380: Chapter 380 The celebration begins, and guests gather in droves.

Dawn had just broken through the clouds, and the mountain breeze, carrying the dampness of dew, swept across the Main Peak plaza. Chen Wuwang stood on the edge of the high platform, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the hilt of the dagger at his waist. The pace was not fast, but it struck the ground like a hammer driving in a nail.

He did not move, nor did he speak, merely staring at the winding stone steps at the end of the mountain path—the red dots on the light screen from last night were now becoming living people, one by one.

"They are here," he said in a low voice.

It was not talking to himself, nor was it addressed to anyone in particular; it was simply a concrete judgment.

The first group of figures appeared at the corner. Leading them was a gaunt old man carrying a heavy wooden chest on his shoulder, followed by a dozen or so young men, all with their heads bowed and their footsteps extremely light.

Liu Laosan led the team personally, holding his breath as if afraid of startling something.

"Liuye Village, arriving!" the messenger shouted from below the platform.

Chen Wuwang raised his eyes and smiled, "Laosan, is this chest heavier than a person?"

Upon hearing this voice, Liu Laosan's legs went weak. He quickly put down the chest, wiped away his sweat, and apologized with a smile, "Head of the Chen Family, you joke! This is Star Meteorite Ore that has been pressed at the bottom of our treasury for thirty years. We polished it into a box to hold the sincerity of the entire village! If you… if you can accept it, we will be burning high incense in gratitude."

"The sincerity is great, and the gift is heavy," Chen Wuwang stepped down two steps. "But I do not look at gifts; I look at people. Your coming here is giving the Eastern Wasteland a chance, and it is also giving yourself one."

Liu Laosan nodded repeatedly, and the group of young men behind him bowed as well, their movements so synchronized it was as if they had practiced ten times.

They were led to the seats on the left. When passing the guards, a youth secretly looked up at the rune lamp post on the city wall, his eyes shining, before quickly bowing his head again.

The second wave of noise was the sound of beast hooves, making the ground tremble slightly. The second son of Chiji Ridge rode an Iron-Bristle Wolf, followed by six attendants all clad in black armor, with short blades at their waists. Their faces showed neither smiles nor anger as they marched in, standing straight and tall.

"Chiji Ridge, second son of the Wang Family, here by order to attend the banquet." The second son dismounted, his voice as hard as stone.

Chen Wuwang stood on the platform, neither welcoming him nor wearing a cold expression, "Your father isn't coming?"

"Tied up with Family affairs." The second son paused, "He said, the gift cannot be missing, but the person… must be weighed by their importance."

"Oh?" Chen Wuwang smiled, "Then in your opinion, how much do you weigh right now?"

The surroundings went silent for half a second.

The second son did not move, his hand pressed against the hilt of his blade, his knuckles turning white.

Chen Wuwang suddenly raised his hand and patted his shoulder, "Fine, if you have the guts to say that, you are not a waste. Sit over there, on the right, and don't sit too close to Liu Laosan; I'm afraid he might steal your wine at night."

A burst of laughter erupted from below.

The second son's mouth twitched, but he ultimately said nothing more and led his people toward the seats on the right. When passing the Formation area, he swept his peripheral vision over the spiritual energy patterns embedded in the ground, his footsteps slowing for a beat.

The third wave was the quietest.

A group of masked people, dressed in coarse merchant robes and carrying cargo baskets, blended into the West Desert Sand Clan's group and entered the city gate silently. No one announced them, and no one welcomed them. They found a corner to sit in by themselves, heads bowed, like a group of shadows that dared not make a sound.

Chen Wuwang stood on the platform, the blue light of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flashing, locking onto the woman carrying the pottery jar. Her hat brim was pulled very low, but when her wrist turned, a dark red rune line was revealed at her cuff.

He did not expose her, only gave a light hum and turned away.

More and more people arrived.

An Elder of the Chuanyun Sect leaned on a cane, coughing as he walked; the Disciples of Leiyin Pavilion lined up in two rows, their kasayas fluttering; the Cangling Clan carried drums and began beating them as soon as they entered the city; the girls of the Xuansha Tribe danced their way in, colorful ribbons flying, their laughter crisp and clear.

The entire plaza gradually filled up.

