The corridor outside Xiao Yan's room smelled of old wood and a faint tang of medicinal resin. Lantern light painted the polished floor in long, soft rectangles. Tianzun followed down the narrow hall and paused at the carved door of his brother.
He had chosen this moment with care. There was no fanfare, no parade of superiority. Only the quiet intention of a brother who had seen too much and chosen, fiercely and deliberately, to protect the small warmth that remained inside the clan.
Inside, the room smelled of charcoal and ink, of the tools of a cultivator who had spent long nights reading technique diagrams and re-rolling his fists in practice. Xiao Yan sat on a low mat, posture stiff but eyes alert. For a boy who had once been labeled a prodigy, he carried the brittle, almost embarrassed dignity of someone whose hands had been empty for too long.
Tianzun closed the door and let both shoulders relax. He did not speak immediately. Observation was a weapon he wielded more often than any technique. He took in the lines under his brother's eyes, the callouses at his fingertips, the way Xiao Yan's shoulders rose and fell with controlled breathing.
When he finally spoke, his voice held the flat, unhurried cadence that had become familiar to those who'd known him since his return. "How are you training?"
Xiao Yan's mouth tightened, then relaxed into a grin that did not reach his eyes. "The same as always. Twice in the morning, twice at sunset. I run until the wind takes my breath. I recite drills until my voice is hoarse. But—" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't make progress."
Tianzun sat across from him. The silence between them was a room of its own.
He's been grinding without direction, Tianzun thought. Effort without calibration eats itself. Xiao Yan needs structure. Also… restraint. He needs humility and confidence in the right balance.
He reached into the leather satchel at his side and pulled out a small, velvet-wrapped bundle. He laid it between them and unwrapped it with ceremony.
Inside were twelve pills — dull gold, veined with a faint green glow when the light caught them. Tier Four, destined to fortify body and soul, to mend damaged meridians and to nourish rooted will.
Xiao Yan's expression changed instantly. He swallowed hard. "Where—where did you get these?"
Tianzun's mouth curled in a way that almost became warm. "A long road and a lot of nights."
Xiao Yan reached for them before Tianzun could stop him. "No—"
Tianzun's hand closed over Xiao Yan's. The gesture was gentle, but his gaze was steady and immovable. "Listen. Pride eats the man who receives without reason. Take them — but take them with purpose. One per dawn for twelve days. No more. These aren't to be squandered."
Xiao Yan's cheek flushed. The boy wanted to protest, to argue that he was not a child to be instructed, but a simple, raw gratitude rose in his chest and quelled the words.
Then Tianzun slid a small green ring across the mat. It was plain and old-fashioned — a space ring, but bearing the faint imprint of a seal.
"This is yours," Tianzun said. "I placed a protective lock on it. It will open when you reach Dou Zhe rank again. Until then, it is a reminder. When you open it, nothing I've given you will be gone. Do not waste its teachings."
Xiao Yan's fingers trembled as he lifted the ring. He turned it in his hands, eyes distant.
"Inside the ring,is a fragment — a small piece of a map for the third-ranked heavenly flame,flying technique, some monster cores and herbs, and ten thousand gold coins. I sealed them for your growth. Not to tempt you, but to reward your discipline.tianzun thought".
Xiao Yan looked up, voice small. "Why… why this?
Tianzun shook his head. Skills without steadiness are brittle. I will not carry your weight, Yan. You must take your steps. But I will make sure the path is navigable."
A long, tight breath left Xiao Yan's lips. The boy bowed his head, then straightened, steadier than before. "I will not disappoint you."
Tianzun's eyes flickered, briefly soft. "I know."
He rose. "Come for a walk."
Outside, the clan courtyard buzzed like a hive. Children chased each other across the stones; merchants argued about spice prices; elders moved slowly, white hair like clouds. The sunlight made small mosaics across the ground.
At the sight of Xiao Yan, several young men from the training yard — boys who had once scorned him, who had once taken joy in his faltering — began to shout. Their voices cut across the courtyard like dull knives.
"He's still weak!"
"Ha! You stand with a loser!"
Xiao Yan flinched, shoulders folding inward. For a moment, Tianzun considered ignoring them. Some people needed to talk themselves out. But then the tone shifted: crude laughter, the smell of malice.
Tianzun walked into the circle with the easy, unhurried arc of someone who knew how to carry authority without shouting. He stopped a few steps from the boys, and the air seemed to tighten.
He spoke softly.
"Young men."
All laughter died. The leader — a stocky youth with a face like broken granite — sneered. "And what are you going to do, Fourth Young Master? Teach him how to lose properly?"
Tianzun's smile was small and controlled. "No. I am going to ask you a question."
The boy's smirk tilted. "Ask."
Tianzun's voice turned almost conversational, conversational but edged like a blade. "When your father dies, who will you have to carry his debt? When the clan's grain fails and debts come calling, who will step between the creditors and your mother? When a neighboring faction's envoy comes to bargain for our lands, who will answer for your family?"
A rustle of unease moved through the group. A few of them shifted, suddenly aware of the practical world beyond their adolescent taunts.
"You think being 'genius' shields you from the market, from politics, from hunger? You think it keeps the sickness from your beds? It does not."
The leader's jaw tightened. "Are you saying he should-"
Tianzun's tone narrowed. "I am saying you should stop saying things you are not prepared to live with. Mocking another's misfortune might make you feel whole today, but tomorrow when the real storm comes — will you have anything but hollow laughs to protect you?"
Silence stretched like taut wire.
Then, almost invisibly, the leader's resolve sagged. He spat, a show of bravado, and turned away. "Whatever. Let's go."
The boys dispersed like clouds under wind.
Xiao Yan let out a breath he'd been holding. He looked at Tianzun with eyes that seemed to glow. "How did you—"
Tianzun shrugged once. "You forget — I've always been better at reading markets and character than at throwing punches."
Xun'er materialized at Tianzun's side as if she had followed them silently. She watched the aftermath with a small smile, then stepped forward.
"He's stubborn, but he will learn," she murmured.
Xiao Yan blinked, touched by the warmth he'd been denied for so long. "Thank you — both of you."
They walked in a slow circle around the clan grounds, conversation easy and soft. Tianzun kept the talk spare, focusing on small, practical counsel: how to structure training cycles, the importance of rest, how one specific breathing rhythm could shift the meridian lock he suspected was causing the stagnation.
When the sun dipped low, casting the courtyard in molten gold, Tianzun stopped at the edge of the training yard and knelt. He picked up a small stone and handed it to Xiao Yan.
"This is yours," Tianzun said. "Not as a gift, but as a contract. Place it under your pillow each night. When you wake, train in this sequence: two hours of footwork, one hour of technique repetition, one hour of meditative circulation. Eat well. Sleep disciplined. When stress breaks the mind, action mends it."
Xiao Yan accepted the stone with hands that trembled only slightly. He nodded, a new resolve mounting in his chest that had the quiet precision of something forged underwater — impossible to see until it emerged fully formed.
As they parted that night, Tianzun walked down the path with measured steps. In his mind, a ledger opened and closed — training cycles, pill schedules, timing for the opening of the space ring, when to send yoru on a mission to test Xiao Yan's reaction. He never allowed feelings to cloud strategy. He never let affection derail the plan.
But as he looked back once at his brother's silhouette framed in the doorway, something like a small, private satisfaction uncoiled in his chest. The warmth of family — messy, unreliable, stubborn — was a light he had chosen to keep.
Tonight, it burned steady.
End of Chapter 55 — Brotherhood, Gifts, and Quiet Authority