Author's Note
Before anything else, I want to thank you for choosing to read my book. That means a lot to me, and I hope the story manages to touch you in some way. But I need to be honest: you might find some mistakes in the English translation. I sincerely apologize for that, in case something doesn't sound natural or causes any confusion.
Portuguese is my first language, and English... well, let's say it's not my strong suit. I'm not very proficient or fluent in it, and that limited me quite a bit. To bring this story to you, I used artificial intelligence to help with the translation. It was the best resource I had at hand, but I know it's not perfect and some slips might have gotten through.
Writing this book in Portuguese was something I did with a lot of care and dedication. I wanted to share this journey with readers in other languages, and the English translation was my attempt to make that happen. Even if the result has its flaws, my wish is that the spirit of the story still reaches you.
So, I ask for a bit of patience and understanding. If you can look past the possible mistakes, I hope you find something special in the pages I wrote. Thank you for being here and for giving my voice a chance!
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The hall was shrouded in a taut silence, as though every breath held a carefully guarded secret. To me, the voices around the table were mere distant murmurs, trivial echoes paling before the fierce certainty blazing within my chest. My resolve was as sharp as a blade: I would sever this disgraceful engagement. Marry Yang Fei? A worthless boy, dark-skinned, bearing nothing of value. To me, this was an affront to my honor, a stain I would never permit. My heart, in contrast, had already pledged itself to another—Yang Ming, the only one worthy of standing by my side.
Then, in an instant, everything shifted. I felt the weight of the room's gazes pivot, no longer fixed on me as though I were its axis, but drawn to something new, something unforeseen. With the measured grace that always guided me, I turned, and my eyes fell upon a man I had never seen before. My body stirred before my mind could grasp it: he was black, tall, and striking—handsome in a way that rendered the word itself inadequate.
His presence commanded attention. His flawless dark skin gleamed beneath a black cloak that swept down to his feet, lending him an air of mystery and quiet strength. His hair, white as newly fallen snow, was threaded with strands of black, a contrast that made his appearance all the more arresting. His lips, soft and pink, seemed sculpted with deliberate care, and his tranquil stance suggested he could, if he chose, hold dominion over everything in that space.
He moved through the hall with a calm that bordered on defiance, as if we, seated at the table, were mere backdrop to a scene that held no sway over him. Yet what truly captivated the eye were the two companions at his side—a pair as enchanting as they were unnerving. A small black cat, its gaze tender yet framed by dark wings that hinted at otherworldly origins, padded beside him. Beside it slithered a white snake, its scales glinting like starlight. Both followed him with a devotion that was palpable, exuding an ancient, unfamiliar energy that stirred the air in strange, subtle ways.
As he crossed the room, the maids, bustling with their duties, faltered in their steps, their eyes trailing his every move. Some flushed crimson at the mere sight of him, but he paid them no heed, his focus locked on some distant point, as though nothing here mattered to his purpose.
A restless heat flared within me. Should I be furious? Perhaps I should, yet what surged through me was a sharper, hotter anger, one that seared my chest. It wasn't his beauty that provoked me, nor the power he radiated, but the way he dismissed me entirely. As he passed, not a single glance flickered in my direction—not one! How dare he treat me this way? my pride roared, a silent tempest raging within.
He strode past Elder Yang Kai, near the Old Patriarch Yang and Elder Mei, offering no word, until at last he settled into a chair directly across from me, on the opposite side of the table. For a fleeting moment, I anticipated he might look up, might acknowledge who I was. But nothing. He adjusted himself with a serenity that seemed to care for naught and spoke in a plain, unadorned tone:
"Good evening. Excuse me."
The courtesy of his words felt ordinary, yet his voice—flat, devoid of warmth—clashed with the gravity he carried. It was as if his presence here were a mere obligation, stripped of attachment or curiosity.
I stared at him, searching every detail for a clue to his identity. The creatures at his side lingered close, and now and then, he cast them a fleeting, almost tender glance—as if they alone warranted his regard.
Fury and unease coiled tighter within me. Who did he think he was to slight me so, me, Xia Xiang?
"Who are you?" My voice sliced through the stillness, resolute and unyielding.
For the first time, he raised his blindfolded eyes, and as they opened, I was ensnared by something unexpected. They were fathomless, brimming with secrets, devoid of anger or interest—only a calm that felt perilous. For a long, suspended moment, no one spoke. Then, in a low, steady voice, he answered:
"A guest."
Nothing more, no elaboration. Just "a guest."
My anger swelled. Who did he think he was to reply so curtly? Before I could press further, Elder Mei—who had been silent until now—offered a faint, awkward smile.
