Lin Feng's hands trembled as he tightened the last gear on his Qi-powered waterwheel model, the courtyard lit up by a dying lantern. The Tianyu Palace loomed beyond, its lanterns glowing like predator eyes. One day remained until the court's judgment, where he'd face Emperor Tianlong's ultimatum-prove that his waterwheel could save the western provinces or be banished. The Jade Pendant pulsed against his chest, its runes flaring since the waterwheel's gears spun for three seconds last night. Elder Mo's words about his mother and the "Star Key" fueled his drive, but Li Xiyue's suspect crystals and Sect Master Yun's thugs—Prince Zhao's backers—were closing in. Blood still seeped from his rib wound, a reminder of their last attack.
He tested the model again, using Li Xiyue's second Qi crystal. The gears whirred, pulling water from a bucket, but sparks flew, and the crystal dimmed. "Not enough," Lin Feng muttered, frustration boiling. His engineer's mind traced the fault—unstable Qi flow, but no cultivator's touch to stabilize it. The pendant hummed, its glow tracing lines in his head, like a blueprint teasing him. You're close, he thought, gripping it, but his crippled meridians blocked the spark he needed. The Star Key scroll, with its sketch of a jade disc matching the pendant's runes, lay open beside him. Will not wait, his mother wrote. He needed to crack it, fast.
A servant's voice cut through the dawn. "Fifth Prince! The court demands you now!" Lin Feng's stomach dropped. The assembly wasn't until tomorrow. He grabbed his sketches and model, tucking the pendant under his robe. Zhao was moving quickly, and it smelled like a trap.
The Hall of Celestial Harmony was packed, nobles' whispers sharp as blades. Emperor Tianlong sat on the Jade Throne, his Qi aura heavy as a mountain. Prince Zhao stood smug in a golden robe, a scroll in his hand. Lin Feng knelt, blood pounding in his ears. Su Mei lingered at the hall's edge, her white robes stark, her eyes fixed on him. Li Xiyue stood among the merchants, her jade hairpin glinting, her face unreadable. Elder Mo leaning against a pillar, his scarred face grim.
"Fifth Prince," the Emperor said, voice like thunder. "A petition claims the west's drought worsens. Zhao said you boasted of a solution. Present it now, or your trespass in the archive seals your banishment."
Lin Feng's jaw clenched. Zhao's scroll was a setup—a rigged petition to force him to fail before tomorrow's deadline. "Father," he said, rising, "my waterwheel can restore the west's rivers using Qi springs. I need one day to perfect it."
Zhao laughed, sharp and cruel. "A cripple's toy? Father, he stalls to hide his dark arts. The archive's gate shook under his touch—proof of treachery!" Noble gasped, and Lin Feng's hand tightened on his sketches. Zhao twisted the pendant's glow into a noose.
"Enough," the Emperor snapped. "Show us, Lin Feng. No delays."
Lin Feng's heart raced. The model wasn't ready, but refusal meant exile. He stepped forward, setting the waterwheel on a table, its gears gleaming under the hall's lanterns. "This channels the Qi to pull water," he said, his voice steady. "It's for the west, not for tricks." He struck the crystal, praying. The gears spun, water sloshed, but sparks erupted, and the crystal cracked. The model screeched to a halt, smoke curling. The court erupted in jeers. Zhao's smirk widened.
"Failure," Zhao sneered. "Banish him, Father."
Lin Feng's fists clenched, the pendant burning against his chest. Not yet, he thought, meeting the Emperor's gaze. "Give me until tomorrow. I'll make it work, or leave willingly."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed, but a voice cut through—Li Xiyue's, clear and bold. "Your Majesty, the west's trade dies from the drought. The Fifth Prince's plan has merit. One's day is fair." Her gaze flickered to Lin Feng, a merchant's calculation in her eyes. Nobles murmured, some nodded.
Su Mei stepped forward, her voice cold. "The west's people deserve a chance. Let him try." Her support stunned Lin Feng, her icy stare daring Zhao to object.
The Emperor raised his hand, silencing the hall. "One day, Lin Feng. Fail, and you leave at dawn." He rose, dismissing the court, leaving Lin Feng with a ticking clock.
Zhao stormed out, but his glare promised more. Lin Feng grabbed his model, ignoring the jeers, and slipped into the courtyard. Su Mei followed, her sword glinting. "You're digging your own grave," she said, but her tone softened. "That toy… it's not nothing. Don't die before it spins."
Lin Feng grinned, despite the pain. "Thanks for the vote, Lady Su." She rolled her eyes, vanishing into the crowd. Her words were a spark in his chest.
Elder Mo waited by the plum tree, tossing Lin Feng a new scroll. "Your mother's," he said. "She worked with artificers before… everything. Says the Star Key needs blood and will. " Careful, boy." Lin Feng unrolled it, finding a sketch of the pendant feeding Qi into a gate's runes. His mother's note read: "Trust your heart, not your veins."
The pendant flared, its heat syncing with his pulse. Lin Feng's eyes widened. Blood? He nicked his finger, a drop fell on the pendant. Its runes blazed, and a faint voice whispered in his mind: "Star Key initiated. Align will." The voice faded, but the pendant's glow held steady.
Li Xiyue appeared, her silks rustling. "Close the call, prince," she said, eyeing the scroll. "Need another crystal? My last one's free if you win tomorrow." Her jasmine scent sharpened his suspicion, but her offer was his only shot.
"Deal," Lin Feng said, wary. "But no tricks, Lady Li."
She laughed, leaving a crystal at his feet. "No tricks. Just business." Her smile lingered, a puzzle he couldn't solve.
Night fell, the palace was alive with whispers. Sect Master Yun's thugs were out there, and Zhao's rigged game wasn't over. Lin Feng rebuilt the model, the pendant's glow guided his hands. One day he'd defy a throne, a prince, and a sect. He'd make them see his fire, or burn trying.