Chapter 16: The Lion's Roar
The virtual backstage of the Starfall Arena was a pocket of serene silence, a stark contrast to the roaring digital ocean of millions of avatars waiting beyond the curtain. Qu Tang stood in the center, wearing a simple, elegant dress the color of midnight, a small, live nightingale perched on a branch embroidered in silver thread over her heart. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, centering herself. The fear was a distant hum, now overlaid with the steady, grounding certainty of Leo's silent presence in her physical apartment and Lang Mo's solid, waiting energy beside her in the virtual space.
He was dressed not in his military attire, but in the formal, dark robes of his clan, a single, polished wolf's fang hanging from a leather cord around his neck. He wasn't looking at the audience count or the frantic pre-show feeds; his entire focus was on her.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that was for her ears only.
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "Ready."
The host's voice boomed through the cosmos, introducing them. The curtain of light dissolved. They were standing in the center of a breathtaking virtual landscape—an ancient, snow-dusted Ironwood forest under a sky ablaze with alien constellations. The audience was a sea of silent, watching stars.
They began as they had in rehearsal. Lang Mo's voice rose first, the "Howl of the Ironwood Pack" raw and powerful, a testament to survival. Then, Qu Tang's voice wove around it, the nightingale's answer, a melody of hope and resilience. It was even more potent than before, charged with the shared experience of danger and protection. The music wasn't just a performance; it was a story, their story, unfolding in real-time for the entire galaxy.
High above the planet, aboard the Solar Pride, Jin Chen watched. He sat in his command throne, the main screen displaying the duet. His expression was granite. He saw not the art, not the connection, but the defiance. He saw the Wolf, who had dared to interfere, standing beside what he considered his property. He saw the Nightingale, who had laughed at his gifts, now singing a triumphant ode with another.
The clinical curiosity was gone, burned away by a possessive fury he had not known he was capable of. This public collaboration was the ultimate insult. It was a declaration of war on his authority.
As their song reached its climax, a new, harsh signal overrode the Arena's broadcast for a single, glaring second. Jin Chen's face, cold and imposing, filled every screen in the Federation.
"Enough of this farce," his voice cut through the music like a shard of ice. "Qu Tang. You forget your place. You are a D-grade orphan I graciously elevated. Your little songs are a distraction, your 'power' a pale echo of true strength. You will end this spectacle. You will return to the estate. This is not a request."
The virtual forest flickered. The audience, both in the Arena and across the galaxy, gasped as one. It was a public execution of her character, a brutal reassertion of dominance.
On stage, Qu Tang's voice faltered for a fraction of a second. The old fears, the ghost of the original owner, threatened to rise up and choke her. But then she felt Lang Mo's hand find hers in the virtual space. His grip was solid, real. He didn't look at the giant, glitching image of Jin Chen. He looked only at her, his eyes blazing with a ferocious loyalty.
She squeezed his hand back, her spine straightening. She turned from Lang Mo to face Jin Chen's projected image directly, her chin held high.
"You are wrong, Patriarch Jin," she said, her voice, amplified across the galaxy, did not tremble. It was clear, strong, and carried the weight of her entire journey. "You did not elevate me. You imprisoned me. My place is not in your gilded cage. It is here. My power is not a pale echo. It is my own. And my song," she said, her voice dropping to a intimate whisper that somehow carried even further, "is not for you."
She turned her back on him, a gesture of breathtaking defiance. She looked at Lang Mo and gave a small, determined nod.
The Lion had roared, demanding submission.
The Nightingale answered by beginning to sing again.
This time, her song was different. It was not a gentle melody. It was a battle cry set to music, a soaring, powerful anthem of freedom. And Lang Mo's howl joined it, no longer a chant of endurance, but a savage, triumphant promise of protection. Together, their voices didn't just defy Jin Chen; they drowned him out, their unified sound washing over the galaxy, a tidal wave of rebellion.