The Clan Leader's face was somber as he glared at his elders.
'If you want to die, don't take me down with you!'
His gaze then shifted to Matriarch Zareena.
She was still smiling that same, innocent smile, but her golden eyes held a calm, unyielding challenge.
He remembered the terrifying, bottomless abyss of power he'd sensed from her, a power that made his own seem like a flickering candle in a hurricane.
His "face" was nothing compared to his survival.
He raised a hand, silencing his own council. The decision was made.
"Enough," the Clan Leader said, his voice tight with suppressed humiliation.
He refused to look at his elders again, keeping his eyes fixed on Zareena.
"The... Matriarch... makes a valid point. The boy was clever. His methods were unorthodox, but his stated goal was to strengthen the clan."
He was forcing himself to find a justification, however flimsy.
"While his tone was disrespectful... his intent was not malicious. There will be no punishment."
The hall erupted in hushed murmurs.
The inner elders exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting between astonishment and dread.
Never before had they seen the clan leader retreat in such a manner.
Their gazes turned toward Matriarch Zareena and Lady Ziye, now filled with a mixture of fear and reverence.
"Just who are they…?" one elder whispered under his breath, his voice trembling.
"Could they be from the Divine Capital? The royal family?"
Elder Gustav's face twisted with disbelief. "For the clan leader to yield so easily… they're either from those great families in the Divine Capital, or their strength surpasses anything we can imagine."
Elder Chalmers scowled, unwilling to let the matter rest, whispered to a nearby inner elder, "This is outrageous! The boy deserves punishment, are we to let outsiders dictate the laws of our Anarkin Clan?"
Another elder shook his head hastily, cold sweat beading on his forehead. "Fool! Did you not see the clan leader lower his head? These women are not people we can afford to offend."
The atmosphere thickened, a suffocating weight pressing down on the room.
Even Grandpa Meno and Grandma Cena, who had lived for over two centuries within the Anarkin Clan, were left shaken.
They knew what kind of person the clan leader was, unyielding, domineering, never one to bow even under immense pressure.
For him to step back so easily now…
Grandma Cena's voice quivered as she whispered to her husband, "In two hundred years, I have never seen him bend to anyone. Not once. For this to happen…"
Grandpa Meno's eyes narrowed with a rare solemnity. "Probably only figures at the level of the sect leaders of the Four Great Sects could make him do so. These women are not simple."
"However, they're speaking up for little Gray. So this is a good thing, right?" Grandma Cena asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"Let's hope so…"
The hall grew silent again, every clansman staring at Zareena and Ziye with awe, dread, and endless speculation.
Meanwhile, Gray stood still amidst the storm, his face was still calm.
He wasn't surprised at the Clan Leader's response.
But he was puzzled as to why such towering figures would bother stepping in for someone like him.
Confusion flickered across his features faintly as he took a glance at Matriarch Zareena.
Matriarch Zareena simply met his eyes and smiled faintly.
Gray could tell from her eyes that she didn't mean any harm.
For the first time that day, Gray's expression softened.
His lips curved into a genuine smile, and he bowed respectfully.
"Thank you, Matriarch."
…
The candlelight flickered against the rough walls of Elder Gustav's estate.
Every window was thrown wide open, and thick plumes of expensive purification incense burned in every corner, failing spectacularly to mask a faint, lingering, soul-deep stench of demonic swamp-ass.
Jamal, still simmering with rage, slammed his fist onto the table.
"I was already guaranteed a sect position! That bastard had no place in our affairs, yet now, I have to struggle for what was rightfully mine!"
"Father, we should do something about Gray! Let's send some assassins." Jamal grumbled hatefully.
Elder Gustav sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eye twitching.
He ignored his son's rant about the tournament. His mind was stuck on a much more fundamental, and fragrant, problem.
"Forget about Gray," Gustav said, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Explain it to me, Jamal. The... emissions."
Jamal blinked. "Emissions? What are you talking about, father?"
"THE FARTS, YOU IMBECILE!" Gustav roared, suddenly standing up.
"What in the name of the sacred ancestors was that?! Was it a curse? A poison? I have alchemists burning the finest sandalwood incense, and I can still smell it! It's seared into my nostrils! When I close my eyes, all I can see is... is that brown, wet... stain... dripping down your robes!"
Elder Gustav shuddered, a look of pure trauma on his face.