Below the high platform, thousands of guests took their seats, divided by their respective forces, with clear boundaries. On the east side were the small clans that had pledged allegiance early, chatting and laughing; on the west side were mostly the fence-sitters, speaking little, their eyes darting about; to the north sat envoys from several veteran Families, sitting as still as bells, calm and composed.

Chen Wuwang finally walked to the center of the main platform.

He wore no armor, nor did he drape himself in the Clan Chief's robes, wearing only a set of black training gear, his silver hair tied back, the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye in his left eye gleaming with a cold blue in the sunlight. He raised his hand, and the entire venue fell silent instantly.

"Three years ago," he began, his voice not loud, yet it rolled like thunder through the valley, "this place was a ruin. The Insect Clan had gnawed at the foundations of the walls, the Blood Demon Sect had burned the ancestral hall, and there wasn't even a decent road. I stood here, stepping on scorched earth, with black smoke overhead."

Below, some lowered their heads, some clenched their fists.

"At that time, no one believed we could survive," he continued. "Even fewer believed that a mining Family could stand on the main platform of the Eastern Wasteland Alliance."

"But we survived," his voice rose sharply. "Not by relying on some heaven-sent Opportunity, not by relying on the charity of some great expert, but by the lives of three hundred and seventy-two clansmen! It was the furnace fires that never extinguished at night, the blood blisters worn onto our hands, the sheer ruthlessness of raising our swords even if we had only one breath left!"

"Now, we have three Nascent Soul cultivators." He waved his hand, and three streaks of spiritual light shot into the sky behind him, coalescing into the character "Chen" in the air, lingering for a long time.

"This is not the end; it is the beginning. From today on, the Eastern Wasteland will no longer be a hunting ground where the weak are prey to the strong, but a place where everyone can fight for a glimmer of survival!"

The crowd erupted with a buzz.

Liu Laosan was the first to stand up and applaud, clapping until his palms were bright red. The young men beside him also clapped fiercely, their faces full of excitement.

The Cangling Clan drummers suddenly beat their great drums, boom—boom—boom—three earth-shaking sounds.

Immediately after, the copper bells of Leiyin Pavilion rang out, the flute music of the Chuanyun Sect floated up, and the colorful dancers of the Xuansha Tribe began their celebratory dance. The entire plaza seemed to have been ignited.

"The Chen Family will prevail for ten thousand generations!" someone shouted.

"The Chen Family will prevail for ten thousand generations!" more people joined in the chant.

The voices layered one upon another, soaring into the clouds.

Chen Wuwang stood on the platform, neither smiling nor moving, merely watching the boiling sea of people quietly. His fingers still rested on the hilt of his dagger, tapping one by one, as if calculating something.

Not until the applause surged like a tide did he step back slightly, the corners of his mouth finally lifting.

"Good," he said in a low voice. "This is just the beginning."

Fireworks boomed into the sky, seven-colored flames bursting open like burning flowers. Drums and music rang out in unison, children ran about, Elders smiled, wine jars were opened, and the fragrance filled the air.

The entire Chen Family main city was brightly lit. The broken walls and ruins of the past were long gone, replaced by high platforms, plazas, flying eaves, and spirit lamps.

On the distant mountain path, a few scattered guests were still walking up, some stopping to look up, others whispering to each other.

On the high platform, Chen Wuwang still stood, not leaving the stage, nor speaking again. He merely surveyed the entire venue, his gaze sweeping over every face, every corner.

Liu Laosan came over with a bowl of wine to offer a toast, and he nodded and accepted it.

The second son of Chiji Ridge raised his cup from afar, and he acknowledged him from a distance.

Among the group of masked people, the woman quietly looked up, locked eyes with him for a moment, and then quickly lowered her head.

He did not move.

The colorful flames were still bursting, the drums were still sounding, and the cheering continued.

He stood there like a post driven into the earth, steady and unshakable.

The mountain breeze from afar swept across the city towers, blowing a strand of silver hair on his forehead.

He suddenly raised his hand, pointing at the last firework bursting in the sky, his voice not high, yet clearly reaching everyone's ears:

"Do you see that red one?"

"That is a flower blooming in front of my mother's grave."

"She said, as long as I am still standing, the Chen Family will always have light."