Chapter 4: The Fall Of a Genius

Chapter 4: The Fall of a Genius.

The air grew heavier.

Whispers slithered through the crowd like venomous snakes, low and biting. Reverence once attached to the name Xiao Chen crumbled in an instant, replaced by ridicule too sharp to hide—though many still dared not raise their voices too loud under the gaze of the elders.

"Ridiculous…" one sneered beneath his breath, eyes cold with contempt. "The patriarch's own son, our family's brightest star… reduced to this?"

"Even the outer disciples… even they awakened mid-grade Mortal Spirits. Yet him… low-grade? What a joke."

"Tch… they said he'd awaken an Earth-Grade, maybe even Heaven-Grade spirit. So much for that. All that talent, wasted."

"Disgraceful… The Xiao Family's pride… nothing but garbage now."

Snickers erupted, quickly suppressed whenever a senior glanced their way. Yet no one could deny the bitter truth whispered through gritted teeth—Xiao Chen's fall from grace was absolute.

Among the sea of disciples, some gazes flickered with pity, others with glee, but most carried an unsettling glint—opportunism.

One younger disciple dared voice what many thought. "Even if his father is the patriarch… how long can he hold onto his position now?"

The words sent a ripple through the assembly. Even the older disciples exchanged tense looks, their lips thin, their jaws clenched.

Indeed… Xiao Chen's future—once a beacon of hope—was now a crumbling ruin.

Without a powerful martial spirit, his path forward was sealed. No matter his talent, no matter his past glories—this was a world where martial spirits reigned supreme.

At best, the Martial Master Realm.

Beyond that? A dream. Impossible.

The murmurs shifted—sharp words cutting through the air like blades. The crowd no longer even tried to hide the truth everyone now understood.

"If the patriarch is wise… he'll abandon him."

"He has to. If he clings to him now, the Xiao Family will sink with him."

"Xiao Han should be groomed instead. He has the talent… and now, a superior martial spirit. Our future is clear."

Across the courtyard, Xiao Han sat with arms crossed, posture lazy but eyes sharp—gleaming with quiet satisfaction.

His lips curled into a cold smirk.

Perfect…

The plan, years in the making, had fallen into place faster than he'd hoped.

He leaned back, letting the tide of ridicule flow around him, each word like a stepping stone toward his inevitable rise.

With Elder Feng's backing… he mused, eyes flickering toward the silent elder. The patriarch's seat… will soon be mine.

Among the elders, expressions darkened.

Elder Xiao Jian sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping with the weight of disappointment. "What a shame… he truly was our brightest star."

"Brightest?" Elder Xiao Mei whispered, brows furrowed as unease gnawed at her heart. Something was wrong. Why… does this feel off?

Her eyes drifted toward Xiao Hao—the patriarch, the father.

He sat motionless, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes—cold, hollow—remained fixed on his son's figure. His jaw worked, but no words came.

Memories flashed—Xiao Chen as a boy, fierce, unyielding, a talent unmatched. His comprehension surpassed all expectations. The pride of the family… his pride.

How could this happen…?

The crushing weight of helplessness bore down upon him.

He was the patriarch—but in this moment, powerless.

At the edge of the elder's platform, Elder Feng sat unmoving. His eyes half-lidded, mouth flat—but deep within, a smirk threatened to break free.

Victory was near.

And yet… amidst the swirling chaos, amidst the jeers and the judgment, one figure stood still.

Xiao Chen.

There was no rage upon his face, no shame, no sorrow. Only… silence.

Deep, immeasurable silence.

His dark eyes—like the depths of a vast sea—held none of the desperation the crowd expected. He stood there, facing the faint image of the spear-shaped martial spirit hovering behind him.

Then, slowly… he closed his eyes.

Elder Xiao Mei's heart skipped.

Why… why is he so calm?

Where others might have crumbled, broken beneath the weight of shattered futures—he stood tall. Unshaken. Like an immovable mountain.

The sneers grew louder.

The laughter grew crueler.

And yet… he did not break.

No words. No defense.

Xiao Chen merely turned.

With the world's scorn weighing upon him, he turned his back to it all. His steps were steady, his back straight, his gaze forward.

Indifferent.

As though none of it mattered.

One pair of amber eyes followed him—sharp, bright, filled with confusion.

Xiao Rongyu.

Her fists clenched as she watched him walk away.

Something… is wrong.

She bit her lip, a shiver running through her.

Ordinarily, after awakening a martial spirit at the peak stage of Martial Core Realm, a cultivator will directly breakthrough to the early stage of Martial Soul Realm. However, their aura will be unstable and their soul fragile at the moment. Even Xiao Han trembled when his own spirit manifested.

Yet Xiao Chen… was calm. Too calm.

His aura was steady—too steady.

This isn't the aura of someone who awakened a low-grade mortal spirit…

Her lips pressed together. A seed of doubt, of fear, bloomed in her chest.

What… is he hiding?

Even Xiao Hao saw it. But pride, fear, and the crushing weight of the family's expectations kept him still. Silent.

His son vanished from sight… and he said nothing.

---

The world fell away behind him.

The courtyard, the laughter, the jeers—all faded like distant echoes.

Xiao Chen's steps carried him through the winding paths, bamboo leaves rustling gently in the wind.

He reached his courtyard—a simple home, clean, disciplined. Built by his own hands.

The wooden door creaked softly as it closed behind him.

Silence.

Only the whisper of wind through the bamboo outside remained.

His gaze drifted toward the lone training dummy by the window—its surface marred by deep cracks, worn from countless hours of training.

For a long moment, he stood still.

Then, without a word, he moved.

Crossing the room, he knelt before an old, worn drawer—one few knew even existed.

His fingers brushed across the ancient wood. Reverent. Careful.

Then—he pulled it open.

Within lay a single tome, wrapped in layers of cloth. A relic of another time.

Xiao Chen unwrapped it slowly—revealing cracked leather, faded edges, and the heavy scent of age.

He placed a hand upon its cover.

And then… he breathed.

A stream of spiritual iQ flowed gently across the surface.

Buzz—

The book trembled.

Ancient patterns awoke—golden veins threading across the leather like divine arteries.

Light flickered.

And then, it appeared.

Golden characters, burning with celestial light:

"Holy Martial Scripture"

The name alone carried a weight vast as the heavens.

Knowledge lost to time. Power beyond imagining.

Xiao Chen stared at it, his eyes calm—but deep within, a storm raged.

They knew nothing.

Let them laugh.

Let them scorn.

He had waited long enough.

At last… it was time.