Jamal's face turned pale, then red. "I-I don't know! I told you, I think I ate a bad spirit fruit!"
"A BAD SPIRIT FRUIT?!" Gustav shrieked. "I've seen cultivators with full-blown Qi Deviation explode into a cloud of blood mist, and it was less dramatic than your damn farts! Did you lie so hard your own intestines revolted against your body?! TELL ME!"
"I really don't know!" Jamal cried out, utterly bewildered.
That was the last straw for Elder Gustav.
Slap!
The sound was crisp and final. Jamal's whole body flipped like a pancake before crashing into the far wall, leaving a man-shaped dent.
"F-father?!" Jamal looked up in disbelief, blood trickling from his nose. He truly didn't understand what was happening.
But Elder Gustav felt no sympathy. He was a man pushed to the very edge of his sanity by public humiliation and a smell he would never forget.
In fact, watching his pathetic son squirm filled him with a dark sense of satisfaction.
His eyes glimmered in the flickering candlelight as he remembered the satisfying feeling on his palm as he slapped his son.
'Maybe I should do this more often…'
He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a crazed light. "Forget about Gray. The kid's a cripple; he's irrelevant. Your problem is you. Your mouth. And your... traitorous backside."
He pointed a trembling finger at Jamal. "You will go into secluded cultivation for the next two years. You will train until you are strong enough to win that tournament. And most importantly," he hissed, "you will be on a diet of nothing but plain congee and water. I am never, ever, risking a repeat of today's... performance. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, father," Jamal said in a determined tone, still feeling confused and wronged.
As Jamal walked out of the room, Elder Gustav took out a sealed letter and gave it to a carrier hawk, telling it to fly towards the 'Nine Divine Pagodas.'
He muttered, "Jamal may be a fool, but my elder son is a true dragon. He will not let this humiliation stand."
…
Gray and his grandparents' humble home was quiet by the time they returned.
Gray dropped onto the floor cushions in the living room with a long sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him as if he'd just returned from a tiring day at work.
Grandpa Meno followed and sat near him, his brows still furrowed with confusion. He poured himself a cup of warm leaf brew and took a long sip.
"…You have to tell us what just happened in there. Aside from the tournament, your grandpa and I don't really understand what happened" Grandma Cena said worriedly.
"That's right, I thought we were going there to get justice for what Jamal and his lackeys did to you. I'm really confused." Grandpa Meno said with a confused expression.
Gray then proceeded to explain to his adoptive grandparents what just happened.
"So basically, you dropped the empty Imagery Crystal. Jamal, Elder Gustav, the clan leader, and pretty much everyone in the hall assumed you had evidence, and gave you 100,000 Spirit Stones?!" asked Grandma Cena in disbelief.
Gray gave a faint, tired smile. "Exactly."
"But what if they didn't panic? What if they asked you to show what was inside that Imagery Crystal?" worriedly asked Grandpa Meno.
Gray leaned against the trunk behind him and shook his head.
"It was never about the evidence. It was about selling the act and making them think I had it. Jamal and Elder Gustav couldn't risk it. If there was even the slightest chance that the Imagery Crystal had something, Jamal's cultivation would be ruined."
Grandpa Meno and Grandma Cena just stared at their grandson, as if seeing him clearly for the first time.
"Then what about Jamal and his farts?" Grandpa Meno asked.
"… no clue." Gray denied having anything to do with the farts.
There was silence for a long while, and then Grandma Cena let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Dear heavens. You played them like absolute fools this time."
Gray shrugged. "I had to. They can't give me justice without any evidence. If I fought them head-on, the sect leader would've crushed me."
He thought for a moment before fishing out a storage pouch and placing it in Grandpa Meno's hand.
"Half of it's for you guys," he said.
Grandpa Meno and Grandma Cena blinked down and looked at the contents of the pouch. "Fifty thousand Spirit Stones?"
"Fifty thousand, yeah. You raised me, fed me, and taught me to think. You're the only reason I'm even still alive, this is yours as much as mine."
Grandpa Meno shook his head immediately. "No way. We didn't raise you expecting a payday."
"I know," Gray said quietly. "But this isn't a payment. It's thanks."
Grandpa Meno's brow furrowed. His fingers tightened around the pouch, then loosened again. "Ten thousand," he finally said. "That's the most we'll accept. Anything more, and I'll throw it back in your face."