Chapter 183: Meeting the patriarch

Chen Leijun stood at the bedside and looked down at the still shape of his grandson, Chen Eain. The boy’s chest rose and fell like a small boat in rough water. He was wrapped in white bandages, and from where he stood, he could still smell the herb smoke and iron in the air. The healers had just finished their work about an hour ago. When he walked in, he saw how drawn and tired they looked.

Eain’s eyes were still closed. His skin was pale as ash. He had expected a broken body—something beyond saving. For a moment, he thought the worst; maybe the boy was crippled. Maybe he was too finished to continue the path of a cultivator. But no, he was still breathing. The heavens had been kind to him.

The healers had said the worst had been avoided. According to them, his dantian was damaged. It would not heal quickly. Eain would not be able to fight at full strength for some time. Even so, the injuries were many. Bandages hid deep cuts, bruises mapped his ribs and blood had soaked cloth and dried in flakes in the hollow of his ear. The healers worked to stop the bleeding and stitch flesh that would not hold easily. Leijun watched the small, steady rise of the boy’s chest and felt both relief and a new weight gather in his chest.

Fate, it seemed, had not taken the boy yet. The thought sat between his ribs like a cold stone. That could be mercy. It could be a sentence. Leijun did not know which.

He remembered the first time he had seen his kin in such a bad state. If he had been a hundred years younger, his fist might have already been bloody. Rage would have been raw and quick. He had been a different man then—less patient, keener on thunder than on planning, but now his face stayed calm. The world had taught him to measure danger and bend emotion into use. Feeling alone would not save the clan.

But beside him, Chen Chenglei looked exactly as his own self would have a century ago. Leijun watched the way his eldest son stood: shoulders tight, jaw clenched, eyes like hot coals. Qi leaked from him in thin, bitter threads, the sign of a man whose blood boiled. He had not slept. His hands trembled as he crouched and pressed them flat to his knees. He could tell that anger sat inside him like a warming iron.

Leijun did not need words to read the look in Chenglei’s face. He wanted violence. He wanted to give an immediate reply. He wanted the Yu Clan’s blood.

“What will you do, father?” Chenglei asked at last. He looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “Father, we must teach the Yu Clan a lesson. We cannot sit hidden in our rooms while they trample our sons. We must strike and finish them for good.”

Chenglei took a raw breath and let the words spill out like a blade. “They had the guts to hurt my son,” he said, voice tight. “This must be the last time. We are strong enough. Kill the Yu Clan, and the Huangs will think twice. Then we can take whatever hides in the sinkhole without fear.”

Leijun watched him without interrupting. He did not move his hands. He only kept his eyes on his eldest son, letting the anger leave the man as speech. Sometimes a man needed to unload his fury before he could be reasoned with.

When Chenglei finally ran out of breath, Leijun spoke, slow and flat. “You know the probable end of that attack.”

Chenglei met his father’s gaze hard. “Our victory,” he answered.

Leijun’s face did not change, but his voice dropped to a tone like a winter wind. “Or my death.” Leijun continued without raising his voice. “If we strike the Yu Clan now, their experts, especially the patriarch, will gather. They will fight to the last for their own names and treasures. They will try to kill me first. If I fall, you and your brothers will be left alone—without me who holds the clan together.”

He paused and let the idea sit between them.

“You speak of breaking a balance,” Leijun continued. “Break the balance, and you break the city. You break our bloodline. Do you not think the City Lord or the Empire will act if open war begins inside Red Peak? They will carve us down to make an example.”

Chenglei’s jaw worked. He opened his mouth to argue, but Leijun held up a hand and leaned forward, eyes steady and hard. “I am not asking you to do nothing,” he said. “I am asking you to be wise.”

He pointed once at the sleeping boy. “Let him live. Let this be the lesson Chen Eain needs. Make him harder, make him smarter. Train him until his shame turns to strength. If you burn the city chasing revenge, you may win a battle, but you will lose the house that bears our name.

“If you still wish to finish a clan alone, go. But know this: do it under your own name. Do not ask the Chen name to carry a madness that will bury us all.”

“So you’re saying we do nothing? Keep playing our part in this balance while they grow bold? I won’t stand for that.”

Leijun’s eyes narrowed but he shook his head. “Neither do I. None of the clans wants this—no one seeks a full war. That is why whatever hides in the sinkhole matters so much to us.”

“But whatever is down there has stayed hidden for too long. We’re nowhere near claiming it. And now with Eain like this, our chances are worse. If he were whole, he would have found a way!” His voice broke on the last word, the hope turning to ash. S̩

“He was never going to take it. You know why. There is so much wild qi in that place that not even a cultivator at the foundation establishment realm can stand close. Maybe not even a meridian expansion realm cultivator could stand for long. That is the whole danger.

“What we needed from the young ones was different. We needed someone to find a safe pathway—one where the qi thins enough for a proper approach. Once a path is known, the clans would swoop in and claim what lies there. I was waiting for that moment,” Leijun said as calmly as possible.

