A week had passed since the duel. The courtyard had been rebuilt, the stones scrubbed clean of blood—but not of memory. The tension within the Cang Family lingered like smoke after a fire. Disciples avoided the trio's path, whispering curses fed to them by Cang De's loyalists.
Every errand Zhang Wei and his companions took part in was met with obstruction—training schedules "mistakenly" changed, supplies delayed, missions reassigned at the last second. Cang De's forces, emboldened by his silent authority, harassed them at every turn. Han Yu nearly broke one man's arm after catching him trying to poison their rations.
But the true storm came without warning.
It was deep into the night when the ancestral bell tolled three times—a sound that hadn't been heard in decades. Flames burst from the west courtyard. Shouts erupted as disciples and guards scrambled to arms. Zhang Wei's eyes snapped open from meditation.
"Han Yu! Pan Qiang!"
The three bolted from their quarters, blades gleaming under the moonlight. Before they reached the main hall, four masked figures in black landed before them, their Qi surging—Qi Gathering Realm assassins.
Han Yu drew his sword, killing intent flaring. "Hei'an's dogs."
The assassins said nothing. They moved in perfect coordination—four shadows splitting into pairs, attacking from both flanks.
Zhang Wei inhaled sharply, his Qi veins pulsing with pain from his barely healed injuries, with no choice. He gathered what strength he could, his body humming with pale golden light.
Pan Qiang deflected a slash using his bare hands. "They're trained killers! Keep your guard tight!"
The clash resounded through the courtyard. Sparks scattered as sword met dagger, sword met fist. Han Yu's strikes were fierce, each one carrying enough Qi to shatter stone, while Zhang Wei focused on precision—redirecting attacks, exploiting openings, using movement to compensate for the gap in cultivation.
Pan Qiang, slower but steady, anchored their formation, blocking the assassins' charge toward the inner halls.
Meanwhile, deep inside the main estate—three stronger shadows descended upon the patriarch's residence.
The Cang Patriarch, a man in his late sixties with flowing silver hair and an aura like a mountain storm, stood firm beside his aide, Cang Pang, who was already circulating Qi through his veins.
"Nascent Soul…" Cang Pang whispered. "Three of them."
The lead assassin, his face covered in black silk embroidered with the sigil of Hei'an, spoke coldly, "Your lineage dares to stand in heian. Die, Cang Jianhong."
The patriarch's gaze was sharp. "So Cang De finally bares his fangs…"
Without another word, the room exploded with light.
Cang Pang lunged first, his spear roaring like thunder. The early Nascent Soul assassin met him midair, their Qi waves colliding and shattering the marble tiles below.
The patriarch faced the other two—both mid Nascent Soul experts. Their combined pressure tore through walls, ripping banners and splintering the pillars of the great hall.
"You overestimate yourselves!" Cang Jianhong roared, his Qi surging outward in a golden tempest. He summoned the Cang Family Treasure—a small crystalline orb pulsing with ancient light. The air trembled as spiritual energy concentrated into the orb.
The two assassins hesitated, sensing danger—but too late.
"Cang Sky Seal—Heaven's Judgment!"
The orb exploded into a radiant beam that pierced through the roof and struck one of the assassins square in the chest. The man screamed as his Qi core shattered, his body bursting into ashes.
The patriarch staggered, blood spilling from his lips. The treasure's power drained nearly half his cultivation essence in a single strike.
"Patriarch!" Cang Pang shouted, parrying a lethal stab before slamming his spear into the chest of his opponent.
But the surviving two Nascent Soul assassins retaliated with brutal efficiency. One's palm, cloaked in dark crimson Qi, smashed into the patriarch's ribs, sending him crashing into the wall.
Cang Pang threw himself in the way of the next blow, taking a dagger through his abdomen meant for his master. He roared, unleashing his final strike, tearing through one assassin's shoulder before collapsing to the ground.
"Cang Pang!" the patriarch bellowed, forcing himself up despite the blood dripping down his chin.
The last assassin grinned beneath his mask. "Die with your clan."
Before he could finish the attack, a sudden surge of energy filled the hall—several elders arrived, their robes flaring, Qi waves crashing like tidal storms.
At their lead was Cang De, his expression twisted in mock horror. "Brother! What happened!?"
The patriarch, barely standing, glared at him but said nothing.
The elder council unleashed their combined arts, forcing the remaining assassins to retreat. They escaped into the night—injured, but alive.
The battle was over. The halls were a ruin.
Meanwhile, in the outer courtyard, Zhang Wei and his companions fought like cornered beasts. Two assassins lay motionless, their blood soaking the tiles, while the remaining two faltered under Han Yu's furious strikes.
Zhang Wei, his breathing ragged, drove his palm forward. "Serpent Pulse—Sealing Flow!"
His Qi wrapped around the assassin's chest and crushed his circulation for an instant. Han Yu followed with a clean decapitating slash, ending the fight.
The trio stood panting amidst corpses, their clothes torn, faces streaked with blood.
"Let's move," Zhang Wei said hoarsely. "If this many infiltrated, then something's happened at the patriarch's hall."
They sprinted through the burning corridors, past the panicked disciples and wounded guards.
When they reached the patriarch's hall, what they saw made Han Yu freeze.
The marble floor was stained scarlet. Cang Pang's body lay lifeless by the shattered doors. The patriarch, Cang Jianhong, sat slumped on his throne, pale as snow, his robes soaked in blood. Lady Cang Lian knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she tried to hold a bandage over his wound.
"Father! Please—please stay awake!" she sobbed.
Elder Shen, the family's alchemy and medicine master, stood nearby, his face grave. "His internal meridians are torn. The strike from that assassin was no ordinary Qi art… I cannot save him."
