Chapter 118: The Intruders Get Roasted(literally)

The first strike came from nowhere.

A bolt of liquid fire slammed into his chest and sent him skidding backward across the obsidian floor, his claws scraping furrows in the stone.

Dà Jiāo Huǒ lowered his hand. His golden eyes were blazing.

“I warned you,” the Burning Sky said.

Lóng Wēi looked down at the scorch mark on his chest. His smile did not waver. “Brother. You always did hit first and ask questions later.”

He snapped his fingers.

The two dragons flanking him moved.

The first was a female with scales like dried blood and hair the color of rust. Her name was Xuè Yá, Blood Fang, and she lunged for the Burning Sky’s throat.

The Burning Sky didn’t move.

He didn’t need to.

A golden blur intercepted Xuè Yá mid-leap, slamming into her with enough force to crater the obsidian floor. Cāng Jì rose from the impact, his scales blazing, his roar shaking the crystals from the walls.

“YOU,” he thundered, “DO NOT TOUCH MY FATHER.”

Xuè Yá recovered quickly, rolling to her feet with a snarl. Her claws raked across Cāng Jì’s chest, drawing lines of gold-touched blood.

“I thought the golden prince was a joke,” she hissed. “A dancer. A fool who got peed on by monkeys.”

Cāng Jì’s eye twitched.

“I am going to pretend,” he said, his voice dropping to a cold and quiet tone, “that you did not just mention the monkeys.”

He lunged.

They clashed again, gold against crimson, fire against fury, and the plaza shook with the force of it.

The second dragon was larger, slower, built like a siege engine given scales and wings. His name was Shí Gǔ, stone Bone, and he did not bother with elegance. He simply charged, his massive head lowered, his horns aimed directly at the Burning Sky’s chest.

Dà Jiāo Huǒ raised one hand.

Shí Gǔ stopped. Not because he wanted to. Because he could not move. Because years of power had wrapped around him like chains of light and would not let him take another step.

“You,” Dà Jiāo Huǒ said quietly, “should have stayed in whatever hole you crawled out of.”

He flicked his wrist.

Shí Gǔ flew backward, crashing through three crystal pillars, a dessert table, and a very surprised group of young dragons who had been hiding behind it. He landed in a heap of broken stone and honey cakes, groaning.

From somewhere in the wreckage, a small voice piped up: “That was my cake.”

Shí Gǔ groaned louder.

In the center of the plaza, Xuè Yá was discovering that the “golden fool” was not, in fact, a fool.

Every time she thought she had him, he was somewhere else. Every time she struck, he was already gone, already behind her, already pressing his advantage.

“You’re fast,” she snarled, dodging a blast of golden fire.

“I’m magnificent,” Cāng Jì corrected. “There’s a difference.”

He caught her across the face with his tail.

She spun, crashed into a pillar, and came up with blood streaming from a cut above her eye. Her smile was gone. Her eyes were wild.

“You think this changes anything? You think beating me means you’re worthy? You’re still the same dragon who ran away to play with lowlanders. Who let himself be humiliated by monkeys. Who—”

“Monkeys,” Cāng Jì said, and his voice was very, very quiet, “are excellent judges of character. They liked me immediately. They peed on my robes out of respect.”

Xuè Yá stared at him. “That’s not how respect works.”

“It is when you’re as magnificent as I am.”

She lunged again. This time, Cāng Jì didn’t dodge.

He met her head-on, their claws locking,m, their roars merging into something that shook the very foundations of the mountain. For a moment, they were equals, gold and crimson, fire and fury, neither willing to yield.

Then Cāng Jì smiled.

He headbutted her.

Xuè Yá’s eyes rolled back. Her grip slackened. She crumpled to the obsidian floor, unconscious before she hit the ground.

Cāng Jì stood over her, breathing hard, his scales cracked, his face split into a grin that was entirely too smug for someone who had just been in a life-or-death battle.

That was when Lóng Wēi moved.

He had been watching. Waiting. Letting his followers tire the golden prince, distract Dà Jiāo Huǒ. Now, with Cāng Jì exhausted and his father focused on Shí Gǔ’s wreckage, he struck.

Not at the Burning Sky.

At

Bai Yue’s scream was lost in the roar of fire that erupted between Lóng Wēi and the baby.

