The Fang Family Head's chamber was unusually silent.
The dim lamp placed near the desk struggled weakly against the darkness, its light failing to reach the far end of the room. Beyond that boundary—where the glow died completely—there existed a stretch of absolute shadow, thick and unmoving, as if it did not belong to the same space.
From within that darkness, a figure stood.
No footsteps echoed.
No breath could be heard.
The figure neither advanced nor retreated, yet its presence weighed heavily on the room, pressing down like an unseen hand. Even if Fang Lin or Wei Shun were standing there, they would not have been able to recognize who—or what—it was.
The darkness swallowed every outline, every feature, leaving behind only a vague humanoid silhouette.
It was as though the shadows themselves had taken shape.
The lamp flickered once.
For a brief instant, the darkness seemed to ripple—
and then returned to stillness, as if nothing had ever been there.
But one thing was certain.
That figure had been standing there long before anyone noticed…
and it had no intention of being seen yet.
Fang Qinxian's gaze remained fixed on the darkness as he spoke coldly,
"Do you need an invitation to come here now?"
There was a brief pause.
Then, slowly, the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the reach of the lamp's dim light.
Golden-blond hair caught the glow first, followed by a white robe—once elegant, now stained and disordered. The person was none other than Fang Qing.
The wounds he had suffered earlier were already gone, completely healed by a high-quality pill. Not even a scar remained on his body. Yet his appearance told a different story—his clothes were dirty, creased, and carried the faint smell of confinement, as if he had been dragged through disgrace itself.
Without hesitation, Fang Qing walked straight up to Fang Qinxian and stopped before him.
The distance between father and son was barely a few steps, yet it felt far greater.
Fang Qinxian looked at him silently, his expression unreadable, irritation flickering deep within his eyes. Fang Qing, on the other hand, stood upright, his face calm but stiff, as though he was forcing himself not to lower his head.
The lamp crackled softly.
In that fragile light, the contrast was clear—
one was the Family Head, burdened with authority and ambition,
the other a son who had crossed a line that could never be fully erased.
And between them, unspoken tension filled the room like stagnant air, waiting for the first word to shatter it.
Fang Qinxian rose slowly from his seat.
Each step he took toward Fang Qing felt deliberate, heavy, as if the air itself bent to his will. He stopped right in front of him, then placed both hands firmly on Fang Qing's shoulders.
The pressure came instantly—deep, suffocating, merciless.
With a cold, cutting voice, Fang Qinxian spoke,
"Do you still have the courage to look me in the eyes?"
The force intensified.
"To me, you are nothing more than leftover residue—something that should have been thrown away long ago."
Fang Qing's legs trembled violently.
Unable to withstand the crushing pressure, he collapsed to his knees, the stone floor cracking faintly beneath him. Sweat poured down his face as he clenched his teeth, desperately trying to endure, desperately refusing to scream.
Fang Qinxian looked down at him without a trace of sympathy.
"Even Fang Lin is better than you," he continued, his tone calm yet devastating.
"I can no longer even bring myself to compare the two of you."
His grip tightened just a little more.
"You are truly worthless now."
Then, leaning closer, Fang Qinxian stared straight into Fang Qing's eyes and asked,
"Tell me—what were you thinking when you tried to kill him?"
Silence.
Only Fang Qing's ragged breathing filled the room.
Fang Qinxian's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, each word sharp enough to cut flesh,
"From this day onward, if you even think of laying a hand on Fang Lin again…"
His gaze hardened completely.
"And if that thought ever reaches my ears—
I will forget that you were ever my son."
The pressure vanished suddenly.
Fang Qing remained kneeling on the floor, drenched in sweat, his shoulders shaking—not from pain alone, but from the absolute terror carved into his soul.
Above him, the lamp flickered.
Fang Qing spoke at last.
His voice was shattered, hoarse, barely holding together.
"But… wasn't it you—and the entire family—who once saw him as trash? As something useless?"
Fang Qinxian's eyes narrowed.
In the next instant, he grabbed Fang Qing by the hair and yanked his head upward, forcing him to meet his gaze.
Their eyes locked—one trembling, the other cold and immovable.
"Yes," Fang Qinxian said calmly.
"You are right about that."
Fang Qing's breath caught.
"Fang Lin was nothing before."
His grip tightened.
"But now," Fang Qinxian continued, his voice growing colder, heavier,
"he has changed."
He leaned closer, every word striking like a hammer.
"Changed so much that even elders would not dare stand in front of him."
Fang Qing's pupils shook.
"If you still believe that simply being the son of the Fang family head makes you important…"
Fang Qinxian sneered faintly.
"Then forget that illusion right now."
He released Fang Qing and straightened.
"If you want to have a place in the Fang family," he said flatly,
"do not stand in Fang Lin's path."
Then came the final blow.