"Then try harder!" Cang Lian screamed, tears streaking her face. "You're the Medicine Elder! Do something!"
Zhang Wei stepped forward, kneeling beside her. "Move aside."
She looked up, desperate. "Zhang Wei, I'll do anything—just save him!"
He nodded silently, placing his palm over the patriarch's chest. The jade pendant beneath his robes vibrated faintly, releasing a thin thread of warmth that guided his Qi.
He focused every ounce of his energy, weaving spiritual threads into the patriarch's shattered meridians. The room filled with a soft golden glow. For a moment, everyone dared to hope.
Then Zhang Wei's expression tightened. Sweat poured from his forehead as blood trickled from his nose.
Finally, he gasped and pulled away, collapsing backward. "I… I can't heal him fully. The damage to his dantian is too deep. I've only stabilized him… a few days, at most."
Lady Cang Lian clutched her father's hand, sobbing. "A few days…?"
The patriarch stirred weakly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Enough… my child."
Everyone fell silent. Even Cang De, who had just entered, lowered his gaze to hide his expression.
Three days had passed since the bloodshed that shook the Cang Family to its core. The once lively estate was now wrapped in silence; even the wind that brushed through the bamboo groves seemed mournful. Guards were doubled, and the scent of medicinal herbs drifted constantly through the patriarch's courtyard.
Inside, Patriarch Cang Jianhong lay propped against a wall of silk pillows. His face was pale, lips cracked, each breath shallow and uneven. His meridians, though temporarily stabilized by Zhang Wei's intervention, were beginning to collapse once more.
Elder Shen stood beside the bed, holding a porcelain vial of elixir, but the old man's expression was grim. He knew this medicine would not cure—only delay the inevitable.
Lady Cang Lian sat at her father's side, her eyes red and swollen. Her fingers trembled as she changed the cloth on his forehead. "Father, please… don't speak too much. You need rest."
Cang Jianhong gave a faint smile. "Rest? Heh… I've had a lifetime of it, Lian'er. The world is noisy enough—I think it's time I listened to silence."
His gaze shifted toward the flickering candlelight. "Shen… how long?"
Elder Shen lowered his head. "Three hours, perhaps less. Your Qi core is dissolving, Patriarch. Even the heavens may not stop it now."
A long silence followed.
Finally, Cang Jianhong exhaled slowly. "Then it's time."
He motioned weakly toward the jade box resting on the nearby table. Elder Shen retrieved it and placed it gently on the bed. The patriarch's hand trembled as he opened the box, revealing the Cang Family's Clan Seal—a golden insignia shaped like a soaring falcon—and beside it, a small crystal orb that faintly pulsed with spiritual light, the same treasure he had once used to slay the assassin.
"This…" Cang Jianhong's voice was hoarse. "...is the heart of the Cang Family. The seal represents our authority, and the treasure—the Cang Sky Seal—our protection. Together, they are the soul of our lineage."
Cang Lian stared at them, her tears threatening to fall again. "Father, you can't… the elders—"
"The elders will obey as long as someone strong stands before them." He looked at her, eyes sharp despite the weakness in his body. "And you, my daughter, are that person."
She shook her head violently. "No! I can't replace you! The clan won't listen to me!"
"Then make them listen."
His words, though quiet, cut like steel. "Lian'er… our clan has stood for generations. But greed has eaten away at its roots. I've seen how your uncle schemes behind my back, how he hungers for power but i didn't think that he'll colludes with outsiders."
Cang Lian froze. "You mean… Hei'an?"
Cang Jianhong nodded faintly. "He plans to lead the family to them. To make us pawns in another empire's war."
Elder Shen's fists clenched at his side. "Patriarch, then we must act—expose him before he—"
Cang Jianhong raised a trembling hand. "No… that will only throw the clan into chaos. My death will shake the family enough. I will not have civil war follow."
He turned back to his daughter, his gaze softening. "That is why you must lead. Shen will stand by you—he has my full trust. Do not rely on Cang De's mercy. Once I am gone, he will strike without hesitation."
"Father…"
"Listen carefully." His voice weakened further, but his tone carried the same weight that once silenced entire halls. "You must call for an assembly three days after my death. Present the seal. The Cang Sky Seal will recognize only the blood of my line—no one can dispute your claim once you invoke it before the elders."
Cang Lian covered her mouth, sobbing silently. "I can't—please, Father, stop talking…"
Cang Jianhong smiled faintly. "You can. And you must."
He reached out and placed the jade box into her hands. "Protect this with your life. And if you ever find yourself cornered… seek the boy named Zhang Wei. There is something in him the heavens have yet to reveal. He will either save this family—or destroy it."
Elder Shen looked at Zhang Wei's name with a faint, knowing sigh.
The patriarch's breath hitched. He coughed blood again, staining his robes crimson. Cang Lian cried out, but he waved her off gently.
"Do not mourn yet. My spirit will linger until the task is done."
He turned his fading eyes toward the lanterns flickering on the ceiling. "Shen… when the time comes, help her stand. Don't let my brother's shadow consume this house."
"I swear it," Elder Shen said solemnly, bowing deeply.
A faint smile returned to Cang Jianhong's face. "Good… good."
The candlelight trembled as if bowing with him. "The Cang will rise again… not through war… but through those who still remember honor."
His eyes closed for a brief moment, and his breathing slowed, shallow but peaceful.
Lady Cang Lian clutched his hand tightly, tears falling onto the golden seal she now held against her chest. "Father… I won't fail you."
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of rain. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled—the heavens themselves, it seemed, mourning the end of an era.