A Broken Father

Close to the twins, a boy sat silently cultivating. It was none other than Jiang Liechen. Beads of sweat streamed down his forehead as he struggled, his expression tense and anxious.

"Why… why can't I refine any more Qi?" he thought bitterly.

He had been trying for days with no success. At first, he'd noticed his progress slowing down—something unusual even for someone with his rank of talent. Then, weeks ago, it grew worse. His cultivation speed dropped so drastically, it was as if he was weaker than a Rank 1.

Shortly after that, the real problem revealed itself: he could no longer refine the natural Qi of the world.

And without that, he couldn't increase the Qi inside his dantian. Without that, he couldn't break through to the next stage.

"Just why is this happening…?"

He clenched his fists. He didn't know what to do—but one thing was certain: he wasn't going to tell anyone. If the others found out he couldn't cultivate anymore, his dream of joining the VenomHeart Sect would vanish. They wouldn't accept someone stuck at the high stage of Rank 1, especially not someone who couldn't advance.

No. He wouldn't risk it.

"I'll find something… I must solve this," he thought, jaw tightening as he forced himself to sit still—still sweating, still struggling, still hiding the truth.

Little did he know, he wasn't the only one suffering from that issue. Every single cultivator who had consumed the Crimson Ruby Elixir was facing the same fate.

Somewhere along a dusty road, Lu Heng, Jun Fen, and Kui Jinhu were running together toward Darkveil Crossing, their destination a shop owned by the Jiang Clan. Upon arrival, they moved swiftly, wasting no time as they entered.

Inside, a man glanced up—and the moment his eyes landed on Lu Heng, his face went pale.

"What… what the hell is he doing here?" the man muttered under his breath, fear creeping into his voice. "Is he planning to attack in broad daylight? Does he not fear the Empire's repercussions for disobeying their laws?"

Lu Heng smiled coldly as he stepped forward, casually yet deliberately approaching the frightened man.

"No need to piss your pants, old man. I'm here to talk," he said, brushing past him and heading straight toward a side room that clearly served as the shop's main office.

The old man, trembling but with no choice, followed him inside.

Lu Heng sat down without waiting for permission and spoke directly.

"I'm here to deliver a message for your patriarch. You'll tell him that I request a meeting with one of his elders—here, in this city—where we will discuss our conflict. If he doesn't send someone today, then we'll consider it an invitation to war. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, I'll… I'll make sure to deliver this to him," the old man stammered.

"Good."

Lu Heng rose to his feet and left the room with the two instructors at his side. As they walked out of the shop, a faint smile played on his lips.

"Let's see what your choice will be, Jiang Wuyu. If you're smart, you'll make a deal with us and get yourself a share of the crystals. If not, you'll attack us and hope the Empire sides with you. And while you'll most likely gain nothing, at least you'll make sure we walk away with nothing too."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"So what will it be? We both take something… or we both leave empty-handed, and someone else walks away with their pockets full. I just hope you pick the first choice. Otherwise…"

A sharp glint flickered in his gaze—cold, calculating, and cruel.

"…my plans will have to accelerate."

Time passed, and soon the messenger reached Jiang Wuyu.

"So that's what they told you? And you're also saying Lu Heng, along with two other instructors, is at Darkveil Crossing right now?" Wuyu asked, his eyes narrowing.

The man nodded.

Wuyu suddenly let out a quiet laugh—low, cold, and sharp. "Good. Then we'll march directly toward the mine."

He turned toward the messenger. "As for you… go back and tell them I agree. But say I'm currently unavailable and need a few hours before I can meet them to form the oath. Be sure to stress the oath—make it sound like we truly intend to negotiate."

The messenger hesitated but then nodded.

What Lu Heng didn't know was that Jiang Wuyu wasn't after the mine at all. That was why he never even considered Wuyu would dare attack outright or ignore the offer. To him, there was no grudge between them. Everything up to now had seemed like a standard power struggle over resources. Lu Heng believed Wuyu would rather share the mine than provoke a conflict that might risk the Empire's intervention.

But even he, for all his cunning, had failed to grasp one thing.

This wasn't about the mine.

It never was.

Even the sharpest blade falters when it cuts in the wrong direction.

