Mo Clan:
"Hm… how is this even possible?" Mo Tianlei paced across his chamber, his brows furrowed deeply. His palm pressed against his chin as he muttered to himself. "That boy fought like an advanced cultivator. His techniques, his control… far beyond what I expected."
The door creaked. His son, Mo Qiao, walked in with a heavy expression. He moved stiffly toward his father, his steps awkward but filled with urgency.
"Father," Qiao called out. His tone was sharp. "Everyone is talking about what happened at the meeting. If I may… what exactly happened?"
Tianlei turned with a dark face, his stride sharp as he approached his son. His voice dropped low, carrying both frustration and weight.
"You want to know?" He leaned forward, eyes burning. "Then listen carefully."
Qiao hesitated for only a moment before his curiosity dragged him closer.
"What happened," Tianlei said slowly, his voice trembling with both disbelief and awe, "is that you are weak. Very weak. Do you even realize the miracle that occurred? That boy, the son of Wei—he fought a Nascent Soul cultivator and won. The kind of vital energy he wielded, the precision of his strikes—it was terrifyingly refined. At first, I thought the Chen clan would never survive, much less win a tournament… but now, it seems even the impossible is within their reach."
Qiao staggered back, shock written across his face. His chest tightened as he stammered, "What? Are you saying Mu… defeated a Nascent Soul cultivator? Impossible! That boy is weak—he hasn't even awakened his spirit energy, nor has he stepped into body refinement! I've beaten him countless times!"
Tianlei bent slightly, his piercing eyes locking onto his son's.
"Ha!" A sharp laugh burst from him. "A wise man never flaunts his strength. He conceals it… until the right moment." He straightened, his back rigid, and walked past Qiao.
Just before stepping out of the room, he stopped at the door and spoke coldly without looking back.
"No matter the situation, practice makes perfection. Don't waste your time standing still. If you cannot win the tournament, then you are not my son."
The door slammed shut.
Qiao stood frozen, his father's words ringing again and again in his mind—"If you cannot win the tournament, then you are not my son."
His fists tightened, nails digging into his palms as his teeth ground together.
"Mu Chen…" he whispered, rage trembling in his voice. "I'll make sure you kneel before the Mo clan!"
---
Chen Clan:
Mu remained in a deep sleep, his breaths steady but faint, when Elder Chen Rong entered the chamber.
"Wei," Rong called softly, "I heard you summoned me."
Wei stood by the window, his gaze fixed on his son's still body. His eyes glimmered with unshaken confidence, though his mind was far away, drifting in silence.
"Wei!" Rong's sharp voice broke through the air, jolting Wei out of his daze.
"Ah… forgive me, Elder Rong." Wei exhaled slowly. "As the clan's physician, I want you to examine Mu. Tell me if… he will be alright."
Rong stepped forward, calm and composed. He sat by Mu's bedside, placing his palm over Mu's chest. His hand glowed with a soft white radiance as he performed a healing spell, the gentle energy easing Mu's heated body. After a moment, Rong's brows loosened, and he turned to Wei.
"He needs rest," Rong said firmly. "At least a week. Fresh air will aid him as well. Everyone—leave."
The room emptied, leaving only Wei, Rong, and Lu behind.
As Rong passed Wei, he paused and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. His voice lowered into a quiet whisper.
"Take care of him. His dreams are vast, far larger than even he realizes. If you need me, I'll be meditating under the old tree in the courtyard. Join me if you must—but don't disturb. Simply sit, and let the world breathe with you."
Before Wei could answer, Rong's figure dissolved like a shadow, vanishing into the still air.
Wei's lips curved faintly, a rare smile breaking through his weary face. He turned back to his son, the fire of determination shining quietly in his eyes.
Lu stood there, his body weak, but he forced himself to take a few steps. His strength gave out, and he stumbled, collapsing to the floor. Wei rushed forward, lifting him quickly and easing him back onto the bed.
"Father, please rest. You're tired."
Lu gave a soft smile, his expression gentle and warm.
"Do you remember when you were young? You and Longwei always tried to prove who was stronger. You two even fought, and when Longwei beat you, you wet yourself. That day, Xueyin happened to come by, and she saw you like that."
Wei's eyes widened before he let out a laugh.
"Ah, yes! I remember. I didn't even know she was there, let alone that she'd come to visit."
Leaning closer, Lu cupped Wei's ear and whispered, "I was the one who called her. I wanted her to see what you two were up to."
"Hahaha!" They both broke into laughter. Then Wei smirked and added,
"I also have something to confess."
"Go on," Lu said with a grin.
"Do you remember when you stole meat from Mother's soup? She smacked your mouth with the ladle. Well... I was the one who told her you'd been sneaking food."
Lu laughed at first, but the sound quickly faded, replaced by silence. His smile slipped, and sadness filled his eyes.
"Father, what's wrong?" Wei asked quietly.
Lu exhaled heavily.
"I miss your mother. If it weren't for the assassins that night, she would still be here." His voice cracked, tears falling as his hand clenched tightly.
Wei's heart sank. He embraced his father, his voice soft.
"I miss her too."
Just then, a loud crash echoed outside—a pot smashing hard against the ground.
Both Lu and Wei froze, turning toward the door. Wei stepped forward cautiously.
"Father, stay here. I'll check it out."
"Alright. Be careful," Lu replied.