Time flowed swiftly, like water slipping between the fingers.
In the blink of an eye, another three days had passed.
Qingshi Town — Zhao Family Ancestral Land
Within a chamber dimly lit by filtered sunlight, the quiet rustle of paper echoed steadily.
Zhao Wu, the current Head of the Zhao Family, sat upright in the seat of honor. His posture was composed, his face calm, though a faint weariness lingered in the lines around his eyes. Before him lay a stack of documents—trivial family matters that demanded his attention despite their banality.
Suddenly, loud footsteps pounded from the courtyard.
"Dad! Dad—!"
The urgent voice of Zhao Qian broke the stillness. A moment later, the young master of the Zhao Family came trotting into the room, breath slightly rushed and brow furrowed with excitement.
Zhao Wu lifted his gaze, a flicker of expectation surfacing in his normally impassive expression. Could it be...
"Has that old man from the Luo Family finally passed away?" he asked, voice low and speculative.
Zhao Qian shook his head vigorously. "No, not that," he said, exhaling heavily as he steadied his breath. "It's about that old guy Wang Kun. He says all the medicinal herbs from before are used up and he's asking for more—to make another batch of Body Tempering Pills."
A faint crease formed between Zhao Wu's brows.
"More herbs?" he murmured, fingers drumming lightly against the wood of the table.
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
Half a month ago, he had already given a considerable amount of precious herbs to Wang Kun. In return, the Zhao Family had only received twenty Body Tempering Pills—most of them of questionable quality, barely passing muster. There had been no profit worth mentioning.
Now the old alchemist dared to ask for more?
Zhao Wu's expression darkened slightly.
Such herbs were not inexhaustible. Rather than wasting them on fruitless refinement attempts, it would be far wiser to allocate them to Zhao Family cultivators. Consumed directly, the herbs would at least bring visible benefits.
His voice was calm but firm.
"Understood. You may go."
Zhao Qian paused, a slight frown forming as if he wanted to say more, but he bowed his head respectfully and turned to leave.
The room returned to quiet.
Zhao Wu sat still for a moment longer, his thoughts turning dark. Finally, he called out softly.
A servant waiting outside the room swiftly entered, bowing low.
"Go summon Wang Kun," Zhao Wu ordered. "Tell him the Family Head wishes to speak."
Not long after.
The door creaked open again as Wang Kun entered. His robes were slightly askew, as if he'd been pulled away mid-task. He adjusted his sleeves absently before clasping his hands and greeting the Zhao Family Head with a casual air.
"Family Head Zhao, you summoned me?"
Zhao Wu looked him over carefully. There was a faint scent of medicinal powder lingering about the old man, mixed with smoke and damp herbs. He seemed as unbothered as ever, his demeanor relaxed, even bordering on disdainful.
"I've received word of your request for more herbs," Zhao Wu began smoothly, folding his hands. "The quantity you require is not insignificant. It will take time for the Zhao Family to gather such a supply again."
Wang Kun raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Zhao Wu, however, didn't stop there.
"Besides that," Zhao Wu continued, his tone shifting subtly, "there's another matter I'd like to consult you about."
Wang Kun's gaze sharpened.
"What matter would that be?"
Zhao Wu's fingers tapped once more against the wooden armrest.
"Half a month ago, Old Physician Wang gave a rather confident diagnosis—saying that the Ancestor of the Luo Family had only half a month left to live."
He paused deliberately, watching Wang Kun's reaction.
"But now, half a month has passed, and there's been no word of the old man's death."
His voice dropped, filled with quiet suspicion.
"Do you have an explanation for this?"
The atmosphere shifted abruptly, like a sudden drop in temperature.
For a long moment, Wang Kun was silent. Then his brows drew together in visible disbelief.
"Impossible," he muttered, shaking his head. "Absolutely impossible."
His voice was sharp, tinged with growing agitation.
"My diagnosis was precise. That old relic from the Luo Family was living on borrowed time—his life essence was nearly depleted. I examined the symptoms myself. There is no way he could've lasted beyond half a month."
He began pacing slightly, lips pressed into a line.
"There's only one explanation for this."
He turned toward Zhao Wu, eyes gleaming.
"The Luo Family is hiding it."
Zhao Wu's gaze sharpened.
"Hiding it?"
"Yes!" Wang Kun declared. "They're concealing the death of their Ancestor. That's the only possibility."
He spoke with conviction, his hands balled into fists. "They're pretending the old man still lives to avoid a power collapse."
Zhao Wu leaned back in his chair, absorbing the words. The room seemed to settle around the notion, the weight of the idea sinking into the air.
Indeed… it was not impossible.
The Luo Family had grown increasingly fragile in recent years. Everyone in Qingshi Town knew about the internal rift between the three Luo brothers—each commanding their own faction, pulling in separate directions.
Unlike the Zhao, Hu, or Jing families, which were tightly run under a single family head, the Luo Family was fragmented. If the old patriarch were to truly pass… the thin thread holding their clan together would snap instantly.
Their current status as one of the four great families was hanging by that last thread.
If the old man were gone… and word got out…
Zhao Wu's lips curved into a slight, grim smile.
The consequences would be obvious.
"When the wall collapses, everyone pushes," he murmured. "Even a broken drum gets beaten by ten thousand sticks."
In other words—when the Luo Family was strong, none dared provoke them. But if their strength faltered even a little, other families and forces, big and small, would descend like wolves upon wounded prey.
No one would be able to resist taking a bite.
"Old Physician Wang," Zhao Wu said at last, his voice low and deliberate, "are you absolutely certain of your judgment?"
The room was hushed, shadows deepening around them. The flickering lamplight cast a thin glow over Zhao Wu's face, accentuating the sharpness of his gaze.
Wang Kun straightened his back.
"I am," he said firmly. "Zhao Family Head, I would stake my name on it. That old man… he is dead."
Zhao Wu didn't reply right away. He closed his eyes, weighing the possibilities, considering the risks.
Moments passed.
Then he exhaled softly and opened his eyes.
"Very well. You may withdraw."
Wang Kun hesitated. "And… the herbs?"
Zhao Wu gave him a long look before speaking again.
"In seven days," he said slowly. "You'll receive what you asked for."
Wang Kun's shoulders relaxed slightly. He nodded, then turned and left the room without another word.
The door closed behind him with a faint thud.
Zhao Wu sat alone in the dim light.
His fingers drummed once more on the armrest, the only sound in the room.
The Luo Family was crumbling.
Whether the Ancestor truly lived or not—it no longer mattered.
The vultures were beginning to circle.