Back at the Jiang Clan, Jiang Wuyu stood tall in his battle attire—an imposing violet robe lined with black streaks. Strapped to his back was a massive saber, nearly the height of a grown man, its handle wrapped in dark silk, its blade humming faintly with suppressed Qi. At his full height of nearly two meters, he looked like a war lord ready to descend into carnage.

His heavy steps echoed through the quiet corridor as he approached the last door at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway. He stopped before it, exhaled, and knocked gently.

"Son, it's me."

The door creaked open as he stepped inside.

Jiang Zhenyu lay on a bed beside a flickering lamp. His skin was pale, almost grey, and his eyes were half-lidded, distant—locked in some empty place between memory and pain. He turned his head slowly toward his father, but said nothing.

He hadn't spoken in months.

Jiang Wuyu walked to his bedside and sat down without a word. His hand reached forward, trembling slightly, and brushed through his son's hair with a rare tenderness. The boy didn't flinch—he no longer had the strength to.

"Zhenyu…" Wuyu said softly. "Please… just hold on a little longer. I'm close. Just one more week. That's all I need. One week, and I'll have everything to restore your body. I promise."

His voice cracked, his breath shaking.

"Just wait for me, son. Please… forget everything that happened. and please for yourself for me stay strong just a little longer and i will make sure everything is alright and back to what it used to be."

For once, the cruel and calculating patriarch of the Jiang Clan didn't look like a powerful cultivator.

He looked like a father—broken, desperate, and clinging to hope that was slipping through his fingers.

He knew Zhenyu was dying. The boy's voice had been stolen not just by trauma, but by the excruciating aftermath of Jiang Jian's poison. Though the venom itself had long since been neutralized, its legacy remained. His dantian was cracked, his meridians shredded, his organs barely functioning. Even breathing hurt. He could no longer cultivate. He could barely move.

The only thing keeping him alive… was his father's will.

Jiang Wuyu had poured wealth, rare materials, and forbidden techniques into preserving that fading spark of life. Every day, every hour, he fought a losing battle against time and despair.

And now, with the demonic beasts corpse and the crimson rubies, he saw one final chance.

He stood up slowly, his hand lingering on his son's head he said "I am always here zhenyu no matter how long it takes for you to heal I am always here ."

Wuyu said his goodbyes to his son and left the room. As he walked through the silent corridor, the caring, worried, broken expression of a father shattered like brittle porcelain. What emerged beneath was the face of something far more dangerous. His eyes darkened, his steps grew heavy with intent, and the fury buried deep within him bled through every breath.

"Even if the Empire itself comes," he muttered under his breath, "I will slaughter anyone in my path. Not even the Emperor will stop me from getting my son back."

He pushed open the great doors and stepped into the Jiang Clan's main courtyard, where over a hundred armored clansmen stood assembled. The moment they saw him, silence fell. The air grew tense, thick with anticipation. Wuyu's figure was like a looming storm, and in his hand he held the massive saber that had long been the symbol of his brutality.

With a single motion, he raised the blade high into the sky.

"WE WILL MARCH FORWARD AND ANNIHILATE THE STONE PATH HALL IN REVENGE FOR OUR CLANSMEN LOST—IN REVENGE FOR THE FAMILIES THAT WERE KILLED BY THEM!"

A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd as swords, halberds, and bows were raised. War cries filled the air like wildfire—rage and grief blending into one.

But beneath this grand call to vengeance, a darker truth festered.

Revenge? For what?

In truth, the Stone Path Hall had not directly harmed the families of the Jiang Clansman. But Wuyu, like Lu Heng, knew the power of lies wrapped in the cloth of grief. Lu Heng had already twisted the narrative, spreading false stories to keep his students fighting. So why wouldn't Wuyu do the same?

He needed anger. He needed blood. All it took was planting a few forged documents, whispering a few names, and pointing grieving men toward a convenient enemy. When someone has lost everything, they don't ask for proof—they ask for someone to blame.

And if their leader—the man who raised them, protected them, bled for them—said the Stone Path Hall was the enemy?

Then that became truth.

In the end, Jiang Wuyu proved himself no less a calculating serpent than Lu Heng. Only this serpent had nothing left to lose.