feeling well, rest for a while.”

Beigong Qiyi said nothing, only stared at him with those slightly glazed eyes. The man’s face, pale as snow and lustrous as jade, seemed even more flawless in the warm golden light. Beigong Qiyi looked at him and felt himself growing even more intoxicated.

He finally looked away, lips curling in a wry smile, the wine in his cup shimmering as he swirled it. He straightened, raised his cup toward the man, and said, “Brother, let me offer you a toast.” Beigong Juechen raised an eyebrow, poured himself a cup from a golden jug, and, with a slight gesture, downed it. Beigong Qiyi did the same, draining his cup in one go.

Beigong Juechen smiled. “You hold your liquor well.” Beigong Qiyi set down his cup, laughing lightly. “I feel sober enough now, but I’m afraid if I stand I’ll topple over.” As he spoke, the dancers below gathered into the shape of a celestial peach. He laughed softly. “That dance was rather good.”

At that moment, the dancers began to withdraw. At Beigong Qiyi’s remark, Beigong Juechen clapped his hands to halt them. The dancers stopped obediently in the center of the hall. Beigong Juechen pointed casually at the lead dancer. “You, come here.” She swayed over to him. He lifted her chin and turned to Beigong Qiyi. “What do you think?”

Beigong Qiyi glanced indifferently and looked away. “Not bad.” Seeing his lack of interest, Beigong Juechen waved her off. Just then, a voice called from the entrance: “The Palace Master of Baisha Palace, Qi Yong, has arrived—”

An exclamation rippled through the hall as a man in black and gold finery entered. His features were striking, but his eyes were sharp as a hawk’s—one look and a chill ran through all present. His gaze did not linger, but went straight to the man at the head table, and he smiled slowly. “It’s been years, but the Master of Beigong is as splendid as ever.”

Beigong Juechen took a sip of wine, smiling idly. “The Palace Master of Qi is no different.” Qi Yong’s hawk-like eyes narrowed, fixing on the man a moment before shifting to the youth beside him. His thick brows rose. “The Young Master has grown even more beautiful than before.”

At his words, a wave of gasps swept through the crowd. He spoke the truth: the youth’s bearing was elegant, his skin like flawless jade, bright eyes, vermilion lips, the red mark vivid as blood—truly peerless in beauty, worthy of his title “The Exquisite Young Lord.” Though the guests all thought so, none dared say it aloud, and now they stole furtive glances at the head of the table.

Beigong Qiyi’s brows arched, but instead of anger, he smiled. “You flatter me, Palace Master Qi.” Qi Yong snorted and tossed a slender brocade box to the youth. “Last time you left in haste, so I kept this painting safe for you.”

Beigong Qiyi caught the box deftly, his phoenix eyes lowered as he smiled. “Many thanks, Palace Master Qi.” He opened the box and gently caressed the scroll within, as if stroking a lover’s face, murmuring, “This painting, I have always been quite fond of…”

Qi Yong’s brow tightened at once.