Chapter 29: Weight of Alliance and Winds of Fate
In the depths of the Ling Family's ancestral manor, buried beneath centuries of enchantments and protective glyphs, a chamber pulsed faintly with arcane energy. The walls, carved from ancient stone, shimmered with embedded runes—wards that had endured for generations. Dim lanterns burned with witchflame, casting flickering shadows that danced like spirits across the cold surfaces.
At the chamber's center stood a round obsidian table, smooth and silent, etched with the sigil of the Ling Clan—a coiling dragon clutching five interconnected rings, each symbolizing a different element. A mark of ancient power and elemental mastery... yet in this moment, it felt more like a cage.
Eight figures sat in silence around it. The air hung heavy, saturated with unspoken tension.
At the table's head sat Ling Zhejiang, the current patriarch of the Ling Clan and father of Ling Mei. Broad-shouldered and upright, his presence commanded attention without effort. His angular features were weathered but dignified—sharp cheekbones, a neatly trimmed mustache, and ice-blue eyes that had once surveyed both battlefields and courtrooms. His black hair was tied back in a warrior's knot, not a strand out of place.
Beside him, seated not lower but as an equal, was Ling Qingyao, his wife and Ling Mei's mother—the matriarch in all but title. Her beauty was legendary, though it unsettled more than it soothed. Her emerald eyes shimmered with slit pupils, reminiscent of the forest serpents said to dwell in the Deepwoods. Her long green hair trailed like enchanted ivy down her back, and her posture—graceful and still—radiated a power not just earned, but inherited.
Though silent, her aura was undeniable.
The others remained still, each watching, each waiting. Until finally, Ling Tao—a bald man with a large beard and a monocle perched on his left eye—broke the silence. Seated third to the right, he was the clan's chief tactician.
"Hmm... hmm..." He cleared his throat with a soft cough.
"It seems the Masaru Clan is truly serious about the alliance," he said, voice calm and measured, devoid of emotion. His fingers tapped gently against the obsidian table. "They've put forward the name of their heir."
"Masaru Genji," Ling Zhejiang replied, his tone neutral but heavy. "They've asked for our Ling Mei in return."
A subtle stir passed through the room. No one gasped. No voices rose. But a ripple of energy moved through the chamber, like water disturbed by a falling stone.
Ling Baogui, the eldest among them, cleared his throat. His long grey hair, flowing white eyebrows, and deep black eyes lent him the air of a venerable sage. His long beard trembled slightly as he spoke.
"The boy is said to have inherited his grandfather's gift. The Fireblood. He wields the ancient flame magic of their line… and commands a Salamander."
"Yes," Ling Tao nodded. "The Masaru are not what they once were, but their blood still burns hot. They're rebuilding. And they want us."
Ling Zhejiang's knuckles tightened on the armrest.
"We hold the keys to the northern trade route," Ling Tao continued. "And the last surviving glyphsmith from the Eastern Pandemic is under our protection. They need enchantments. Power. Prestige.
"But they have something we don't," he added. "Bodies. Trained ones. After the Eastern Pandemic and our winter losses, we can't afford another blow. They can."
"And in return?" The voice came from Ling Fang, a handsome middle-aged man with shining brown eyes, a muscular build, and a neatly trimmed beard. His arms were folded across his chest, his tone flat and unamused. "We give them our child?"
"Not just any child," said Ling Huo, a lean man with fiery red hair and smoldering ruby eyes. A flame flickered across his fingertips as he leaned forward. "Ling Mei is a prodigy. Her affinity with wind is beyond anything we've seen in three generations. She could soar—or she could forge a bloodline that rules both North and East."
"She's sixteen," Ling Zhejiang said, his voice low. Controlled.
"Exactly," Ling Huo replied. "She's impressionable. Malleable. They'll raise her as their own. But she'll still be one of us. With the right bindings in the marriage contract—"
"That's enough," Ling Qingyao said, her voice like silk drawn across a blade.
The room fell silent again.
From the far left, Ling Xian'er—a quiet woman with ink-stained fingers, hawk-like eyes, and long black braids—spoke next.
"Have we asked her what she wants?"
A pause.
It was a question that didn't belong in war rooms or council halls. But here, in this chamber, it demanded to be asked.
"No," Ling Zhejiang admitted.
Ling Qingyao's gaze never left the sigil in the table's center. Her fingers traced its edge lightly. "We do not always choose our roles, Sister Xian'er. Some are given to us... shaped for us, long before we ever speak our first words."
A scoff echoed softly. Ling Aurea, the youngest elder—seductive and ambitious, with golden hair and piercing yellow eyes—leaned back with a faint smile on her cherry lips.
"The Masaru are desperate. We could name our price~," she said in a voice like honeyed venom.
"And they'd pay it?" Ling Fang asked flatly.
"They would. If not in gold, then in land. If not land, then titles. They crave legitimacy," Aurea replied with a smile that could stop hearts.
Ling Zhejiang's voice cut through once more, firm as stone. "This isn't just politics. It's war."
All eyes turned toward him.
"We may not be fighting yet," he continued, "but the treaty binding the Big Five Families is fraying. Neutrality is failing. The other families have already broken ranks. The Big Five no longer stand together. Stability is weakening.
"If the Masaru ally with the Xue Family instead..."
He paused.
"The Xue are powerful—not only mages but warriors of rare talents. Their young miss, Xue Lan, is said to have awakened a rare dual affinity—ice and fire. She's also a swordswoman... and a top beauty. Masaru Genji wouldn't hesitate to marry her."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
This wasn't just about marriage. It was about survival. Power. Position. Peace, if they were lucky.
Ling Qingyao's voice came softer this time. "Ling Mei will not understand. Not now. But she may thank us when she's grown."
"She may hate us," Ling Xian'er whispered.
