Both Fang Mo and Jiaoying froze.
The boy's tone was calm, but the weight behind his words made them glance at each other in disbelief.
"Yuan'er," Jiaoying said gently, crouching beside him.
"When you grow up, Mother will give it to you, all right? For now, it's useless to you."
Fang Mo nodded in agreement. "Your mother is right."
"You haven't awakened your aperture yet. This Gu worm can't do anything for you now."
But Fang Yuan shook his head, eyes glinting with a mature, almost unsettling certainty.
"I know. That's why I want it."
He looked straight at his parents, voice steady, unwavering.
"Dad, Mom, you have to trust me."
Their surprise deepened as he continued, a faint smile curving his lips.
"I have a business idea… and I'll need both of your help."
Fang Mo and Jiaoying exchanged a long, silent glance—the kind only two parents could share when facing something they didn't quite understand.
Finally, Fang Mo exhaled and nodded slowly.
"All right, Yuan'er," he said, curiosity softening his tone. "Let's hear this idea of yours first."
"Father, put me down."
Fang Yuan's tone was soft but commanding, carrying a weight that didn't belong to a child. Fang Mo hesitated for a heartbeat, then obeyed, lowering him gently to the floor.
The boy's small feet padded across the wooden floor, disappearing into his room.
Moments later, he returned carrying a parchment scroll and an ink quill—his steps deliberate, eyes sharp with intent.
He set them on the table, unrolling the parchment with a calm that made Fang Mo's brow crease.
"Father," Fang Yuan began, his gaze fixed on the shimmering green Gu worm, "that's the Nine Leaf Vitality Grass, correct?"
Fang Mo nodded, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
Fang Yuan dipped the quill and began to write, his strokes clean and practiced—too practiced.
"The Nine Leaf Vitality Grass produces Vitality Leaves when infused with primeval essence." His voice carried a faint rhythm, like he was lecturing, not explaining. "So here's my plan."
He looked up, eyes glinting. "We'll mass-produce Vitality Leaves."
The words fell like thunder. Fang Mo and Jiaoying both stiffened, staring at him as if he'd uttered madness.
"That's impossible!" Jiaoying exclaimed, shaking her head. "Even a Gu Master would collapse from exhaustion while producing those leaves!"
Fang Mo added, frowning deeply, "Each leaf requires an immense amount of primeval essence."
"One leaf alone can drain a cultivator dry."
But Fang Yuan only waved a hand, dismissing their protests like a merchant brushing aside bad deals.
"I know. Just hear me out."
He continued writing, his voice coldly logical.
"If Father spends half a day, he can produce nine leaves."
"The same goes for Mother." He paused, tapping the quill against the parchment, eyes narrowing.
"So, if both of you exhaust your primeval essence every day, we can generate around eighteen to twenty Vitality Leaves daily."
Fang Mo and Jiaoying exchanged uncertain glances, both shaking their heads slightly.
But Fang Yuan didn't stop—his young voice carried a gravity far beyond his years.
"Father, Mother," he began, calm yet precise, "you've both been stuck at Rank Two, middle stage, for nearly three years now."
"If you cultivate diligently, you'll reach the Rank 2 upper stage within a year."
His tone hardened, like a strategist laying out cold battlefield numbers.
"But to hit the peak of Rank Two, you'll need another seven, maybe eight years."
"And to advance to Rank Three… another ten to fifteen, if fortune favors you."
He paused, eyes flickering with calculation as he traced invisible numbers in the air.
"You're both twenty-five this year. So—twenty-five plus one, plus eight, plus fifteen… that's around fifty."
He lifted his gaze, staring directly at them.
"By the time you touch Rank Three, you'll already be old. If you're even that lucky."
Silence fell.
Fang Mo and Jiaoying stared at their son, their expressions shifting from disbelief to awe.
Jiaoying whispered under her breath, "He's… a genius…"
Fang Yuan merely smirked faintly, brushing it aside. "Genius?"
"What's the point of being one if you can't change your own fate?"
He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower—steady, unchildlike. "You should first secure your own future before worrying about others."
"The awakening ceremony is still eleven years away," he continued, "but if you do exactly as I say, I can make sure both of you become Rank Three Gu Masters before you turn fifty."
"With a hundred percent chance of success."
His words struck like hammer blows.
Fang Mo and Jiaoying stared at their eldest son, unable to reconcile the small boy before them is their own boy.
Their younger son could barely remember his numbers, but their eldest, Fang Yuan…
Fang Mo's eyes suddenly widened with excitement. Without warning, he strode forward, scooped Fang Yuan off the ground, and spun him around with laughter booming from his chest.
"Definitely A-grade talent!" he declared, voice full of pride.
"Huh?" Fang Yuan blinked, dizzy from the spin, utterly lost at how the conversation had turned to aptitude.
Jiaoying clasped her hands together, beaming.
"See, Zheng'er? Your brother's a genius!"
Little Fang Zheng tilted his head, eyes round with confusion.
"Geh-nius?" he mumbled, earning a soft laugh from his mother as she ruffled his hair.
Meanwhile, Fang Yuan's stomach turned.
"Dad—stop spinning me," he muttered weakly, the world tilting around him. "About my plan…"
Fang Mo finally set him down, still smiling broadly.
"Son, I can give you the Nine Leaf Vitality Grass," he said, tone turning firm, "but I won't have your mother and me wasting cultivation time to produce vitality leaves for some wild idea of yours."
His voice softened slightly, but his words carried weight.
"Forget that talk about a hundred percent breakthrough. No one can promise such a thing."
"You'll understand that one day."
Fang Yuan exhaled, his expression cooling.
"Then hire a few Rank One Gu Masters," he said flatly, "preferably the older ones, stuck in their initial stages."
"They'll serve the purpose."
Fang Mo nodded with excitement.
"Fine. I am looking forward to your awakening ceremony."
Fang Yuan only sighed, his gaze distant and calm—like a man watching mortals celebrate beneath a storm.
"Whatever," he murmured under his breath, the words slipping out with quiet indifference.
....