From the perspective of Zhuge Su Yeon
The ancestral hall was steeped in shadow, incense smoke dragging itself in lazy threads up to the high ceiling, where ancient shades once lingered. I sat in the patriarch's chair, dark wood carved with dragons of bygone eras — a seat more solemn than comfortable.
Before me, a man stared as if he were a sculptor before a stone refusing to yield to his chisel. His gaze did not hide his displeasure, and his breathing was far too heavy for someone meant to embody the balance of the Empire.
Imperial Censor.
He was no ordinary figure. Not an elder of a rival sect, nor a merchant hiding debts under the cloak of law. He was the very extension of the Empress herself, sent to ensure that taxes flowed like rivers and that no shadow of rebellion hid beneath the rooftops of provincial clans.
His dark blue robe was immaculate, the imperial insignia embroidered with silver threads that shimmered in the torchlight. Everything about him screamed authority. Everything, except patience.
Fifteen days.
That was the number gnawing at his insides like a persistent worm. Fifteen days waiting for me in Grey Sky City, enduring rumors, suffering the cheap incense of the city, and — what must have been even more unbearable for him — without daring to raise a hand against the clan that had received him.
Had my cultivation not revealed itself to the world… had the entire city not whispered about a patriarch capable of crushing an elder of the Dark Sun Sect with a mere glance… ah, I had no doubt he would already have turned this hall into a tribunal.
A delicate irony: his anger did not come from crime, but from absence.
The Zhuge clan had not failed to pay tributes. We had not violated imperial law. Quite the opposite. We always fulfilled everything meticulously, after all, Mei Lan insisted on keeping every detail terrifyingly exact. So this man was here in the Zhuge clan.
Not to punish.
But to reward.
The explanation I received upon my return — hurried, almost comical in its order of events — was this:
Everything had begun two months ago.
An anonymous letter had been sent directly to the capital, denouncing the crimes of the three clans that shared Grey Sky City with us: Han, Yuan He, and Tie Xuan. The Empire, zealous when it came to taxes and authority, wasted no time in responding. This imperial censor — a figure who represented the Empress more than himself — departed from the capital and descended to this forgotten corner of the map to investigate the matter.
I was not naïve. I knew well the petty schemes of those three clans. Smuggling disguised as tribute, extortion, buying votes among local magistrates… the sort of thing that flourishes in the shadows of peripheral cities. But I never bothered to intervene. Why? Because they were not fools. At the slightest hint of danger, they would vanish with the evidence, like thieves who clean the house before the constables arrive.
But conveniently, this time there was no chance to vanish.
When the news of the imperial censor's arrival swept through Grey Sky City, a "miracle" occurred: every member of those three clans fell ill, all at once, in a synchrony so perfect even the heavens would have laughed at the charade. From the eldest to the youngest, each one with fevers, coughs, and bodies too frail to leave their gates.
Thus, the investigation became a stroll in the park.
The censor simply entered, searched, and found. Documents, proof, forged accounts, records of extortion. Enough to build a wall of guilt.
The result was direct:
— The Han clan, the filthiest of all, was exterminated. Not a stone left standing.
— The Yuan He and Tie Xuan clans, less daring but still guilty, were severely punished. What remains of them today is but shadow, ruined houses trying to rise with the dignity of beggars.
And with that, Grey Sky City changed hands.
The Zhuge clan, long forgotten in the dust of this city, suddenly became its rightful pillar, the official authority over the region.
It was inevitable. The Emperor always demands a face to uphold the cities. The Zhuge patriarch was to receive the imperial edict, to assume the role and responsibility.
But the patriarch was… missing.
At first, all believed the simple excuse: secluded cultivation. I myself had used that excuse so many times it had become almost natural. The censor waited, convinced that sooner or later I would appear. But when he realized there were no signs, that my whereabouts were truly unknown, his patience dissolved like ice in fire.
Fifteen days of waiting, sitting in this tedious city, while rumors grew and the "missing patriarch" became a joke even among merchants. Fifteen days in which he, representative of the Empress, had to swallow silence instead of ceremonies.
Now, seated before me, his anger was not only for the delay — it was also the humiliation of having waited in vain.
And I, in the ancestral chair of the clan, did not know if I should be watching the censor… or thinking about my little sister.
