"Impatient already?"
Luo Ping's brows furrowed slightly. He couldn't quite grasp the implication behind Luo Chuan's words.
Noticing the subtle confusion flicker across his father's face, Luo Chuan gave a faint smile. His voice dropped to a quieter, more deliberate tone.
"Father, do you remember that Doctor Wang Kun?"
Luo Ping blinked. "What does this have to do with Wang Kun?"
"There's a very important piece of information you might have missed."
"A very important piece of information?" Luo Ping's brows creased deeper. A sense of unease stirred in his chest as he searched his memory.
It took him a moment—long enough for silence to stretch uncomfortably between them—before something clicked.
Half a month ago.
Wang Kun had visited the Luo Family. At the time, he had been summoned to examine Elder Changfeng, whose health was steadily deteriorating.
Now, Wang Kun had defected to the Zhao Family and become their private physician.
If the Zhao Family had access to Wang Kun's diagnosis, then they likely knew about Elder Changfeng's declining condition.
And more than just knowing—they would be able to estimate, with disturbing precision, how long the revered elder had left to live.
Luo Ping's chest tightened as the implications sank in.
The Zhao Family, one of the four great clans of Qingshi Town, wouldn't make a move without purpose. Their strange and sudden behavior couldn't be coincidental.
This wasn't just a random visit or a test of social ties.
It was a deliberate probe—a test to see if the Luo Family was bluffing, pretending their pillar of strength still stood tall.
If the Luo Family remained passive in the face of such probing…
Then the next thing to follow would be the Zhao Family's full-scale assault.
"…So, Chuan'er, you mean the Zhao Family believes we're hiding Patriarch Changfeng's death?"
Luo Ping finally spoke, his voice low and heavy. His gaze fell on Luo Chuan, searching his son's eyes for certainty.
"That's roughly the case," Luo Chuan nodded silently, his expression calm.
"Then what do you suggest we do next?"
"One word," Luo Chuan replied, voice firm. "Fight."
Luo Ping's brow locked again. "Fight?"
He sounded tired—not just in body but in spirit—as if the burden of decades had just settled on his shoulders.
"This move from the Zhao Family is a test. They're unsure about our situation. That means they're still wary." Luo Chuan paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "So the best response… is to chop off the hand they're reaching out with."
He clenched his fist lightly.
"If the Zhao Family dares to stretch out one hand—cut off that hand. If they stretch out both—cut off both hands."
"We must prove, through action, that the Luo Family still holds power, that we will not be prey for the circling wolves. Only by making an example can we deter the rest of Qingshi Town from daring to make a move."
"Only then," he said, his voice slow and deliberate, "can the Luo Family enjoy a few years of peace."
The words hung heavy in the room, echoing long after his voice faded.
Luo Ping said nothing.
It wasn't that he didn't understand. It was that the implications were enormous.
The fate of the Luo Family was not a personal matter—it was the shared weight of generations, of every branch, every child, every elder who bore the Luo name.
He couldn't act rashly.
And yet, doing nothing might doom them all.
"Father," Luo Chuan said gently, "I trust you'll think it through. I'll take my leave."
He bowed slightly and exited the room, leaving his father seated alone beneath the lantern's flickering glow.
Even long after Luo Chuan's footsteps had faded down the corridor, Luo Ping remained still in his seat.
"…Perhaps," he murmured, reaching for the teacup at his side, "I should discuss this with Patriarch Changfeng…"
But as his fingers brushed the smooth porcelain, they trembled.
Was it age? Fear? Or simply the pressure weighing on him from all sides?
He took a slow breath.
Then another.
And another still, until the shaking stilled.
"Zhao Family, oh Zhao Family…" he whispered bitterly, his voice hoarse. "Why must it come to this?"
"For more than three hundred years, the four great families have coexisted in Qingshi Town…"
"Isn't living in peace… a good thing?"
…
Qingshi Town – Luo Family Ancestral Land
Beneath the pale light of morning, Luo Ping arrived at the secluded courtyard where Elder Changfeng resided.
The stone path leading to the main pavilion was quiet, the air heavy with medicinal fragrance and age-old calm.
Luo Ping stood at the threshold for a moment, hesitant.
Then, with a deep breath, he stepped inside.
Under the roof of the old stone pavilion, Elder Changfeng sat cross-legged at a stone table, a thick book resting open in front of him.
Even now, weakened and worn, there was a sharpness in his gaze, a quiet dignity that demanded respect.
Luo Ping's eyes swept across the cover of the book—Art of Alchemy.
He couldn't help but wonder: Is Patriarch Changfeng still studying medicine at this stage? Or searching for some last sliver of hope… to prolong what remains?
His thoughts swirled, chaotic and uneasy.
Noticing the arrival, Luo Changfeng raised his eyes. His cloudy pupils flickered with a glint of insight.
"Luo Ping?"
"What's he doing here all of a sudden?" he muttered softly. "What does he want?"
He set the book aside and extended his withered right hand, waving it in front of Luo Ping's distracted gaze.
"Ah—" Luo Ping blinked and quickly regained his composure.
"Elder Changfeng," he bowed slightly, voice full of respect.
"Have you come to see this old man for something in particular?" Changfeng's tone was calm, though there was a trace of curiosity beneath it.
"I…" Luo Ping hesitated, swallowing hard.
He was rarely this nervous.
But this matter was too delicate, too important.
He took several breaths before he found his words. "Elder, it's about the Zhao Family. They made an unusual move today."
Luo Ping began recounting everything—what had transpired, Luo Chuan's analysis, and the implications they feared.
Throughout the explanation, Elder Changfeng sat silent, his fingers resting on the edge of the stone table. But his eyes narrowed as Luo Ping continued.
"A probe from the Zhao Family?" he repeated at last.
A faint light flickered behind his aged gaze.
He didn't speak immediately. He seemed to be sorting through countless thoughts—memories, judgments, old lessons hard-earned over the years.
Luo Ping waited patiently.
Finally, he spoke again. "And what does Chuan'er think we should do?"
Luo Ping hesitated, then answered cautiously. "He suggests we strike back immediately. Make them pay for reaching out."
Elder Changfeng slowly picked up his book and reopened it to his marked page.
His voice came cool and composed, but there was an edge to it—like an old blade slowly unsheathed.
"What Chuan'er said… is not wrong."
"If we want peace, we must first teach those who covet our lands that the price is blood."
"As for the Zhao Family…" he paused and looked at Luo Ping, who stood still, awaiting his decision like a man before a battlefield.
"Do exactly as Chuan'er proposed."
"If they dare to stretch out one hand—cut off that hand."
"If they stretch out both—then cut off both."
"Anyone who dares stir trouble for the Luo Family…"
"…must be made to pay a price."
His final words were sharp as steel. Then, he turned back to his book as if the matter were already settled.
A silence settled between them once more.
Luo Ping stood for a while longer. Then, seeing that the elder had resumed his reading, he stirred.
"…No, nothing more." He bowed again. "I'll take my leave."
With those words, he turned and quietly exited the courtyard.
Behind him, the stone pavilion remained still, the only sound the soft rustle of paper as Elder Changfeng turned a page.