In the dimly lit study, a silence settled over the room as the servant felt the sharp weight of Zhao Wu's gaze land upon him.
He had no choice but to rise.
The oppressive air, thick with tension, seemed to press down on his shoulders as he forced out a steady voice.
"Family Head, the old ancestor of the Luo Family… appears to be in excellent spirits. His condition is exceptionally good."
The words echoed in the quiet room.
"In excellent spirits?" Zhao Wu repeated slowly, his voice low and skeptical. "Exceptionally good condition?"
He leaned back into his seat, fingers tapping lightly on the lacquered armrest.
His brows furrowed, and he fell into a long silence.
Wang Kun's judgment had been confident. That ancient relic of the Luo Family should have barely half a month of life left. His body was already a crumbling shell—more bones than flesh, half-buried in the grave. Walking? That should've been impossible. Just lifting a teacup should require effort.
And yet…
He was walking through Qingshi Town?
Alive and alert, like a man decades younger?
Zhao Wu's fingers paused. His expression darkened.
Something was wrong.
"There are only two possibilities," he murmured to himself. "Either he's taken some kind of life-extending Spirit Pill…"
His voice grew colder.
"Or this is merely a final resurgence of vitality before death."
Of the two, the latter seemed far more likely. That burst of energy before the flame flickered out for good—it would explain the sudden brightness.
"It seems… the old thing's time truly is drawing to a close."
A slow, predatory smile crept onto Zhao Wu's face.
"When he dies, the tensions inside the Luo Family Ancestral Land will explode. Those internal divisions will tear them apart."
"And when that happens, the collapse of the Luo Family will only be a matter of time."
He stood abruptly, the long folds of his robe sweeping the floor.
"Then, at long last, the Zhao Family of Qingshi Town will rise again."
With a flick of his sleeve, he waved off the attending servants.
"Leave us."
The doors closed behind them with a muted thud, leaving Zhao Wu and his son alone in the room.
The older man turned toward Zhao Qian.
"Have you thoroughly familiarized yourself with the locations and details of the qingstone veins currently held by the Luo Family?" His tone was sharp, clipped.
Zhao Qian hesitated for a heartbeat, then gave a small nod.
"I understand, Father. I've looked into it. I'm familiar with the general layout and quality grades."
There was a flicker of unease behind his eyes as he spoke.
Zhao Wu, who had long since stopped expecting brilliance from his only son, caught the hesitation immediately. He shifted his gaze slightly, letting it rest on the young man's face like a knife pressing into soft bark.
"You're uneasy," Zhao Wu said quietly, voice unreadable.
Zhao Qian blinked. "N-no, not at all, Father."
But the older man had already turned away.
He began to pace the room slowly, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Qingshi Town is known for producing qingstone—durable, resilient, and cheap."
His voice was calm, yet full of weight. A history lesson, perhaps, but one carved into his bones.
"Three hundred years ago, there were only three great families in this town."
"The Hu Family, the Jing Family… and our Zhao Family."
Zhao Wu's voice grew quieter, almost nostalgic—but there was steel beneath the words.
"The Hu Family controlled the marketplaces, monopolized trade routes, and wielded immense wealth."
"The Jing Family held the gambling dens. They employed the fiercest thugs, had the strongest fighting power."
"And our Zhao Family…"
He stopped pacing and turned to face Zhao Qian fully.
"We controlled every qingstone mine around Qingshi Town. The veins, the miners, the trade—everything."
"For a time, we were equals. No one family dominated over the others."
"But then came the outsider."
"The ancestor of the Luo Family."
Zhao Wu's eyes gleamed with cold fire.
"No one knows how he did it, or what methods he used—but in the blink of an eye, he unearthed qingstone mines no one had ever discovered."
"And he didn't stop there. The number of veins the Luo Family possessed grew steadily. First matching ours, then surpassing."
"In a matter of years, the control of the qingstone market slipped from our hands."
"And the pricing, once dictated solely by us…"
He clenched his fist.
"…was no longer ours to command."
