Tianren couldn't contain his excitement. His fingers twitched with barely restrained anticipation, and he stepped forward, voice raised, eyes gleaming. "Then don't play games this time and speak clearly, Xie."
Zheng Xie, however, only chuckled in return, entirely unfazed by his father's outburst. He began to stroll slowly in circles, hands clasped behind his back like a scholar performing before an audience rather than a son reporting to his family. His every movement was relaxed, unhurried, even as a devilish grin played on his lips.
"Father, what's the hurry?" he said with deliberate slowness. "It's not as if the Calm Pill Pavilion will crumble the moment I open my mouth. Patience is a virtue, they say."
Tianren's eyes narrowed. "Zheng. Xie."
The name alone carried such weight that Xie instinctively stopped in his tracks. He turned to face his father fully—and instantly gulped when he saw the man's cold, penetrating stare.
That was the look. The one that made sect elders shut up mid-lecture. The look that could send even rogue cultivators into hiding.
"Okay, okay!" Xie raised both hands in mock surrender, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "Don't stare at me like that, Father. You know I'm terribly fragile and easily frightened. A single harsh gaze, and I might wither into dust."
The siblings all rolled their eyes in unison.
Yanyue muttered, "Fragile, he says. I didn't know brother Xie could make jokes like that."
Baotong snorted, but said nothing. Even Shuheng let out a sigh that was half annoyance, half amusement.
Zheng Xie noticed all of it, of course. But for once, he chose not to poke at them. That could wait.
Instead, he resumed in a more serious tone. "Now then… Father, you once voiced your concern regarding the Calm Pill Pavilion. Their sudden generosity, their low-priced pills, their so-called goodwill… It made them increasingly popular across the Central Continent."
Tianren folded his arms, his expression unreadable now. "I remember. But don't pretend that wasn't your idea. You were the one who first whispered about monopolistic risks and cultivation dependency. Don't act cheeky now, brat."
Zheng Xie's grin widened. "Me? Planting seeds of paranoia? Father, I would never."
"Xie."
"Fine, fine. You got me." He waved dismissively, the grin slipping away. "But I've discovered something critical. My information network confirmed that those famed pills—their so-called Sky Assimilation Pills—they're not what they claim to be."
He paused for dramatic effect. The family leaned in, just slightly. Even the wind seemed to hush for the revelation.
"They're actually Spirit-Seizing Pills."
A collective intake of breath followed.
Zheng Xie didn't stop. "Yes, they boost cultivation speed. But… continued usage has side effects. Severe ones. Over time, the pills cause minor soul fractures. In some cases, complete Qi deviation, shattering of the dantian, collapse of meridians… even death."
Fairy Xiu covered her mouth with her sleeve, eyes narrowing in disbelief. Baotong frowned. Yanyue looked horrified.
Shuheng, however, was calm. Too calm.
"This is verified?" he asked, voice low. "You're absolutely certain?"
Zheng Xie nodded. "Tested. Confirmed. Cross-referenced. The Pavilion's rise wasn't due to goodwill—it was careful manipulation. They're creating dependents. Cultivators who'll fall apart without their pills. And when they collapse, they'll have no choice but to continue buying… or die."
A heavy silence settled over the courtyard.
"And," Zheng Xie added, "I would like to have permission to personally handle this matter. No guards, no help. Just me."
Fairy Xiu's eyes widened. "Alone?"
Shuheng immediately stepped in. "That's dangerous. Too dangerous. We don't know how deep their roots run. If they target you—"
"They won't."
Shuheng scowled. "You don't know that."
Zheng Xie shook his head. "Elder brother, I appreciate your concern, truly. But this must be done alone. No guards, no titles, no visible strength. I want to infiltrate, dismantle, and take control from within. Quietly, without raising alarm. Only that way can we ensure our advantage."
Everyone now turned to Tianren, who remained quiet throughout. His expression was unreadable.
Seconds passed.
Then, the patriarch let out a slow sigh… and smiled.
A real smile.
"Very well," he said. "You have my permission. Handle it as you see fit."
