Thunder Weeps, Heaven Falls(Léi Qì Tiān Zhuì)

Chapter 3: Dinner of Masks

The manor’s dining hall was a silent, glowing chamber of stone and shadow. Lanterns hung like stars from carved wooden beams, their soft light dancing across the storm-patterned walls. A long jade table stretched the length of the room, set with fine porcelain and silver chopsticks.

Tiān Lán entered alone, dressed in a pale blue silk robe stitched with silver clouds. His steps were slow but steady—like the rain outside, soft but relentless.

At the far end of the table stood Lady Ruo Yin, his new mother. She rose the moment he entered, her expression blooming into warmth.

“You came,” she said, voice like frost melting in spring. “That’s good. Are you feeling better, my son?”

Tiān Lán offered a light bow. “Yes, Mother. Thank you for your concern.”

Her eyes softened further. She walked toward him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. The warmth was real. And yet… Tiān Lán could feel the faint trembling in her fingers, the fear she tried to hide. Not fear of him—fear for him.

She remembered the old Tiān Lán. The sickly one.

“Come, sit beside me.”

As he moved to take his seat, the two other figures at the table watched him with cool, unreadable expressions.

Lei Xuan, the eldest brother, lounged casually, one elbow on the table. Seventeen, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in deep purple with thundercloud patterns. A practiced smirk played on his lips.

“Well, well. The ghost boy joins us after all.”

Lei Feng, second son, sat opposite. He was fifteen, slender and quiet, his eyes hidden behind long black lashes. He offered a nod—neither cold nor warm. Neutral. Calculating.

And at the head of the table sat Duke Lei Zhenhai.

The man looked like he was carved from iron. His long black hair streaked with silver, his jaw sharp, his eyes like twin bolts of lightning frozen in time. His gaze barely lingered on Tiān Lán.

“You’ve recovered,” he said, voice flat. “Good. Perhaps now you’ll stop wasting our physician’s time.”

Ruo Yin tensed beside Tiān Lán, but the boy merely bowed his head again, calm and unreadable.

“I won’t waste anything ever again, Father.”

The Duke blinked—just once—but said nothing more.

Dishes were brought in by servants, led by Xiao Yu, who placed the first bowl of misty lotus broth before Tiān Lán. She bowed slightly deeper than usual, her hands trembling. Something about him had changed. Something even the Duke hadn’t seen.

As dinner progressed, Tiān Lán spoke little. He listened.

Lei Xuan bragged about sword technique rankings at Thunderblade Pavilion. Lei Feng corrected him once, coolly citing a recent duel in the city. The Duke nodded at both, but rarely looked at Tiān Lán.

Only Ruo Yin tried to pull him into the conversation.

“Lán’er,” she said gently, “I’ve asked the alchemists to prepare some strengthening pills for your bones. You’re still growing.”

Tiān Lán set down his cup slowly. “That won’t be necessary.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve already created something better,” he said quietly, reaching into his robe and sliding a small jade vial onto the table. “This is Lightning Root Essence. Brewed from the rain ginseng and storm lotus we grow on the east hill.”

Everyone stared.

Lei Feng leaned forward. “That’s… impossible. That method hasn’t worked for decades. It lacks a stabilizer.”

Tiān Lán looked at him calmly. “Only if you use fire to heat it. I used thunder Qi.”

Even Lei Xuan’s smile wavered.

Duke Zhenhai narrowed his eyes—but didn’t speak.

The rest of the meal passed in a tense silence. Ruo Yin looked between her sons with worry, sensing something invisible shifting beneath the surface.

Finally, dessert was brought in: a rare lotus nectar cake, Ruo Yin’s favorite treat.

“For you,” she said, smiling. “You used to love these.”

Tiān Lán looked at the delicate pastry, then up at her soft, expectant face. After a pause, he picked it up and took a small bite.

“It’s sweet,” he said. “Thank you, Mother.”

And then—

GONG.