"That outsider carved a bloody path into Qingshi Town with nothing but stone and steel."
"He bit off a piece of our Zhao Family's future—and made it the foundation of his clan's rise."
Zhao Qian stood in stunned silence.
He had never heard this before—not in this detail.
"Father…" he began hesitantly, "why have you never mentioned this to me until now?"
Zhao Wu began walking toward him, step by step.
Each movement was slow, measured—yet somehow full of quiet menace.
"What's the use of telling you something from over three hundred years ago?" he asked flatly.
Zhao Qian instinctively stepped back, trying to maintain distance. The air felt heavy between them.
"Then why are you telling me now?" he pressed, swallowing nervously.
Zhao Wu stopped.
He stared down at his son for a long moment. Disappointment etched every line of his face.
"Because now, it finally matters again."
"Fool!"
His voice cracked like a whip across the room.
Zhao Qian flinched, shoulders hunching instinctively.
"I don't care whether you already know the details of those qingstone veins or not," Zhao Wu growled.
"But starting today—you will memorize every last scrap of information."
"When that old relic from the Luo Family breathes his last, their internal factions will splinter."
"And that… will be our moment."
"You will lead our men. You will strike swiftly. And you will seize every one of those qingstone veins before the Luo Family can gather their wits."
He turned toward the doorway, seething.
"And if you fail…"
He left the sentence unfinished.
The silence that followed was more suffocating than shouting.
Zhao Wu slowly opened the door and stood there for a breath, his back still turned.
"Even if the Luo Family's strength remains intact," Zhao Qian ventured carefully, "won't they still be too powerful to defeat in one fell swoop?"
Zhao Wu didn't look back.
"You need only do as you're told."
And with that, he stepped out of the room, the door closing with a hollow click behind him.
…
Outside, Zhao Wu's expression twisted.
As the current Family Head of the Zhao Clan—a man feared for his intelligence, respected for his cunning—he had spent decades building strategies and navigating the treacherous currents of clan politics.
And yet…
How had he ended up with such a dim-witted son?
He rubbed his temples, trying to suppress the growing frustration coiling in his chest.
He knew he couldn't stay in that room any longer. If he did, he might just give himself a stroke out of sheer indignation.
As for the issue Zhao Qian raised—the Luo Family's strength?
Zhao Wu knew it better than anyone.
He had studied them longer than his son had been alive.
Yes, the Luo Family was strong. Unified, they would be difficult to face directly.
But unity was fragile.
And theirs was a house already cracking.
He smiled coldly to himself.
With that old man gone, the Luo Family's carefully maintained balance would shatter. Factions would rise. Greed, ambition, pride—they would consume them from within.
And among them…
That third son.
Simple-minded, strong, and impulsive. Obsessed with adventuring beyond the borders, he had little interest in politics or power. And yet he held sway over the most elite of their servants and guards.
He would be the key.
Strike through him, and the family's defenses would crumble.
…
Inside the study once more, Zhao Qian stood rooted in place. The silence that followed his father's departure felt like a reprieve.
He finally exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly.
There was no denying it—whenever his father was near, Zhao Qian felt like he was being crushed under the weight of a mountain.
Even breathing became difficult.
He ran a hand through his hair and muttered under his breath.
"Can't we just live in peace…"
"The four great families have coexisted for over three centuries."
He knew better than to voice his true feelings aloud, but in the privacy of the room, his thoughts spun freely.
"Is the Luo Family really that easy to handle?"
Something gnawed at him.
The image of Luo Changfeng returning with calm eyes and a clear spirit—that didn't look like a man nearing death. And the Luo Family had endured for centuries. Would they really crumble so easily?
Still, none of that would matter to his father.
Zhao Wu had made up his mind.
And Zhao Qian?
He had no choice but to follow.
A groan escaped him as he glanced toward the stack of documents on the table.
They detailed the various ore veins held by the Luo Family—locations, depths, output quality, troop placements.
"So much information…"
Memorizing it all was going to be an absolute nightmare.