"She may," Ling Qingyao agreed.
Once again, silence.
A silent storm raged within the Ling Clan... a storm that bore the name Ling Mei.
---
Elsewhere, deep within the Ling Family's Main Library…
Dust motes danced like lazy fireflies in the dim golden glow of arcane lanterns. The air here was different—older, as though the walls themselves breathed knowledge long forgotten.
Ling Mei walked carefully behind Eira, her self-proclaimed elder sister and mentor. The faint sound of their footfalls was muffled by the thick carpet beneath them. Towering bookshelves stood like ancient sentinels in rigid lines, stretching toward a ceiling swallowed in shadow. Scrolls and tomes whispered secrets, hidden within the bindings of time.
It felt like a maze—a labyrinth of knowledge.
"Are you sure this is the right path?" Ling Mei asked, her emerald eyes narrowing in mild suspicion.
Eira said nothing, walking until her steps finally came to a stop before a shelf completely secluded from the rest. Unlike the others, this one bore no label, no glowing tags of elemental affinity or grade. Instead, dust blanketed its surface like a funeral shroud, and cobwebs stretched across the top like faded curtains.
Ling Mei tilted her head. "What is this?"
Eira turned slightly, her tone flat. "This is where the abandoned skill books are kept."
Ling Mei blinked, stunned. "Wait... did I hear you right?"
"Yes, you did, silly girl," Eira said, a small grin curving her lips.
"I thought you were helping me find a skill book... why would you bring me here of all places?" Ling Mei frowned, placing her hands on her hips.
"Calm down," Eira chuckled, golden eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Have you ever stopped to wonder why these techniques were abandoned in the first place?"
Ling Mei opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her expression shifted from irritation to intrigue. "...No. Not really."
"Exactly," Eira said, brushing her fingers across the shelf. "These aren't trash, Mei. They're ancient arts. Forgotten spells. Some are too powerful to grade, some even capable of upgrading... they hold potential so vast that the Awakeners of today can't even begin to comprehend them."
Ling Mei's jaw dropped slightly. "Then... why are they kept here? Why abandoned?"
Eira's smile faded, her tone serious now. "Because the knowledge to practice them has long been lost. Without a guide, trying to learn these is like trying to find a star in a sky without a moon. It's nearly impossible."
Ling Mei looked at the dust-covered tomes with uncertainty in her eyes. "Then why show me this? If it's impossible to learn, why bother?"
Eira's gaze softened, and she placed a hand gently on Ling Mei's shoulder. "Because I said nearly. Not completely. And... I believe in you
Those words struck like thunder. Ling Mei's heart fluttered, a warmth spreading through her chest. Her mentor's faith felt like an unspoken promise—a gift she would not waste.
"...Sister," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Eira turned, reaching high on the shelf, her fingers brushing past dozens of untouched books until she pulled one from the very top. The tome was thick, coated in layers of dust and thin strands of silk-like webs. She drew a swift circle in the air, her fingers glowing with mana. In a flash of blinding light, the dust vanished like smoke, revealing the book's cover—a smooth white leather adorned with glowing green veins.
Three bold words gleamed on its surface:
BOOK OF AEROMANCY.
"W-Woah..." Ling Mei whispered in awe, reaching out slowly.
"Here," Eira said, handing it to her. As soon as Ling Mei's fingers brushed the cover, a ripple of energy surged through her, the book pulsing like a heartbeat.
Ling Mei tried to store the book in her spatial ring, but—
Thud.
It didn't vanish.
Instead, the book floated a few inches off the ground, suspended in the air as though the earth itself dared not contain it.
"What?!"
Eira laughed softly. "Ancient books cannot be stored in spatial rings. Nor can they be destroyed. They exist on a different level."
Ling Mei knelt, carefully cradling the book in her arms. The warmth pulsed through her palms, a strange, comforting sensation that seemed to speak of forgotten powers. It was as if the book recognized her, as if it were alive in its own way.
"Alright," Eira said after a moment, "now come. I'll take you to another section—you'll need more practical skills while you study this one. Pick three that resonate with you."
---
Moments later...
They stood before a shelf marked:
[Advanced Techniques – Wind Magic Skills]
The shelf was brimming with high-grade skill books, each radiating a faint glow—like beasts waiting to be awakened.
Ling Mei's eyes scanned the titles, her fingers hovering over the spines:
Gale Crescent Palm – A technique that unleashes sharp, compressed arcs of wind with a sweep of the hand. Fast, silent, deadly.
Stormstep Dance – A movement technique using wind essence to enhance speed and fluidity, allowing the user to glide through battle like a breeze.
Wind's Blessing – Grants the blessing of the wind, enhancing speed, agility, and reflexes.
Whispering Tempest – A support technique that manipulates wind to carry sound or mask movements—ideal for espionage and infiltration.
Tempest Fury – Unleashes a maelstrom of turbulent winds, battering enemies with relentless force.
Turbulent Vortex – Unleashes a churning vortex of air, dealing damage and controlling enemy movements.
Ling Mei's hand hovered over the Gale Crescent Palm and other skill books, but then shifted. Her fingers moved instinctively, as though guided by an unseen force, and stopped at three tomes.
They were Wind's Blessing, Turbulent Vortex, and Tempest Fury.
"These three," she said firmly, her eyes gleaming with resolve.
Eira nodded, satisfaction gleaming in her gaze. "Good choices. One for movement, the other for offense. They'll serve you well... and in time, so will the Book of Aeromancy."
Ling Mei hugged the four books close, her heart pounding. They felt like the weight of a thousand futures in her arms.
Far away, in the cold chambers of politics and silence, her fate was being decided.
But here, within the quiet storm of forgotten knowledge, Ling Mei was preparing to write a different future—
One spell at a time.