The siblings all looked visibly shocked. Except Baotong—who looked more like he was barely containing excitement.
"But," Tianren continued, narrowing his eyes slightly, "I know you too well, boy. You don't just want to act like a hero. You're after a reward, aren't you?"
Zheng Xie's expression shifted as if he had been caught stealing from the kitchen.
"Heh… Well, Father, you know me. I believe in balance. Good work deserves… proper compensation."
"And that reward…" Tianren gestured vaguely. "Is something your mother and I have already spoken of?"
"Exactly," Zheng Xie replied with a smug nod. "You know me too well."
The siblings looked at one another, visibly confused. Yanyue raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what reward? What are you two talking about?"
Tianren groaned. "He wants to marry the Ling family girl."
Fairy Xiu let out a tired sigh. "Of course he does."
Zheng Xie beamed. "I always keep my eyes on the prize."
Baotong muttered under his breath, "More like eyes on the girl."
Yanyue pouted. "He's getting married before me?! That's not fair."
Shuheng, ever the calm one, simply gave Xie a nod. "If that's what you want… then don't die. And don't make us come bail you out."
Zheng Xie raised a hand to the air dramatically. "Death cannot claim me. Not until I claim her first!"
Tianren massaged his temples.
Fairy Xiu shook her head.
And yet—despite the chaos, despite the annoyance, and despite the ever-present worry—none of them could hide the pride in their eyes.
Tianren let out a long, drawn-out sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Tell me, Xie," he said finally, his voice quieter, steadier, "is the entire Calm Pill Pavilion involved in this… or just a few rogue members? I've known their Patriarch, Qi Fan, for over four decades. I don't believe he's the type to stoop to such vile methods. He's an old alchemist through and through, too honorable to condone soul-breaking poison."
Xie's grin faded like a mask slipping off. The casual mischief he wore so easily crumbled into something colder—sharper. He stood still now, posture straight, tone devoid of theatrics.
"You're right, Father," he said, his voice edged with something grim. "The old man isn't involved. Qi Fan is clean. In fact, I doubt he even knows what's happening under his nose. He's focused on legacy and peace, not politics and corruption."
Xie took a deep breath, his next words landing like stones.
"It's the elders. They've quietly taken over much of the Pavilion's operations. Especially one man—Main Elder Lian Zhen. He's the true architect behind the Spirit-Seizing Pills. All of it—production, distribution, pricing—leads back to him. He's been doing this in secret for years, likely under the guise of refining alchemical methods. I wouldn't be surprised if he plans to usurp Qi Fan soon."
Tianren nodded, slowly taking it all in. The name Lian Zhen sparked something in his eyes—a glint of recollection, followed by simmering disdain. "Lian Zhen… that greedy bastard always struck me as too ambitious for his rank."
He took another breath and exhaled the tension.
"If that's how things stand, then I trust you'll act wisely. Do your work thoroughly, but…" He met Xie's gaze, his expression softening slightly. "Don't tarnish Qi Fan's name if you can help it. He's an old friend. Spare him public shame, if it can be avoided. Everything else… you have full permission."
A wicked grin slowly curled on Zheng Xie's lips, devilish in its confidence.
"As you wish, Father," he said with mock humility. "But I make no promises. If things don't go according to plan, I'll resort to the worst methods I can think of."
Baotong groaned aloud and rolled his eyes. "Spoken like a true villain. He's already doing the worst from the beginning." He nudged Yanyue with his elbow, smirking. "How much are you betting, sister?"
But to his surprise, Yanyue wasn't even paying attention. Her gaze was distant, brows furrowed, and—most alarmingly—she was gnawing on her fingernails like a nervous rabbit.
"Oi." Baotong swatted her hand away with the air of a grumpy older brother. "Show some manners, will you? Why are you chewing your nails like a starving beggar?"
Yanyue recoiled, puffing out her cheeks with exaggerated innocence. "Hmph! It's not fair! I wanted to get married first! Why does he get to do it before me?"
Baotong blinked. "Wait… are you serious?"
She crossed her arms and looked away dramatically.