Chenglei’s fingers flexed. “And now it looks like the Yu Clan will get there first.”

Leijun frowned. He had hoped his son would see the politics—the slow, cutting moves behind every expedition—on his own. Chenglei was a man of action; he followed orders well, but he rarely read the spaces between them. It was an old grief for Leijun, one he could not change now.

“You cannot let the Yu Clan win,” Chenglei said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t—wouldn’t accept it if it happened. “Not after what they did to Eain.”

Leijun met his son’s stare. “Then find out how they ambushed him,” he said. “No one in the Yu Clan’s young ranks holds that kind of strength to beat him to this extent. Did you question the survivors?”

“I did,” Chenglei said. His voice was tight. “Most of the returned men were wounded and useless, but one of them could talk. I got him to speak. He said a man named Renjie is working with the Yu Clan. One of them boasted his name back in the sinkhole.”

Leijun’s brow lifted. “Renjie?” he repeated. The name sounded unfamiliar and thin against the quiet room. “I have not heard that name.”

Chenglei nodded. “He isn’t from Red Peak City. The man’s from outside the city. I got the spies to look around and they said Renjie is backed by a master alchemist—someone even the Guardians sects fear and respect. And he sold the Yu clan pills.”

Now we’re talking,

Leijun thought to himself while looking at the resolve in his son’s eyes.

“Well, tell me everything.”

Chenglei stood straight and began to speak, his hands moving gestures while explaining. He told Leijun what the survivor had said and what the spies had found: how the Yu Clan had attacked, the pills they carried, and how the Yu Clan was trying to offer Renjie more and more spirit stones for more unique pills. And the information of a few of them that he was able to find out.

When Chenglei finished, Leijun’s face darkened. He pressed his fingertips to his temple.

“Did the Yu Clan always have contacts like this beyond the city?”

Chenglei shook his head. “I could not find proof of that, father. But this Renjie—he’s a young alchemist, and the pills are unique enough to back the claim of him having a strong background. If they are using outside resources to push deeper into the sinkhole, we cannot let them keep it. We must cut this partnership.”

Leijun looked at the sleeping boy, then back at his eldest. A cold faith settled in his eyes. He nodded once. “You are right. These pills wouldn't let us win in the hands of our enemies. We need to do something before the Yu clan moves too ahead of us.”

“They must transport those pills,” Chenglei said. “Caravans, guards, drivers—there will be stocks moving from outside to the city. I can have men ambush one of those carts. Kill the drivers and guards, take the pills. I'm sure it won't be easy to find out when they will be getting the next batch of pills.”

Leijun clicked his tongue, a soft, sharp sound that echoed in the room. Maybe his son still didn't understand his thought process and wanted to act like a lowly bandit. “Chenglei, son, do you not hear yourself? If this Renjie is the disciple of a master alchemist, he is a man of value. Move against him and the Yu Clan will hunt us even inside the city, and would be able to justify it. And do you really want to offend a master alchemist and have his fury come down upon our clan?”

Leijun’s eyes went to where Chenglei’s hands curled at his sides. His son opened his mouth, then closed it. Leijun knew that the boy wanted revenge against everyone that was even slightly involved in Chen Eain's current condition, but that was too idiotic. Finally, Chenglei managed a hard nod, the reluctance plain in the set of his jaw.

“We must be thorough,” Leijun said. “First, learn why the Yu Clan has this backer. Find the depth of the relationship. If Renjie is tied deep to them—blood, vows, or an old friendship—then we do not stab blindly. We prepare countermeasures for the pills. We study them. We find ways to break them.”

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“And if it is only trade?” Chenglei asked.

“Then buy it. Buy the pills. Pay more than what the Yu clan pays. Our coffers are big enough.” He watched his son’s face for the smallest flicker of anger or doubt. “But do not let your anger pick the wrong target.”

Chenglei’s brow darkened. His eyes drifted to the bed where Eain lay wrapped in bandages. “We will partner with the man responsible for Eain’s condition,” he said finally, the words hissing out. “If that pill would have blocked his dantian for longer, then he could have been crippled for life.”

He listened to the old, tired logic behind his son’s anger and shook his head. “Put your anger at the Yu Clan,” he said. “You do not hunt the blacksmith because a sword killed a man. You go after the swordsman who striked. Do you understand?”

He knew Chenglei would try to smear blame across everything. That was how grief worked—it wanted to burn bright and wide. Leijun had watched men do that and bury their houses under the flames. This world demanded a sharper mind than that.

Chenglei gave a single, slow nod. He looked once more at the sleeping boy, at the thin rise and fall of Eain’s chest, then turned. “I will send him an invitation,” he said. “Once we learn more, I will arrange the meeting with Renjie.”

Leijun allowed a small, hard smile. “Good. Be careful and always keep in mind to move cleanly." He moved toward the door.

They left the room together, footsteps muffled by rugs and cloth.

Though when they were exiting, there was one thing that they didn’t notice—on the bed, beneath bandages and soot, a twitch at the corner of Eain’s eyelid.

