Being named Patriarch brought no ease to Leng Tian.
If anything, the burden weighed heavier. Every decision—hunt routes, food distribution, marriage agreements—was placed in his frail hands. Disputes that once ended in scuffles now carried weight of clan honor.
Even as his body decayed, he could not falter.
Most mornings he drank bitter herb soup to numb pain before stepping onto the square. His children—Leng Xuan, Leng Mei, little Leng Yu—watched silently, aware their father's coughs worsened each day.
Though young, Xuan clenched fists often, swearing to mother, "I'll grow strong enough to protect Father's clan."
Tian always smiled faintly at this, ruffling his son's head: "Not my clan, Xuan. Our clan. The next roots belong to you."
Disciples respected him beyond words. They had seen him bleed, suffer, yet never retreat. Even rivals ceased underestimating Leng Clan, wary of united frost fields and patient strategies.
But Tian knew—his time grew shorter. The frost within him numbed more than veins; sometimes limbs lost feeling altogether. Nights were sleepless, staring at ceiling as Yuexin held his cold hand tight.
Still, he whispered every night:
"Just a little longer. Let me see them grow first."
🔥 End of Chapter 43