From Han Yun Zhe's Perspective
The balcony opened like the deck of a golden ship over a sea of gray rooftops. Columns of green jade, carved with ascending dragons, held up the curved roof, painted with ancient battles and golden carp leaping from eternal waves. Under the cold glow of the moon, the Han clan's mansion resembled a palace stolen from some imperial prince—walls of polished stone, courtyards lined with exotic gardens and ornate fountains, every detail shouting the same message: here lived a man who ruled by wealth, not by mercy.
From the heart of Gray Sky City, the mansion dominated the landscape like the throne of an uncrowned king. It was here that Han Yun Zhe—a man who had never been satisfied with sharing titles—surveyed his city.
Gray Sky had always revolved around its four great clans:
Tie Xuan Clan – masters of the mines, extracting metals and spirit stones from the cold guts of the mountains.
Yuan He Clan – owners of gambling halls, teahouses, and gaming dens, where fortunes lived and died in a single night.
Zhuge Clan – guardians of agriculture, feeding the city with grains and rare herbs.
Han Clan – sovereigns of the markets, controlling the flow of goods and wealth.
In official records, they were called The Four Great Clans of Gray Sky City.
To Han Yun Zhe, that phrase was an insult thinly veiled.
From the day he had assumed his position as patriarch, Yun Zhe had carved a single goal into his life: to erase that ridiculous title and make the Han clan the sole, absolute ruler of the city. Wealth was already his; influence, too. But even a lion cannot devour three tigers at once. He knew that to triumph, he would have to wait for the right moment—and crush each of the other three clans one at a time.
Time passed. Moons waxed and waned. The opportunity did not come.
Until, just as he was about to abandon patience and take bolder measures, fate smiled.
The two strongest elders of the Zhuge clan disappeared, leaving only an aging patriarch unable to defend even his own gates. It was not just an opportunity—it was an invitation written by Heaven itself.
Convincing Tie Xuan and Yuan He to strike was easy. No wolf refuses fresh, defenseless meat when it is laid before its snout. The three forces advanced like blades thirsty for blood.
But the destined victory Heaven seemed to grant them never came.
Instead… humiliation.
When the siege appeared ready to seal the Zhuge's fate, a boy barely out of childhood appeared—and yet his cultivation was already at the fifth stage of Spiritual Refinement. A level above Han Yun Zhe himself. Enough to shatter their alliance and force their retreat.
The bitter taste of that shame had never left his tongue.
What infuriated him more was the new Zhuge patriarch's response. Instead of retaliating, he withdrew completely, keeping only the farmland necessary to sustain his own people. No visible ambition, no movement against the other clans—as if to say they weren't even worth the trouble.
To Han Yun Zhe, of course, that had been a blessing in disguise. Within months, the Han clan had seized all the territories the Zhuge abandoned, strengthening themselves even further. But… not enough.
The stain on his heart would not fade so long as the Zhuge clan still breathed.
And so, that night, Han Yun Zhe stood on his mansion balcony, his gaze sweeping the city like a feudal lord surveying his hunting grounds.
Gray Sky City bustled. Lanterns hung from every eave, colorful banners fluttered in the cold night wind, and voices mingled in a chaotic chorus of vendors, gamblers, and onlookers. The Junior Generation Tournament was approaching—the event that, every twenty years, filled the streets as if a celestial festival had descended among mortals.
Officially, it was a spectacle of trade and martial arts. But all knew that beneath the festivity lay another purpose: to measure the true power of each clan's next generation.
For a clan, youth was more than promise—it was survival. A lion without teeth can still roar… but only until the first real battle.
With the Zhuge's symbolic fall from the circle, the old title of Four Great Clans was dead. Now there were only three—Tie Xuan, Yuan He, and Han. And to Han Yun Zhe, this was but a step in the right direction.
This time, he held an advantage impossible to ignore: his youngest son, Han Qian, possessed Cyan-grade spiritual potential—a level considered undeniable genius within the city. Two years earlier, Qian had become the direct disciple of an elder from the Dark Sun Sect, the sixth greatest sect of the White Flame Empire.
And don't be fooled by the ranking. Even as sixth, a single elder from that sect could reduce the entire Gray Sky City to ashes before the city bell finished its first toll.
With that thought, Han Yun Zhe had crafted his plan. With wealth enough and carefully spent favors, he and his son sent an invitation to Qian's master to "honor" the tournament with his presence. The true purpose needed no words: a single gesture of approval from that man would make the Han clan untouchable… and allow the last remnant of the Zhuge to be crushed without a whisper of cowardice.
Now, atop the golden balcony of his mansion, Han Yun Zhe did not look to the lights and joy of the city.
His eyes were fixed on the main gates, where at any moment his son's carriage would appear, carrying not only the Han clan's most promising heir, but perhaps… the future absolute ruler of Gray Sky.
A thin smile curved his lips.
Hours later, Han Yun Zhe stood before his mansion.
Moonlight washed over the polished stone avenue leading to the Han gates, reflecting off golden lanterns fastened to the walls. Han Yun Zhe stood at the front, imposing in his black robe embroidered with silver clouds. Behind him, his sons and wives formed a flawless line, a silent mural of prestige.
In the distance, rhythmic hoofbeats echoed. An ebony carriage, drawn by spirit beasts with azure fur, approached in steady stride. Its wheels, rimmed with jade, rolled noiselessly.
When it stopped, the door opened smoothly. Han Qian was the first to descend, a young man with proud bearing, sharp eyes, and the faint smile of one who knew his return would be celebrated. Behind him emerged an older figure—tall, short-bearded, with eyes as deep as a midnight lake. A simple gesture of his made the energy around them ripple, as though the air itself recognized him.
"Father." Han Qian bowed slightly, but with the confidence of one whose return was a triumph. "As promised, I did not come back alone."
"Yes, I see you did not." Han Yun Zhe smiled in measured fashion, his gaze shifting to the man at his son's side. "And it is my honor to receive one whose name crosses borders and whose mere step makes cities tremble."
The elder raised a brow, a flicker of approval barely visible. "Your son has spoken much of this city… and of you, Patriarch Han."
"I hope he spoke the truth." Yun Zhe chuckled softly, as if sharing a secret. "And if he exaggerated, may it be only in the flattering parts."
Qian interjected, loyalty coloring his tone: "Master, my father is the man who keeps this city alive. Without him, half the blades here would rust, and half the mouths would go empty."
"And the other half?" the elder asked, his gaze narrowing.
"The other half…" Yun Zhe answered, pausing as though weighing each word, "…are merely waiting to be fed—or replaced."
The silence that followed was not discomfort, but understanding. Three men, each aware of the other's worth—and how they might profit together.
At last, Han Yun Zhe extended a welcoming hand. "Tonight is not for business beneath the cold moon. Inside, everything is prepared to receive you as you deserve. There is warmth to banish the chill, flavors you will not find elsewhere… and company suited to any refined taste."
The elder inclined his head ever so slightly and followed the patriarch inside—accepting not only hospitality, but also the first step of a veiled alliance.