At that precise moment of humiliation, the door creaked open.
Xio rushed into the inner sanctum of the Lanxie clan. He had just returned from the forest, hastily shedding his identity as the Owl to resume his role as the concerned nephew. He rushed to Língxi's side when he saw the Grandmaster sitting upright in bed.
He knelt beside the bed and took Língxi's hand gently, his expression shifting seamlessly into one of deep concern.
"What happened to Uncle Lìng?" he whispered, looking up at Lànhuā for an answer.
Lànhuā shot him a glare that could have cut glass. It signaled clearly to Xio: Something went horribly wrong, not only here, but with me as well. And where were you really?
Xio blinked, realizing his shadow clone—which he had left with Lànhuā to maintain his alibi—must have witnessed whatever disaster had occurred.
He quickly moved to the other side of the bed, opposite Lànhuā, keeping a steadying hand on Língxi's shoulder.
"From where should I start?" Lànhuā tilted her head, rubbing the corner of her eyebrow where a headache was forming.
"Hm..." Xio paused, feigning ignorance to probe for information. "Uncle... what happened to him? Didn't they go to the... ritual?"
"They did..." Lànhuā started, her voice low. "But something else happened too... I asked Uncle Kage. He refused to speak about it... said it is none of our—children's—business..." She sighed, frustrated. "He said he wanted to handle this all alone because it is between them—two best friends."
"Huh?" Língxi hummed low in his dry throat. He blinked rapidly, struggling to focus on their faces.
"What are you all talking about?"
Everything seemed to be running out of his mind like water through a sieve. He knew he remembered half of it... the pain, the temple... but he couldn't recall the core of the trauma. Trying to recall it felt like inviting a monster back into the room.
Xio and Lànhuā looked at each other, alarm in their eyes, before quickly busying themselves with steadying him.
"Father... please do not stress yourself..." Lànhuā said, leaning in for a soft, protective hug.
Língxi sighed, his resistance melting away. He rested his cheek on his daughter's head. His children seemed to be his only peace... but his heart ached for something more. Something older.
"Uncle Lìng, don't be so worried... I am sure Uncle Kage didn't even—"
Before Xio could finish his sentence, the heavy wooden door opened again.
It was Kage Ou.
His dark hair was slightly damp, clinging to his forehead. His eyes, which were usually filled with mischief and sharp wit, now looked... abyssal. Soft, yet terrifyingly concerned. One of his eyes was strangely hidden under a lock of dark hair, as if he didn't want to show it.
The room fell instantly silent. The only sound was the faint, erratic rhythm of Língxi's heart.
Lànhuā and Xio instinctively moved aside, leaving Língxi sitting exposed on the bed once again.
Língxi sat up a little straighter, slowly pulling the black blanket around his shoulders protectively. He didn't look Kage Ou in the eye. He was unusually quiet—more so than usual. He was confused about what to say, embarrassed about the clothes, and terrified of the memory gaps.
Xio flinched internally. He thought Kage Ou might start his "training" right there—punching Xio like a bag of rice to vent some unspoken anger or sadness away from Língxi's sensitive eyes.
But no violence came.
Kage Ou just stepped in. His black boots echoed softly, a rhythmic thud against the black-gold marble floor. He stopped at the foot of the bed.
Then, he spoke one single sentence, leaving no room for argument.
"Leave us alone, children."
Língxi's head snapped up. His face flushed, his eyes widening. He wasn't prepared for Kage Ou's tone—so commanding, so final. It felt as if Kage Ou was sealing them in together.
"No..." Língxi said. But his voice was too small. It lacked its usual sharp authority. It was just a flat, weak protest.
Xio swallowed hard and looked at Lànhuā from the corner of his eye. He knew the hierarchy here. If Kage Ou spoke a second time, he wouldn't be scolding Lànhuā. He would be tearing into Xio.
Kage Ou looked at Língxi once—a gaze filled with unreadable emotion—before turning his single visible eye toward Xio.
"WHAT have I told you??!"
Kage Ou's voice rose, surprisingly high and thunderous after years of quiet sarcasm. It made everyone's shoulders tense. Even Língxi flinched.
But the anger was directed solely at Xio. It was a reprimand for being late, for being absent, for being a child when a soldier was needed.
"Yes... Uncle," Xio said quickly, bowing his head.
He grabbed Lànhuā's arm and ushered her out. Lànhuā looked back at her father like a sick bird being torn from its nest, but she didn't resist.
Língxi watched them leave, his hand reaching out slightly before falling back to the sheets. He turned his gaze to Kage Ou, who had already moved to sit on the edge of the mattress.
"Father didn't want us to leave..." Lànhuā whispered urgently to Xio as they walked down the long corridor, the heavy doors closing behind them with a final thud.
"He will be... fine..." Xio tried to calm her down, though he spoke thoughtfully, his mind racing.
"My Uncle really knows him better than us," Xio murmured, glancing back at the closed door. "How many years have we seen him? Twenty-five for me... and thirty-three for you. But Uncle Kage? He has watched over him for sixty years... or perhaps even more."
He paused, lowering his voice.
"The Youth Bath that Uncle Lìng uses to maintain his vitality... that formula was given to him by my Uncle, after all."
Xio turned for one last look at the door. He could imagine the black-robed figure of Kage Ou sitting in front of the pale, trembling Língxi.
Something unspoken, ancient, and deeply private was happening in that room.
They were curious, dangerously so. But they had to leave it for now.
"Hm... you are right," Lànhuā said, a faint, weary smile touching her lips. "You have started talking like the elders."
Xio chuckled faintly, the sound hollow in the large hallway, as they walked away into the shadows.