"And tomorrow," Fang Qinxian added, turning his back,
"you will do exactly as he instructed today."
His steps were unhurried as he returned to his reclined chair.
"Because," he said as he sat down, his eyes closing slowly,
"the time has finally come for the Fang family to move forward."
The lamp flickered softly.
Fang Qing remained kneeling on the floor—
not as the young master of the Fang family, but as someone who had just realized that the future no longer belonged to him.
************
The corridor was narrow and dim, its stone floor worn smooth by countless footsteps.
Two figures walked side by side toward a small hall at the far end.
One was a young girl. A strip of cloth was tightly wrapped around her forehead, already darkened by dried blood. In this place, servants were never given pills—no matter how bad their condition was. Pain was something they were expected to endure in silence.
In the martial world, those who fail to awaken primal essence are no different from mortals.
They cannot cultivate.
They cannot step onto the path of power.
Such people live their entire lives bound by flesh and time, aging, weakening, and eventually disappearing without leaving a trace. In this world, their worth is measured as nothing—no status, no authority, no voice.
Even if one were born as the son or daughter of a family head, without cultivation, that bloodline meant little.
Because here, cultivation is everything.
Those unable to cultivate were regarded much like the lowest classes on Earth—poor, uneducated, and easily discarded. No one would waste precious pills or artifacts on them. Spiritual medicine was reserved for those who could return value to the clan.
For mortals, healing came only from what nature offered—crude herbs, bitter roots, and slow remedies that barely kept them alive. Pain was endured, not treated. Survival was earned, not guaranteed.
In the eyes of cultivators, such people were not failures.
They were simply… irrelevant.
And in a world ruled by strength, irrelevance was the cruelest fate of all.
Behind her walked a small boy.
Both of his hands clutched a sword far too heavy for his body. The blade dragged slightly as he walked, its weight forcing his arms to tremble.
When they reached the gate, the girl suddenly turned back.
She grabbed the sword from his hands and said sharply,
"Didn't you hear what Fang Lin said earlier?"
The boy still held onto the hilt weakly.
Irritation flashed across the girl's face.
"Are you not going to listen to your big brother's words?"
At that, the boy's grip loosened.
The girl pulled the sword free and held it herself. She glanced at the boy one last time, her gaze firm but not unkind.
"Now go inside this hall," she said.
"Your lineage members are in there."
The boy hesitated for a moment—then nodded and stepped toward the entrance, disappearing into the dim light beyond the gate.
Inside the hall that the boy had entered—Vren—there was nothing noble or extravagant.
The walls were plain, lit only by evenly spaced spirit lamps that cast a soft, pale glow. No carvings, no banners, no symbols of status. On one side of the hall, four thick blankets were spread directly across the cold stone floor. For those of the lineage who spent most of their lives sleeping on forest ground or rocky terrain, this was already considered a luxury prepared for them.
On the opposite side sat an old man on a simple wooden chair. His back was straight despite his age, and behind him stood two figures like silent shadows—guards who neither spoke nor moved. He was Rukhan Laenige, the head of the lineage, accompanied by its elders.
Their gazes were fixed firmly on the gate, the moment they sensed someone approaching.
As soon as Vren stepped inside, his eyes lit up.
He broke into a run and threw himself into his father's arms.
Rukhan gently embraced him, his rough hand resting protectively on the boy's back as he asked in a low, concerned voice,
"Did you get hurt anywhere? I heard there was an attack on Young Lord Fang Lin."
Vren shook his head quickly.
"No, Father. I wasn't hurt at all. In fact… the attackers were defeated."
As he spoke, a thought crossed kael rukhan mind, quiet and awed.
It seems that artifact really did its job.
Vren looked up and asked softly,
"Father… how long are we going to stay here?"
Kael Rukhan gently ruffled his hair, his expression warm as he replied,
"Did you not like staying here? Especially staying with your new big brother?"
Vren met his father's eyes and shook his head quickly.
"No, I like it here. I want to stay with big brother. He's very kind. Today, he even—"
His words suddenly stopped.
A brief flashback surfaced in his mind.
'Don't tell anyone about the sword,' his big brother's voice echoed clearly.
Kael noticed the sudden silence and frowned slightly.
"What is it, Vren? What did your brother give you today?"
Vren reacted immediately, almost too quickly.
"Oh! I remembered. He gave me red candy-like things. They tasted really good."
Kael stared at him for a moment, then laughed softly.
"Oh? So you ate that."
His tone was light, but his eyes held a trace of thought.
"Well," Kael continued, "you can stay with your big brother until the oath ritual between our lineage and the Fang family is completed. After that…"
His voice slowed.
"…your big brother will leave for the sect to cultivate."
Vren's hands tightened unconsciously.
He didn't fully understand what cultivation meant yet—but for some reason, the word leave made his chest feel a little tight.