The great hall of the Han Clan was filled with the glow of spirit lamps, their jade flames casting dancing shadows across tall stone pillars engraved with dragons and phoenixes. The banners of the Han family hung proudly on every wall — a reminder of the clan's centuries of dominance in the region.
Tonight, the air buzzed with anticipation. The elders, cousins, and grandchildren of the clan had all gathered. The Awakening Ceremony for the younger generation was drawing near, and each branch of the family was eager to display its brilliance.
At the head of the hall, Han Longwei sat in a high-backed chair carved from blackwood. His sharp eyes swept across the chamber, cold and commanding. To his right sat Han Guangshan, arms folded with his usual sternness, and to his left, the loud and brash Han Tiesheng, whose booming laughter had already echoed through the hall several times.
Below them, their children and grandchildren — the pride of the clan — stood in neat rows, glowing with youthful arrogance.
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"Han Feng has already reached the second stage of spirit refinement at only eleven years old," Han Longwei said, his tone filled with pride as his gaze settled on his son's eldest child. "Such a foundation is proof that my line will continue to lead the clan in strength."
The boy, Han Feng, bowed slightly, his chin lifted high, clearly basking in his father's praise.
Not to be outdone, Han Guangshan spoke, his voice calm but edged with competition. "Hmph, my grandson Han Tao is only eight, but his raw strength already surpasses many of the outer disciples. Once he learns discipline, his potential will rival even Han Feng's."
Han Tao puffed out his small chest and flexed his tiny arms, drawing laughter from the hall. His father, Han Rong, grinned proudly, though a trace of envy flickered in his eyes as Han Feng stole the spotlight.
Han Tiesheng, unwilling to be silenced, slapped the table with a booming laugh. "My grandson Han Zhihao doesn't flaunt his abilities, but his quiet nature hides a sharp mind. Mark my words, his path will be long and steady. Unlike these loud children, he knows when to speak and when to strike."
At that, Han Zhihao stepped forward and bowed, his expression calm. His eyes, however, gleamed with ambition that he carefully kept hidden.
---
Amidst the boasting, the women were not forgotten.
"Han Yuexin's spirit sense is remarkable," Han Longwei added smoothly, gesturing to his nine-year-old granddaughter. "The elders themselves acknowledged her as a rare talent. She will grow into a cultivator of grace and wisdom."
Han Yuexin lowered her head politely, though her lips curled into a proud smile.
Not to be outshined, Han Zhilan spoke up for her daughter. "My Ruoxi has inherited my talent for sword cultivation. Even the instructors say she wields the blade as though she were born for it. She will bring honor to the clan."
Han Ruoxi, standing tall at her mother's side, placed a hand on the hilt of her training sword and nodded proudly.
Meanwhile, Han Lian, the young daughter of Han Xue'er, stood silently at the back. Her kind-hearted mother gently patted her shoulder, but the girl's timid appearance drew little attention. The elders dismissed her quietly; weakness had no place in the Han Clan's pride.
---
The boasting went on, each uncle and cousin striving to prove their bloodline superior. Laughter, mockery, and rivalry filled the grand hall.
At last, one of the elders, Han Qingshan, cleared his throat. Though old and half-forgetful, his words still carried weight.
"All this talk of talent reminds me," he said slowly, stroking his long beard, "do you recall Han Su? Once, there were whispers that his bloodline might awaken something extraordinary. What a shame… all wasted, wasn't it?"
A ripple of silence passed through the hall.
Then, Han Wei chuckled, his voice smooth but laced with venom. "Han Su? A man blinded by weakness. He couldn't even protect his own wife, let alone bring glory to the clan. His branch was destined to wither away."
Han Longwei's lips curved into a cold smile. "Indeed. That foolish nephew of mine brought nothing but disgrace. It was better that his line ended with him."
Han Rong scoffed, pounding his fist into his palm. "If only he'd had the spine of a true Han, perhaps he'd have left a child worth discussing. But he didn't. End of story."
Even Han Zhilan smirked faintly. "History will not remember the weak."
At the back, Han Xue'er lowered her gaze. Unlike the others, she remembered Han Su's quiet kindness, but her voice was too small to matter.
The children exchanged curious looks, some laughing at the forgotten name. None of them knew that outside the clan, hidden in obscurity, Han Su's son lived — carrying both the pendant of his father and the mysterious stone of fate within his veins.