It was almost nothing, but it was there.

***

After two long days of studying the bestiary from page to page, Chen Ren finally settled on his target after a lot of thinking—a beast strong enough to temper his body and help him break through to the second step of body cultivation. He closed the book with a firm snap, relief and determination crossing his face. The choice had taken far too long, but he believed it was the best decision for him.

It was then that the innkeeper knocked softly on his door. “Master Renjie,” the man said with a raised bow when the door opened, “someone left a letter for you.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “A letter?”

The man nodded and handed him a folded parchment sealed with the Chen Clan’s insignia.

Chen Ren didn’t even need to open it to guess what it was about. By the time he broke the seal and read through the message—carefully worded and respectful to a fault—his suspicion was confirmed. The Chen Clan wanted to meet him.

He smiled faintly but didn’t move. “Of course they do,” he murmured. “Took them long enough.”

Going straight to the Chen Clan right after receiving their letter would’ve been foolish. It would look like he was eager—that they held the upper hand. Instead, Chen Ren did the opposite.

He spent the rest of the day wandering through Red Peak City, moving through its crowded market streets like a man without a care. He visited stalls shouting about fruits and beast pelts and heard merchants argue over prices. He stopped to watch a street performer bend light into shapes for children, then sat down for a late meal at the bar he now frequented.

All the while, Yalan’s voice whispered in his mind.

“Three men on the rooftops,”

she said softly, her tone casual—too casual to say that there were men stalking him.

“Two more in the alley behind you. All watching.”

Chen Ren took another sip of wine he was carrying for show and smiled.

“Let them.”

He didn’t change his pace or his path. The shadows followed him from street to street, but he ignored them. Observation was harmless. Attacks were what he worried about, and no one dared strike him in public.

By nightfall, he returned to the inn, relaxed and quiet, as if the day had been nothing more than leisure.

The next morning, though, he rose early. A full day of silence was enough to make his point. Any longer, and he risked turning their curiosity into irritation. The Chen Patriarch, Chen Leijun, was a man known for patience, but also for pride. And he was too smart to not know what Chen Ren was doing.

If he delayed too long, Leijun would treat it as an insult to the clan. He didn’t want that, not after everything he’d gone through for just this moment.

So Chen Ren prepared. He tied his expensive robes carefully, adjusted the spatial ring at his finger, and glanced once at Yalan, who stood by the window.

“You’re coming with me,” he said.

“To the lion’s den?”

“To make sure I walk out of it,” he replied with a smirk.

Her eyes gleamed faintly. “Well, fine.”

Yalan would be his protection in case things go wrong. According to her, no one in the clan should know of her since she’d been a hidden guardian of sorts for the longest time. It was more than enough for him.

Together, they stepped out of the inn, heading toward the sprawling Chen Clan estate.

Chen Ren’s lips curved as the morning breeze brushed past. But he walked through the tide silently to where the estate was.

It wasn’t that far to the inn and there was no crowd this early in the morning, so it didn’t take them long to reach the gates, and when they did, the gate guard, a tall, young man barely looked up.

He lifted two fingers and waved Chen Ren through, like a man letting a regular pass.

Chen Ren’s mouth tipped into a small smile as he stepped inside.

A young maid stepped out of the pillar’s shadow immediately. Short and bright-eyed, she wore a long pink robe tied neat at the waist. Her smile held and Chen Ren spoke before she could.

“Helo, I am Renjie, here to meet Patriarch Chen Leijun.”

“Yes, of course. This way, honored guest,” she said, head bowed, voice sweet. He answered with a nod and followed.

Chen Ren took the time to observe while walking. The halls were cool and long. Sunlight cut thin bars across clean stone. But before his eyes could wander more the maid tried to fill the quiet. “If you want, I can bring some eastern phoenix tea for you. We recently had a supply and it's quite good…” she went on and on.

He hummed through her descriptions but her movements distracted him.

Her sleeve brushed his wrist. A step later, her shoulder grazed his arm. Perfume—light and floral—hung in the air. Her chin tilted, eyes soft, as if inviting him to notice.

He ignored it and kept walking.

At each turn, old memories rose in his mind—boys sparring in a winter yard, a stern elder’s voice at a doorway, the clack of beads in a side hall. Faces he had never truly met. Steps he had never taken. The scenes came bright, then broke like foam. He let them go. Borrowed memories were not his. The nostalgia… it wasn’t his.

They walked through the halls to climb a short stair.

By the end of it, the maid’s smile thinned when he didn’t bite her flirtations. “We have arrived,” she said, and slid the door aside with careful hands.

“Thank you.” Chen Ren walked in without another word. He almost wished to grin at the maid to make her mad, but halted his steps when his eyes shifted toward the room.

Two men waited among a table. The lamps cast steady light and one of the men lifted his head, looking at him calmly. He recognised him immediately.

Patriarch Chen Leijun.

The old man’s gaze was… heavy. It pressed on Chen Ren like a palm testing steel. It weighed. It counted. The eyes did not blink as if piercing through him.

***

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