"This is Yang Fei. The… other son of the patriarch."
Her words, cautious and laden with unspoken weight, struck me like a thunderbolt. The other son? My chest tightened, not with awe, but with something darker. Before me sat the man I loathed, the fiancé I had never wanted, the embodiment of everything I deemed beneath me. Or was he someone else entirely?
He noticed the shift in my expression, yet he remained unmoved. He merely turned his gaze aside, as if my scorn were beneath his notice. I, Xia Xiang, betrothed to someone like this? It was intolerable.
"Ridiculous," I muttered, loud enough for him to hear.
Contrary to my expectation, he didn't bristle. Instead, he smiled—a cold, almost mocking curve of his lips that sent a shiver through me. In that instant, I realized he was not what I had assumed. He might not be the graceless boy of my imagination, and he was certainly no one I could challenge so easily.
The hall grew heavy, each word a quiet omen. Yang Fei—or Nael Supremium, as he named himself—had arrived, and his mere presence altered everything. Seated at the table, he appeared at ease, yet an undercurrent of strength pulsed from him, daring anyone to defy it.
"How was walking through the house, Yang Fei?" the Patriarch Yang asked, his tone steady but tinged with unease.
His question reverberated in my mind, stealing my breath for a heartbeat. How could this be? The man before me bore no resemblance to the weak, foolish boy I recalled. Now he stood taller, striking in a way that turned heads, and carried a confidence few could rival. He was… someone else. Utterly different.
For a moment, my thoughts tangled into a knot. Part of me yearned to lash out in rage: as a woman who knew her worth, I believed those unfit should fade into obscurity, forgotten. Yet here was Yang Fei, defying every expectation I'd held, in a way I could never have foreseen.
Nael, who had been gazing elsewhere, turned slowly to face the patriarch. With a voice firm and unwavering, he declared:
"Nael. Nael Supremium."
It was a whisper, yet it carried, resounding for all to hear. Not a plea—an assertion.
A murmur rippled through the room. Before anyone could respond, Duchess Yue, seated to the left of the old patriarch, scowled, her irritation plain.
"Always so bold. You don't show even a bit of respect for the elders here, nor in the meeting."
Nael offered no laugh, neither soft nor loud, nothing to lighten the tension across the table. He merely leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes—deep as midnight—locking onto hers with a force that made her falter.
"They are pathetic," he said, blunt and unapologetic, his contempt laid bare.
The duchess froze, stunned by his audacity. The Patriarch Yang, his demeanor growing stern, interjected to restore calm:
"What do you mean by that, Nael?"
Without hesitation, Nael's voice cut through once more:
"They are pathetic. When they saw my mother—or rather, an image of her, a silly recording—they almost melted with fear."
He laughed again, a hollow, biting sound that lingered in the air.
"They talk about raising the name of the Yang House to the sky, but they don't have the courage to face even a projection."
The atmosphere thickened, each word a spark igniting a silent war where pride and fate collided without mercy.
The hall fell still, as if time itself held its breath at his declaration. No one dared break the silence.
"I know," Nael pressed on, his tone dark with resentment, "that my mother is a goddess from the Upper Realm. Strong in a way that no one understands. But that… that wasn't her. It was just a fragment, a faint echo of the true Celestia. And all of you…"
He swept his gaze across the elders, assessing each one with a look alone. "…were weak. You bowed your heads like dogs, ran like rats. It was… pathetic."
The patriarch, who had held his tongue thus far, finally spoke, his voice firm yet edged with irritation:
"You cannot speak like that about the elders, Nael. They have taken care of this house for generations."
Nael turned to him slowly, his eyes alight with challenge.
"Taken care of this house?" He laughed, but it was steeped in bitterness. "No. They take care of themselves. They are so afraid of dying that they would give everything—honor, family, you, even me—to cling to life a little longer. Is this the greatness of the Yang House? Are these the pillars you speak of so proudly?"
His words struck like blows, wounding the pride of everyone present.
Abruptly, Duchess Yue shattered the silence, her voice thick with fury:
"You speak as if you were better than us. But who are you? A bastard who only brought problems to this house!"
Nael rose slowly, his presence swelling with an unspoken weight. The creatures at his side stirred, poised as if ready to strike. He fixed his gaze on the duchess, and for the first time, his voice turned dangerous:
"I am Nael Supremium. The name you whisper, fear, and hate. And, unlike you, I don't hide. Maybe that's why you hate me: I show what you want to be, but will never achieve."
