From the perspective of Zhuge Su Yeon
The ancestral chamber was shrouded in half-light, the heavy curtains letting through only a silver thread of moonlight. Incense burned slowly in a bronze holder, releasing wisps of smoke that dissolved into the air like unresolved thoughts.
Behind me, four martial souls floated in silence, each carrying the weight and absurdity of what the author insisted on calling "my destiny."
First, the Soul of the Silent Void, wrapped in a white halo.
Its incorporeal figure hovered behind my left shoulder, like a shadow woven of silver mist. Its empty eyes reflected not reality, but silence itself, and even the beating of my heart seemed to falter before it. A circle of runes spun in eternal slowness, as if time itself had given up moving forward. When it manifested, even the clan's walls seemed to hold their breath.
It strengthened my mind and stability — a true mental barrier in the form of a martial soul.
To the right burned softly the Soul of the Inner Flame, within its white halo.
A translucent blue flame, one that did not burn but transformed. Its core pulsed in white and gold, as though it held within itself an entire library on the verge of incinerating into wisdom. The golden inscriptions that danced across its surface shifted with my moods — a cruel reminder that even my spiritual flame was more sincere than many cultivators I had met. The sound it gave was discreet, like the murmur of turning pages.
This martial soul best described my love for cultivation; whether for advancement, absorption of Qi, or learning martial techniques, it would assist in every step.
Lower down, coiled as if resting in a world of its own, slid the Soul of the Glass Serpent, its halo changing colors — a mutant martial soul.
Translucent, liquid, it reflected the chamber in a distorted way, as though reality were but a shallow pond disturbed by stones. Its blue-gray eyes gazed into the void, but from time to time its greenish crest pulsed, reacting to unseen presences. When it moved, it seemed to cut through the air like a thought no one dared to speak aloud. And I knew: if the author decided to throw me into another one of those cheap emotional illusions, the serpent would devour them before my brain had time to feign surprise.
It made my already pure Qi even calmer and smoother, and it reacted to ill-intentioned people.
Lastly, floated solemnly the Soul of the Eternal Mirror, within its white halo.
An oval mirror of dark silver, whose frame melted and reformed incessantly. It did not reflect my face, but the state of my soul — a kind of unwanted sincerity no cultivator would really want to face. Fragments of crystal orbited around it, like moons insisting on circling even when the world had grown tired of turning. Sometimes echoes appeared on its surface: voices I had never spoken, thoughts I might one day voice. Or perhaps just the author's poetic delusions. Hard to say.
The strongest defense of my soul.
The four presences breathed with me, each pouring energy into my body. There were no barriers, no resistance — only flow. Qi poured into me like an obedient river, and my jade body accepted it as though it had always belonged to me.
I felt the core in my dantian vibrate, expand, and then condense again into a solid glow.
A breakthrough.
The first.
The second.
When the pressure stabilized, my cultivation had already crossed the threshold into the second level of the Golden Core.
Six months ago, I had stepped into this realm for the first time. Now, I was already two steps beyond. For any ordinary genius, this would demand five years of sweat, risk, and fortunes spent. For me… it took only a bit of silence, four absurd souls, and the patience of a lazy author who insists on accelerating my narrative line.
I drew a deep breath.
The air was heavy with incense and power, but within me reigned only calm.
I turned, observing the four souls carefully.
They were not just symbols, not just mystical gifts. They were proof that the Supreme Jade Body did not obey the rules of this world.
A normal cultivator might awaken a martial soul at any point in their great realms — by chance, an epiphany, a battle. But with me? Every time my cultivation advanced a great level, a new soul emerged. Without delay. Without effort. Punctual as a celestial decree.
Four great realms.
Four souls.
All divine.
One mutant.
An absurd physique, as if the universe itself had decided to compensate my inner ironies with indecent advantages.
The wood creaked under my steps as I left the cultivation chamber. Night had already descended upon Grey Sky with its usual calm — lanterns lit here and there, flickering reflections on rooftops covered in snow. I had just broken through a level that would take others years, but the world does not bow to private achievements. Missions still awaited.
My spiritual sense spread like a discreet mist, and I soon found who I was looking for: Yu Jin, leaning against the railing of a balcony, gazing at the lake in the inner courtyard. The water reflected the moon, and at its center, like a poorly written poem, Lan Xue cultivated in silence, Qi rising from her in gentle waves.
I approached without haste.
I did not conceal my presence, but neither did I expose it — only enough for my brother to know I was there.
— The recruitment of the Seven Great Sects — I murmured, letting my voice spread through the night air like a stone dropped into a calm lake. — What do you think about it?
Yu Jin slowly raised his eyes. The moon rested in his pupils, clear and steady, before he answered, unhurried:
— Naturally, I intend to participate.
I let the silence stretch between us, as if waiting for a fruit to ripen before touching it. Only then did I speak again, without raising my voice:
— Would you be willing to hear some of my considerations?
He turned his face, a trace of surprise lighting his features. It was natural. I rarely interfered with his path — not when he had been treated as a burden by the clan, nor now as he rose as a genius.
In the end, he only nodded.
A brief, but sincere gesture.
Inclining my head, I continued in a low tone:
— The current heiress of the Sect of Infinite Flames is called Wu Rue Lin. She is the direct disciple of Empress Feng Yue. Her potential is of Indigo color… and it would not be wrong to say the entire sect already bows to her.
Yu Jin remained silent for a few moments, as if letting each word sink to the bottom of his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, steady as the moon's reflection on the water:
— I understand, brother.
I nodded. No further explanation was necessary.
Two books appeared in my hands, simple in appearance yet carrying the solidity of techniques that should not fall into common hands. I handed them to him.
— These techniques are for the girl in the lake. Delivering them will be your mission. I will not see you depart tomorrow. When you return… I will have some pleasant surprises.
I placed the books in his hands and turned away, letting silence reclaim its dominion. I had already spoken more today than in entire weeks.
As I walked through the corridor, my reasoning reorganized in my mind. This information about Wu Rue Lin did not truly belong to me. It had come from Yui Lan, two days ago, when she came to tell me the sad story of her new apothecary. Amid restrained tears and measured words, she confessed her fear: that Yu Jin would be recruited by the Sect of Infinite Flames… and there become the target of the heiress and her followers. After all, Wu Rue Lin was the elder sister of Wu Qing Xue, Yu Jin's former fiancée.
Normally, I would not have cared. After all, what protagonist is not meant to suffer under the hands of impossible enemies? It is part of the script — scars to mold the hero.
But Yui Lan was not just a sensitive young woman.
She was a reincarnator.
And when a reincarnator fears something… perhaps even a silent brother ought to listen.
Even if it slightly scratched my image as a quiet patriarch.
I walked slowly through the clan grounds. In the past two months, calm and serenity had rested upon these walls like an invisible veil. In truth, if we excluded the youth martial tournament, it would not be an exaggeration to say that, since I had assumed the patriarch's seat more than three years ago, the entire clan had breathed in the same rhythm as me — a rhythm of silence and balance, like a lake untouched by wind.
But now, little by little, without haste, some things would begin to move.
The silence would remain, because it is indispensable.
The calm too, because it is within it that true strength is cultivated.
Yet, the name of the Zhuge clan could no longer hide forever in the shadows.
The time of being forgotten was fading.
The time of being feared was approaching.
Soon… the Zhuge clan would no longer be remembered as the forgotten clan.
It would be recognized as the feared clan.