Chapter 41: The Storm You Didn't Prepare For
The main hall of the Ling Ancestral Manor was a cavernous vault of stone and silence. Polished obsidian tiles reflected the flickering amber glow of flame-lit sconces. Tall ancestral portraits loomed from every wall—solemn eyes of those long dead watching the living with austere judgment. The air was chilled, not by cold, but by formality—by generations of power concentrated into this singular room.
Eight figures sat around a long, obsidian table carved from a single slab of volcanic glass. Each seat bore the likeness of a beast—tiger, serpent, hawk, dragon—emblems of their lineage. Their robes shimmered with the subtle gleam of enchanted silk, and their expressions were veiled in the kind of silence that said everything.
At the head of the table sat Ling Zhejiang, Patriarch of the Ling Family.
Draped in a deep black coat embroidered with frost-like silver patterns, his presence commanded the room even in stillness. His icy blue eyes were placid lakes hiding unknown depths. One broad hand rested on the arm of his thrown-like seat, the other over a carved jade ring—his signet. Power clung to him like a second skin: quiet and immense.
To his right, Ling Qingyao—the Matriarch—sat draped in flowing emerald silk, slit high at the leg, her sleeves cascading like river mist. Her eyes, emerald with narrow, reptilian pupils, landed on the girl standing at the center of the room—Ling Mei.
A faint, almost motherly smile touched her lips.
To Ling Mei, it felt like a snake watching a mouse.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"...Mother…"
The word escaped her lips dryly, almost involuntarily.
She had always found her mother mesmerizingly beautiful. But behind those serpentine eyes lurked something cold. Their relationship was paper-thin—distant, ceremonial. A performance of motherhood that barely masked indifference.
Ling Mei stood drenched from the rain, water dripping steadily from her sleeves and uniform onto the marble floor. She hadn't been allowed time to change. She hadn't been invited to this meeting—she had been summoned.
Around the table, the others—elders, uncles, aunts—watched her in silence. Some with pity. Some with amusement. Most with that same calculating gaze she had come to dread.
The way one looked at weapons on a rack—assessing sharpness.
Then—
"Mei~," came a melodic, teasing voice.
Ling Aurea, the most flamboyant among the elders, lounged in her seat like a cat before a hearth. Her blonde hair shimmered with hints of flare; her cherry-colored lips curled in a knowing smile. She gestured to an empty seat beside her, fingers tipped in painted crimson.
"Come, sit."
Ling Mei didn't move.
Instead, she stood straighter, arms folded beneath her chest. Her soaked hair clung to her face. Her boots dripped onto the polished stone.
Her voice was flat. "What is this about?"
A breathless pause settled. One of those silences that always preceded life-altering words.
Finally, Ling Tao, the family's chief tactician, adjusted the golden monocle perched over his left eye. His other hand stroked the edges of his beard, thick and snowy white.
"The Masaru Clan," he began, tone neutral, "has extended an offer of alliance. They wish to strengthen ties with the Ling Family."
He paused.
"Their heir, Masaru Genji, has expressed interest in a formal union."
Ling Mei blinked. "A union?"
"A political marriage," Ling Tao confirmed. "It would secure our standing. You know the tides are shifting in the Federation."
Her jaw tensed. "So I'm... a bargaining chip?"
"No," said a softer voice.
Ling Xian'er, ever soft-spoken, her ink-stained robes brushing the floor, clasped her hands together. Her thin fingers bore traces of calligraphy ink. She adjusted her braided hair gently, her hawk-like eyes calm.
"You're our pride," she said. "This is a great deed for the family."
"No, Aunt Xian'er." Ling Mei's voice cracked like glass. "This is a leash."
Her fists trembled at her sides. She didn't shout. She didn't need to.
The air shifted.
A subtle, almost imperceptible breeze stirred through the hall. Tapestries rustled. A nearby candle flickered violently.
The magic in her blood stirred—not chaotic, not wild... but angry.
Across the table, Ling Huo opened his ruby eyes slowly. His expression hardened. He felt it—wind essence, pure and refined. He narrowed his gaze.
She's awakening again, he thought. This child...
Ling Mei's eyes met each of theirs, one by one. Unflinching.
"I won't be sold," she said quietly, but the steel in her tone rang louder than any shout. "Not to the Masaru. Not to anyone."
"Child…" Ling Tao sighed. "You're still young. You don't see the full picture."
"I don't need a picture," she snapped. "I need freedom."
A voice boomed across the room.
"Impulsivechild!" roared Ling Baogui, the oldest of them all. His long white brows danced with fury. "You speak of freedom, yet know nothing of duty! You will learn—someday—you will thank us for this!"
Ling Mei's stare pierced him.
Ling Xian'er shook her head sadly. "This is what I feared... she will hate us for this."
Ling Huo's voice was quiet, almost mournful. "So young... and already forced to bear the weight of the clan."
Ling Zhejiang remained still, but inside, his thoughts clashed like waves.
Do I truly force this upon her? Do I… break her spirit?
Ling Qingyao, however, smiled faintly—her expression unreadable.
Her daughter's outburst had been expected. And yet… intriguing.
Then, a deep voice spoke.
Ling Fang, his muscular frame leaning forward, arms crossed, brown eyes intense, said, "Mei... you must understand—there are sacrifices that come with being heir. The world is shifting. The Big Five are not what they once—"
Ling Mei clenched her fist tightly.
The pressure. The judgment. The silence.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Something inside her snapped.
"ENOUGH!"
Her voice cracked like thunder.
Wind exploded outward from her body—raw, primal, furious.
The obsidian table groaned. Scrolls scattered. Flames recoiled. Even the walls quivered.
Power surged—the Book of Aeromancy in her memory resonated.
She understood now.
Wind wasn't just a tool.
It was will. It was freedom.
Ling Aurea chuckled softly, brushing wind from her shoulder like a stray leaf.
"Someone's angry~," she mused.
But Ling Mei wasn't speaking to her.
"I. Am. NOT marrying Masaru Genji." Her voice echoed like a verdict. "I don't care what deals were made. I will not let anyone dictate my path."
Her eyes locked onto her father.
"You said you were proud of me once. Is this your pride—watching me become someone else's possession?"
Silence.
Then Ling Qingyao rose.
Her beauty was fierce, like a storm poised to strike. Her slit pupils narrowed to slivers.
"Enough of this madness," she hissed. "Listen to me, Mei. I don't care where this ego is coming from, but this decision is final. This is what must be done to protect our legacy. Unless…"
Her voice lowered, sharp as a fang.
"Unless you can form a better alliance—with any of the other Big families."
Ling Mei stared at her.
Then whispered:
"…Why do you hate me?... What did I do wrong?"
She glared at Ling Qingyao, voice laced with venom.
"I hate you, Mother!"
The words struck harder than any gust of wind.
The elegance in Ling Qingyao's expression faltered.
Her lips parted. No words came.
For a breath, even the flames stilled.
Then Ling Mei turned to her father. Her eyes searched him—pleading. Then, betrayed.
"Daughter…" Ling Zhejiang whispered. His mask cracked—his voice trembling. "Please…"
But she was already walking away.
The heavy doors of the great hall groaned shut behind her.
Outside, the storm howled.
And Ling Mei whispered to it, her voice lost in the wind:
> "I'm not your pawn.
I'm the storm you forgot to prepare for."