"You're not even the eldest, you brat," Baotong said with exasperation, rubbing his temples. "You're the youngest of all of us! Why on earth would you be the first to get married?"
Yanyue's head snapped around. "Then why is he getting married first? He's only number two!"
Baotong smirked, quick to fire back. "Then shouldn't Brother Shuheng be mad, not you?"
That finally made Yanyue pause. Her mouth fell slightly open as if the truth had just dawned on her. She slowly turned her head toward her eldest brother, who had remained quiet through the exchange.
"Wait… yeah, you're right!" she gasped. "Brother Shuheng should be angry!"
Shuheng stood calmly closer to Tianren. He raised a brow but said nothing, clearly unbothered.
Just as the bickering was reaching its peak, Tianren's voice cut through the room like a blade through silk.
"That's enough," he said firmly. "The night grows late. Go to your chambers and rest."
The command settled over them, and one by one, the siblings fell silent.
But then Tianren turned to Yanyue with a strangely thoughtful expression.
"Tell me, Yanyue. Do you have someone you admire?"
Yanyue froze as if struck by lightning. Her whole body went stiff, eyes wide like she'd been caught stealing spirit fruits from the kitchen.
"I—I…" Her voice caught in her throat. "N-No…"
Tianren tilted his head, studying her with that same calm scrutiny. "Then why be upset over your brother's marriage? Even Shuheng hasn't said a word, and he's the eldest."
Yanyue opened her mouth, then closed it. Even she didn't have an answer. Perhaps it wasn't about marriage at all. Perhaps it was just frustration. At Xie always teasing her. At always being the youngest, always one step behind.
She looked down at her lap, unable to answer.
Zheng Xie chuckled and stepped forward, clapping her gently on the shoulder.
"Father, leave her be. She's still a child," he said, though a mischievous glint remained in his eye. "And besides, Father—I had another question. How many days remain until Brother Shuheng's official ceremony as the Young Patriarch?"
It was Fairy Xiu who answered, her voice soft but clear.
"Just a few weeks," she said. "Preparations are still underway. And on that day, we'll also announce your marriage. How does that sound?"
Zheng Xie's smile returned in full bloom. "Perfect, Mother. Couldn't ask for a better day."
Fairy Xiu nodded, then turned away, joining her husband. The two parents exited gracefully, leaving the courtyard one step at a time.
One by one, the siblings followed suit.
Shuheng gave a silent nod and vanished into the night like a shadow.
Baotong stretched and mumbled something about wanting a good night's sleep.
Yanyue lingered for a moment longer, then shuffled off, still pouting, but no longer chewing her nails.
As the courtyard emptied, Zheng Xie stood there alone for a moment, gazing at the moonlight spilling across the tiles. The smile remained on his face, but his eyes—those eyes—had grown sharp again.
His expression returned to its original form—cold, expressionless, and utterly detached. The spark of familial warmth he'd worn like a mask had long since flickered out.
In its place stood Zheng Xie, not the playful younger brother or doting son—but the calculating architect of a grander scheme.
He stood still for a moment, the moon casting long shadows over his face, eyes dim with something deeper than resentment.
'Father… I wonder what your expression would be if you knew the truth. That it was me who guided Lian Zhen and the other elders. Me, who fed them resources, blueprints, and the rarest of materials. Me, who helped elevate the Calm Pill Pavilion into a position of power from behind the curtains. And now… it's time to harvest my investment—a thousandfold.'
Unbeknownst to the family he so lovingly obeyed, and to the Pavilion that proudly boasted alchemical supremacy, the truth was this:
Lian Zhen's ability to concoct such sinister pills stemmed not from brilliance—but from the constant surplus of failed pill byproducts and resources, provided intentionally.
Under Zheng Xie's guidance, Lian Zhen had been instructed to prioritize mass production, funneling resources to create batches of half-successful, half-tainted pills.
This influx of supplies—failed pills containing spiritual impurities—became the foundation for experimenting with the forbidden: the Spirit-Seizing Pill.