Dà Jiāo Huǒ was there. He had not moved from his spot, not visibly, but he was there, his hand extended, his palm pressed against Lóng Wēi’s chest, a sphere of light building between them.

“You forget,” Dà Jiāo Huǒ said, “that I have fought wars you only read about. You forget that I have killed things older than this mountain, stronger than this court, more terrible than anything you can imagine.”

The light grew brighter.

“But most of all,” he said, “you forget that I have a granddaughter now. And I will not let anyone—anyone—threaten her.”

Lóng Wēi screamed.

The light erupted. It consumed him, stripped away his scales, his strength, his centuries of carefully cultivated power.

When it faded, Lóng Wēi was on his knees. Human-shaped. Broken.

“Leave,” the Burning Sky said. “And do not return. If you do, I will not be so gentle.”

Lóng Wēi looked up. His face was pale, streaked with blood, his eyes finally holding something other than emptiness.

“Gentle,” he repeated. “You call that gentle.”

“I call that a warning.”

A pause. Then Lóng Wēi laughed.

“You’ve gone soft, brother. You’ve let them make you soft.” His eyes found Bai Yue, found Zhēn, found the grandmothers and the cubs and the lowlanders who had somehow become part of this family. “They’ll destroy you. Everything you are. Everything you were. They’ll turn you into—”

“Leave,” Dà Jiāo Huǒ said.

Lóng Wēi left.

His followers followed, Xuè Yá limping, Shí Gǔ still trying to remove honey cake from his teeth. The plaza was silent as they went, watching the three broken dragons disappear into the shadows of the grand staircase.

When they were gone, Cāng Jì shifted back. He looked exhausted, his robes torn, his hair a disaster, his face streaked with blood and soot. He raised one hand in triumph.

“That,” he announced to the silent crowd, “was completely unacceptable. No one brought snacks. No one offered refreshments. If you’re going to start a fight in my father’s plaza, the least you could do is provide proper catering.”

Ruì Xuě wriggled out of Wēn Jìng’s arms and ran to him, wrapping himself around the dragon’s leg.

“You were so brave, Uncle Sparkles!”

“I was magnificent,” Cāng Jì corrected, scooping the cub up. “Absolutely magnificent. Did you see the part where I headbutted her?”

“You also got hit a lot.”

“That’s called strategy. You let them tire themselves out on your magnificently durable face.”

From across the plaza, Yòu Lín’s voice rang out: “Does this mean we get more desserts? Because I think we should get more desserts. You fought dragons. Uncle Sparkles fought dragons. The big dragon fought dragons. I supervised. Supervising is very tiring. I need sugar.”

The tension broke.

Laughter rippled through the plaza. Dragons who had been pressed against the walls moments before began to drift back toward the center. The crystals flared back to life. The waterfalls began to fall again, their light catching on broken stone and shattered crystal, turning the destruction into something almost beautiful.

Bai Yue walked to the center of the plaza, stepping over broken crystal and fallen desserts, until she stood in front of the Burning Sky.

He was holding Zhēn again. Someone had handed her back. The baby was awake, her amethyst eyes fixed on her grandfather’s face, her tiny hand pressed against his cheek.

“Thank you. For protecting her. For protecting all of us.” Bai Yue said.

Dà Jiāo Huǒ looked down at Zhēn. The baby cooed.

“She is worth protecting,” he said simply. “They all are.”

Cāng Jì appeared at Bai Yue’s elbow, Ruì Xuě still in his arms, Yòu Lín now clinging to his leg.

“I also protected people,” he announced. “I was very brave. I headbutted a dragon. Multiple times. There was blood. My blood. A lot of it. I should get credit for this.”

“You’re getting credit,” Bai Yue said.

“I’m not hearing enough praise.”

“You’re magnificent, Cāng Jì.”

“I am. But I want to hear it again.”

“You’re magnificent.”

“One more time. With feeling.”

Bai Yue shoved him. He stumbled, nearly dropped Ruì Xuě, caught himself, and looked utterly betrayed.

“That was uncalled for.”

“That was deserved.”

From somewhere behind them, Gū Gū’s voice carried: “If no one else is going to hit anyone, I will! I’ve been waiting all evening!”

“She’s been waiting,” Hóng Yè muttered, appearing at his father’s side. “She’s very disappointed she didn’t get to participate.”

Dà Jiāo Huǒ chuckled.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep