Two years had quietly passed since Huang Kong Di and his mother, Huang Kong Mei, had left the Huang Clan. That day's storm had shaken the entire manor to its roots, leaving whispers and rumors lingering like shadows in every corridor.
Since then, the once-dominant figure of the Huang Clan, Huang Qide, had remained in seclusion. The affairs of the clan, from trade to martial hall discipline, fell entirely to his first son, Huang Ming. Even the solemn tradition of Martial Spirit Awakening ceremonies had been left to the elders.
But this year was different.
For the first time in two years, Huang Qide would personally appear at the ceremony. His two grandsons were to awaken their Martial Spirits. The entire Huang Clan Manor was buzzing, the air thick with expectation.
The Awakening Ceremony
The wide training hall was filled with clan members, elders, and disciples. At the center stood a tall stone platform carved with marks, the ceremonial place where the light of heaven would guide children to awaken their Martial Spirits of the younger generation.
Seated at the foremost seat was Huang Qide, his expression dignified, yet carrying a faint shadow in his eyes. Time had not dulled the memory of what had happened two years ago. His grandson, Huang Kong Di, had awakened a Martial Spirit of astonishing grade.
For two years, the manor had been quieter than any season should allow. After Huang Kong Mei left with her son, Huang Kong Di, the clan's center of gravity had shifted. That is why the clan was surprised when Huang Qide walked into the awakening hall dressed in his old robes. He had not done so in 2 years. The murmur that rose through the hall carried the weight of rumor and wonder.
Huang Ming stood proud beside his son, Huang Wei, and Huang Peng watched his own son, Huang Xiaolong, with a simmering quiet that always sat just below the surface. For months, the clan had prepared for the day that new blood would reveal its nature. Martial Spirit awakenings could raise a house to glory or bury it under shame; they were the calendars by which families measured fate.
The first few juniors were called forward. Grade 5, 6, and Seven spirits appeared—useful, respectable, but hardly the thunder that could break a dynasty's horizon. Then the name of Huang Wei rang from the elder's lips, and all eyes turned.
Huang Wei approached the stone altar with the insolent calm of a child who had been told his place in the world already. He was dressed in dark brocade; his chin was tilted. When the elder lit the formation and the light poured down, it struck like a blade.
A phantom beast rose behind Huang Wei. Black fur, three eyes that glowed like dying stars, a tiger that carried malice in every hair—this was no simple spirit. The shout from the elders was immediate and raw.
"Grade Ten! Three-Eyed Black Tiger!"
The hall convulsed with sound. Apprentices dropped to their knees. The elder faces brightened into smiles that had been rare for seasons. Huang Ming's chest swelled with a breath of triumph so loud it could be heard in his posture. Huang Qide's usual reserve shattered for a moment—his mouth opened and a laugh—a real laugh—escaped him. The years had not taken the joy from his throat entirely; it had only buried it under regret.
And that regret returned to him sharper than any joy. In that instant when the tiger's third eye shone, Huang Qide saw, behind the swing of fate, another memory: two years before, the child who had left—Huang Kong Di—had manifested a Martial Spirit of similar caliber. Huang Qide had been present then. He had seen the Hollow Hydra rise behind the boy. He had felt the shock that shook the hall. He had taken a step forward, his hand wanting to claim, to train, to bind such a talent into the clan's future. But then history, the brittle pride, and the fact that the child was the son of Huang Kong Mei—someone with a complicated past in the house—had closed his mouth.
For a breath, he had hesitated. That hesitation had been enough. Huang Kong Mei had read it in his eyes. Her look then had been cold and final; she left with her son. The wound of it dug deep into Huang Qide's chest.
He had never stopped blaming himself.
Now, Huang Wei's awakening should have been absolute balm. It was not. The new pride in Huang Ming's face could not replace the memory of the other child who left with nothing but a handful of spears and a bright terror. To the assembly, Huang Qide's laugh was triumph; to him, it was an echo of a door he had not closed, and a thought of what might have been.
The elder who officiated cleared his throat and called the next name: Huang Xiaolong.
Huang Xiaolong walked forward with an ordinary step. He was not flaunting nor shrinking; he moved as if the world's noises were irrelevant to him. When the formation flared and the spirit image rose, it took the form of two entwined heads—twin serpents that coiled and hissed.
"Grade Seven—mutated Twin-Headed Serpent," the elder announced with a tone that carried both the impartiality of ceremony and the faint disappointment of lowered expectations.
A ripple of murmurs ran through the hall. Besides Huang Peng, many guests nodded politely; a Grade Seven was serviceable. It did not demand gifts, allegiance, or new titles. It did not make rivals tremble.
Huang Qide's eyes hardened, not at the number but at the pattern. The past two years had weighed on him; he was a man who measured each stroke of decision in losses and gains. His hand brushed the rail of his seat as if feeling the grain of the wood. When the clan's eyes turned toward him, he rose like a slow tide.
"From this day forth," Huang Qide announced, voice like iron wrapped in silk, "I will personally instruct Huang Wei."
That pronouncement landed like a weight in the room. Huang Ming's grin spread to proud laughter; the elders bowed their heads in approval. Huang Peng's face, however, went stone-cold. He looked at Huang Qide with something like accusation.
Huang Peng's son, Huang Xiaolong, stood still. He did not flare or plead. He had never been one to beg for attention; he did not need to. There was a look in his gaze that a few of the older cultivators recognized—the look that spoke of restraint, of a spirit not yet revealed. He knew, in the quiet of himself, that his Martial Spirit was more than what the elder had named. He had seen the glimmer of something deeper when his awakening touched him.
Huang Wei, who stood a few steps away with the three-eyed tiger's phantom still roaring in distant resonance, looked over with the smile of one who believed himself already ascendant. His eyes caught Huang Xiaolong and narrowed. The boy's arrogance was petty and hot.
"Cousin," Huang Wei called, voice silk over knife, "you should work harder. Otherwise, the distance between us will only grow." His tone was full of contempt and wrapped in mockery.
Huang Xiaolong did not answer. He simply turned and walked out of the hall at his father's side, shoulders thrown back in a way that said he did not need to make his anguish public. He would train in his own way.
The crowd dispersed with fragments of gossip—some praising the clan's good fortune, some quietly noting the harshness of the Patriarch's choice. In the corridors, the servants whispered of markets, of bride prospects, and of the arc of power shifting toward Huang Ming's house.
Huang Qide lingered, hands folded behind him. Even after the hall emptied, his steps were slow as though each led farther from the man he had been two years prior. Regret sat like a stone in his chest. He thought of Huang Kong Mei—how she had turned her back then, how her eyes had judged him—and of the son who had left and grown into rumor. If he had been bolder, fiercer, if he had spoken truly that day instead of letting go, would the path of the Huang family be different?
He had made choices, and each one cut a new path. Tonight, he would return to his manor with Huang Wei to train him, but in the back of his mind, he was thinking of that small boy with the Hollow Hydra whose roar had been muffled by a closed door.
And somewhere beyond the borders of the manor, the forest carried the sound of a young spear-wielder who was building his own fate and destiny.