Ironically, the Spirit-Seizing Pill wasn't even the Pavilion's mainline product. It wasn't sold en masse—just once or twice, here and there. Enough to avoid pattern recognition.
Lian Zhen had begun by secretly mixing a few with batches of authentic recovery pills, claiming it was merely a new refinement method.
A gamble. And a dangerous one.
But the reason he had dared take that gamble… was because of Zheng Xie.
It had always been Lian Zhen's dream to make the sinister pill and to perfect it. And It was Xie who whispered into his ears, who stoked his greed and stifled his doubts. It was Xie who smiled like a friend and handed him both the match and the oil.
And now, as the flames licked higher, Zheng Xie stood ready with evidence, records, samples—enough to crush the Pavilion in a single night. He could cut off their supply. Leak internal documents. Reveal the 'accidents.' Burn it all down.
But he wasn't quite done yet.
'Qi Fan,' he thought, closing his eyes briefly, 'I do hope you are as gentle and naïve as they say. Because if not... I'll have to make an example of you too.'
With a long sigh, he turned and walked back to his chamber. The night air was cool, but not enough to settle the heat inside him. The next few days would be a storm of arrangements, lies, and perfect timing. He needed rest.
…
Meanwhile, in the Elite Court of the Seven Strike Martial Sect…
Nestled among quiet trees and half-moon shadows was a modest cottage, far removed from the clang of weapons and the shouting of disciples. It was here that a lone figure stood, leaning against a wooden window frame.
Silver-white hair shimmered under the moonlight, cascading like silk over the shoulders of the girl within. Her eyes, an impossibly deep ocean blue, reflected the night sky above. There was something unearthly about her—something too refined, too quiet for this mortal world.
She was Ling Xue, the only daughter of the Ling family.
A woman who many called a fairy.
Though her clan estate lay nearly 700 km from the sect, she rarely visited it. The distance was just one reason. The real truth was simpler—she didn't like it there. Not anymore.
Tonight, her body was tired after a full day of martial cultivation—repeating strike forms until her muscles screamed, absorbing Qi until her meridians throbbed. Her limbs ached, her bones buzzed, but her mind sought peace.
So she stood at her window, watching the moon.
Still. Silent.
Until a bush rustled below.
Her hand moved before her thoughts caught up. A soft hum of energy vibrated in the air as a sword—long, curved, and polished to a gleam—hovered beside her shoulder, imbued with condensed Qi.
Her voice was ice.
"Show yourself."
The bush rustled again, and then—slowly, awkwardly—a man emerged.
He had a medium build, black hair in disarray, and eyes that might've once shone with confidence. Now, they were dull and wild. His clothes were torn and stained, like he'd traveled across mountains without rest.
"Wu Zhu?" Ling Xue's brow arched. "What happened to you? You look like you lost a fight with a rabid boar."
Internally she smiled. 'He is alive…'
She didn't lower the sword.
Wu Zhu stumbled closer, wheezing slightly. "Miss Xue… I came to warn you. About him. The one pursuing you."
He paused to catch his breath.
"That demon… Zheng Xie."
Her blade didn't move, but her heart did.
His name.
It echoed inside her, not with dread—but something softer. Bittersweet. An emotion she hated.
Zheng Xie.
The boy with a devil's eyes and a smile like spring rain.
She didn't hate him. No, far from it. There was fondness there—buried under layers of fear and regret. But she couldn't allow herself to feel more than that. Couldn't allow herself to want him.
Because he came from the Zheng Clan, proud and righteous.
And her clan?
Her family cultivated in secret the forbidden path of the soul. Had it not been for the ancestral soul manual hidden in their archives, the Ling clan would have been annihilated by the Zhengs long ago. They had masked their lineage well. But masks only held for so long.
If Zheng Xie ever found out...
She shook her head.
"I don't need protection from him," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Wu Zhu frowned. "Miss Xue… he's not who you think he is."
"Neither am I," she replied quietly, before stepping back from the window and allowing the moonlight to disappear behind her silhouette.
The sword fell still, hovering at her side, not gone—but dormant.
Just like her feelings.