Because, though there was no proof, I was certain: she was the mind behind that "collective illness" which conveniently opened the way for Grey Sky City to fall into our hands.
With a single move of her little ally, the poisoner, everything was resolved.
And the censor… well, the censor merely played the role of messenger for what had already been decided.
— Patriarch Zhuge, it is good to finally see you… — said the censor, his voice burdened with formality that barely hid the relief of finally ending his wait.
— I fear I have delayed the Censor. — I replied calmly. — I was not in the city during this period.
Silence fell between us like a heavy curtain. For a moment, I thought he would allow his anger to spill over again, but instead, the man sighed. It was not surrender, nor forgiveness — merely the weariness of duty.
— It no longer matters. — he said, rising with the solemnity of one who wears the Empire on his shoulders. His voice turned grave, ritualistic, as he began the rite:
— Patriarch Zhuge, kneel for the imperial edict.
I knelt slowly.
There was no wounded pride, no ridiculous scene of a protagonist declaring he bows only to his parents and no one else. It was simply a role. A rite. And, in theory, a reward. Why create problems where there was no need?
The censor's voice echoed through the ancestral hall, each word steeped in the distant authority of the capital:
— The Empress Feng Yue, Monarch and Protector of the White Flame Empire, grants the Zhuge Clan the responsibility and representation of the entire City of Grey Sky.
I followed the expected motions. I rose in silence and received the decree in my hands. It was only a piece of heavy parchment, but its ink carried more power than a thousand swords.
The censor did not linger. No further speeches, no unnecessary explanations. He simply concluded the rite, turned on his heels, and left the clan with firm steps, like a man closing a door that had bothered him for far too long.
I watched him disappear through the gates. Then, without ceremony, I handed the decree to Mei Lan.
Manage Grey Sky?
The Zhuge clan could do it. Mei Lan certainly would, with her near-obsessive precision.
Me? Never.
To me, governing a city was just another name for wasting cultivation.
At last, I left the ancestral hall. The weight of the edict, of formalities, of imperial gazes stayed behind, and I could walk slowly through the familiar corridors of the clan.
The first sight I encountered was not tranquility, but a scene that already drew a sigh from me in advance. Yui Lan.
My little sister walked serenely as if the world were made of cotton, and right behind her followed… him. Her "little attendant," a poisoner whose cultivation alone could terrify the entire Grey Sky City.
The two walked through the corridors with the naturalness of those with nothing to hide. But I knew. I always knew.
I looked at them with a stern expression, carrying the necessary theater. To her, I was the overprotective brother who would never approve of her closeness to someone like him. To me, it was just another act. After all, she had no idea that I had long been listening to their conversations.
They soon vanished from sight, and I could almost predict the next act: sooner or later, Yui Lan would appear before me, with tearful eyes and trembling voice, ready to narrate the tragic and convincing tale of how she had found an "indispensable apothecary."
I sighed.
May it at least be a good version of the farce.
I continued on.
In the inner courtyard, I found my young prodigies. Their training continued as I had planned before my journey: each practicing the pattern suited to their talent.
It was good to see discipline flourish.
Well… almost all of them.
Tao, as always, cultivated his particular art of disdain. Lying on a tree branch, he slept with the serenity of a retired master, as if heaven itself had promised him that progress would arrive on its own.
Ren and Lin, by contrast, had advanced steadily. They were already at the first level of Spiritual Refinement, clear results of constant effort. Shan, however, lagged behind, still stagnant. The light in his eyes was frustration, but also stubbornness — perhaps even useful in the future, if it did not break first.
I did not go to them.
Not yet.
I had much to say, much to teach, but it was not the time. The right moment would come, like every piece on the board waiting for its turn.
I went on.
My steps carried me toward my room. But before arriving, my spiritual sense stretched beyond the clan walls, reaching into the nearby forest.
And there was Yu Jin.
He no longer hunted beasts — the first-level packs of Grey Sky's forests were no challenge at all. Instead, he cultivated serenely under the sun, like a dormant flame that, at any instant, could rise into wildfire.
His cultivation level had already reached the second level of Spiritual Refinement. Terrifying.
I did not speak to him. Not yet.
I had other plans, and allowing my brother to surpass me like this… was not something I could accept naturally.