The silence that followed roared; no one uttered a sound. As Nael resumed his seat with that same unshakable calm, he cast a final glance around, like one who held all in his grasp:
"The difference between us," he said, his tone lighter yet resolute, "is that I don't need the respect of those who are afraid. Respect is for people who bow. And I… never bow."
In that moment, the silence solidified, oppressive and absolute. For the first time, Xia Xiang saw that the man before her was not merely different. He was something she hadn't anticipated—someone who reshaped everything with each word, rendering the world both anew and daunting.
The hall became a space adrift, uncertain, and Duchess Yue could no longer hold her tongue. With a voice sharp with scorn, she spat:
"You can't come here, sit wherever you want, and act like you know everything! You're just a boy who barely awakened his mental intelligence now. For years, you were nothing more than a child no one cared about!"
Nael paused, tilting his head as if weighing her every word. His dark eyes gleamed with a blend of calm and something deeper, elusive. Then, a cold smile curved his lips, though it never touched his eyes.
"Interesting…" he said, almost leisurely. "I had even forgotten how predictable you all are."
Despite his composure, his gaze betrayed a quiet amusement, edged with gravity. He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hands, as if observing something mundane and unremarkable.
"It may be true, Duchess. Maybe I awakened my consciousness late. But tell me… do I really know what you are?"
His voice carried a sting, laced with irony that left everyone uneasy.
For a brief moment, Nael closed his eyes, and memory painted a vivid scene within him, clear as a master's stroke. It was as though he replayed it all: each figure at the table emerged in his mind with perfect precision. When his eyes opened again, he resembled a scholar dissecting a flawed theorem.
"Let's go then."
He pointed to the first elder, seated to the patriarch's right, his voice steady and unflinching:
"You. An old meddler, always trying to interfere in the patriarch's family. You've already wanted to marry daughters, granddaughters, whatever, to control the future of this house. Your gaze is clever and treacherous; you only want power."
The elder squirmed in his seat, at a loss for words, as Nael's attention shifted to the next.
"The second," he said, fixing his stare on the elder to the patriarch's left. "You pretend to be all right, but I know how you are. You like men, and there's no problem with that, but the way you look…" He offered a frigid smile. "…that's the problem. Always looking at the young ones of the new generation, not out of respect, but for something else. You try to hide it, but with painted nails and light gestures, it's not helping; it shows in every movement."
The elder's face blanched, and the hall hushed once more.
"The third…" Nael continued, heedless of the stunned expressions. "A lost man. You run after a woman who doesn't want you, and that consumes you. You've already killed for her, and even so, you don't stop. Your gaze is all desperation and madness. To you, she's not a person; she's a goddess, your goddess, and only yours, and anyone who looks beyond that won't live to tell the story."
Each accusation shattered the facades they wore, unveiling the truths they buried beneath decorum. The hall, once a stage of feigned smiles and courteous gestures, now lay exposed, its hidden scars bared for all to see.
And in that moment, time seemed to halt, forcing everyone present to confront their own failings and the stark reality Nael thrust before them.
The hall transformed into a theater of uncertainty, and Nael turned his gaze to a man clad in lavish attire, his tone a blend of disdain and faint mirth:
"The fourth."
He locked eyes with the man, his stare cold and piercing. "The guardian of the treasure. These fine clothes come from what you take from this house, spending on women who sell themselves for little. A pig, inside and out."
The man flushed crimson, but fear tethered his tongue.
Nael shifted to the fifth elder. His voice lightened, though the irony remained:
"You take advantage well, don't you? Always by the side of the fourth elder, taking your share of what he steals. But you feel embarrassed when he looks at you, don't you? But I don't blame you; who wouldn't?"
He let out a low chuckle before fixing his gaze on the sixth elder, his perception cutting through her like a blade:
"You are the most curious so far. You poorly cultivated a dual technique, clearly. You can't stand being without a man for long, huh? Your gaze shows that you want more, and your body tries to pretend it doesn't need it, but… I bet you've been through some… complicated and humiliating moments."
The elder turned away, pallid, as the silence settled like a heavy mist. Nael pressed on, his attention falling on the couple at the table's end. He addressed the woman, his tone unyielding:
"And now… you two. Always together, but not really."
He pointed at her, leaving no room for doubt. "You always look at the twelfth elder, don't you? A guy who, by chance, has a blond hair stuck in his clothes. A hair that, coincidentally, is just like yours."
The woman shuddered, her hands clutching her garments in a nervous grip. At that instant, the Patriarch Yang's voice thundered, cleaving the silence:
"What's going on here?!"