Malichi Hans did not allow himself to yawn.
He stood straight before the gates of the Hans villa, spine aligned, shoulders squared, chin lifted just enough to project confidence without arrogance. The early morning air was cool against his freshly washed skin, carrying the faint scent of incense drifting from the inner courtyards.
Three days.
Three days since he had received his cultivation manual.
Three days since sleep had become an inconvenience rather than a necessity.
He had risen before dawn to cleanse himself thoroughly, scrubbing away sweat and exhaustion alike. He washed his hair twice, bound it neatly, and donned his finest robes: deep indigo silk with subtle gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing careless.
Presentable.
Worthy.
Malichi adjusted his sleeves once more, then clasped his hands behind his back and waited.
Beyond the gates stretched the wide avenue leading into the inner city. Servants stood in orderly lines to either side of him, heads lowered, hands folded. Guards in polished armor formed a discreet outer ring, eyes sharp, postures rigid. Administrators, stewards, and senior attendants filled the spaces between, each keenly aware that today was not an ordinary arrival.
Today, the Clan Leader was returning.
Freidak Hans.
Malichi's father.
The man had been away for nearly a month, traveling to negotiate an alliance with the Lepen Clan, a neighbouring city-state whose strength had been rising steadily in recent years. Rumours of the talks had circulated endlessly among the clan, trade routes, shared resources, joint defence pacts.
Malichi ignored all of it.
Politics could wait.
Right now, he cared about one thing.
What his father would see when he looked at him.
Malichi's fingers twitched slightly behind his back.
He thought of the jade slip again.
The one Elder Grigs had handed him without comment. The one that glowed brighter than the others, its inscriptions deeper, more intricate. A higher-grade manual, even if no one had spoken the words aloud.
Expectation.
It pressed down on him heavier than the morning air.
"Young Master," a servant murmured softly from behind, "the convoy has entered the inner district."
Malichi inhaled slowly, then nodded once. "Understood."
The retinue stirred subtly. Guards straightened further. Servants lowered their heads a fraction more. Even the wind seemed to still, as if unwilling to disrupt the moment.
Minutes passed.
Then he heard it.
The rhythmic sound of hooves on stone.
A procession emerged at the far end of the avenue. Banners bearing the Hans insignia fluttered gently, followed by mounted guards and carriages reinforced with spiritual arrays. At the centre rode a man astride a dark, powerful beast, its eyes calm, its steps measured.
Freidak Hans did not rush.
He never did.
He wore travel robes of muted grey, unadorned save for the clan crest at his chest. His presence alone commanded attention, an invisible pressure that settled over the gathered crowd without a single word being spoken.
Malichi's heart thudded once, hard.
The convoy slowed, then stopped before the villa gates.
Freidak dismounted smoothly, movements precise and economical. Though not yet old, streaks of silver threaded his dark hair, and his eyes-sharp, assessing-missed nothing as they swept over the assembled crowd.
Then they settled on Malichi.
For a brief moment, the world narrowed.
Malichi stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Father. Welcome home."
Freidak regarded him in silence.
Malichi held the bow, back straight, breathing steady. He resisted the urge to speak again, to fill the quiet. This was not a test of words.
It was a test of bearing.
Finally, Freidak nodded. "You've grown."
The words were simple.
They hit harder than any praise.
Malichi straightened. "I have begun cultivation."
"I know," Freidak replied. His gaze flicked briefly, "And?"
Malichi hesitated only a fraction of a second. "The manual is… demanding."
A corner of Freidak's mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
"Good," he said. "It should be."
Behind him, a second carriage door opened. A woman stepped down gracefully, her presence softer but no less commanding. Malichi turned immediately and bowed again.
"Mother."
She smiled warmly, reaching out to rest a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Stand up straight. You're not a child anymore."
Malichi did as told, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. Pride. Relief. Something close to longing.
Freidak turned toward the villa. "We'll speak in a moment," he said to Malichi. "After I've changed."
"Yes, Father."
As the clan leader passed him, Malichi caught a fleeting sensation, like standing near a deep, quiet lake. Power held in reserve. Authority forged over decades.
One day, that weight would be his.
Malichi watched his father disappear through the gates, servants and guards flowing after him like water around stone.
Only when the avenue finally emptied did Malichi allow himself to exhale.
Three days ago, he had received a brighter jade slip.
Today, he stood beneath the gaze of the man whose shadow defined his entire life.
Malichi clenched his hands slowly, feeling the faint hum of cultivated strength beneath his skin.
"I won't waste it," he murmured to no one in particular.
Above him, the Hans banners fluttered softly, bearing a name that was both inheritance and burden.
And Malichi Hans intended to carry it, no matter the cost.
Malichi returned to the villa in silence.
The heavy gates closed behind the procession, shutting out the avenue and the watching eyes of the inner city. Inside, the estate felt unchanged, quiet courtyards, carefully trimmed spirit-plants, the faint hum of defensive formations woven into stone and wood alike.
Familiar.
And yet, after three days of cultivation, it all felt subtly different.
Malichi walked with measured steps, nodding politely to servants who bowed as he passed. He did not go to his chambers immediately. Instead, he entered a side hall reserved for waiting guests, its wide windows overlooking a koi pond fed by a thin stream of spiritually enriched water.
He sat.
And his thoughts drifted.
The jade slip rested within his robes, its presence impossible to ignore.
Celestial Roots Binding Manual.
The name alone had unsettled him when Elder Grigs handed it over.
Malichi had known, the instant his fingers closed around it, that it was not the Hans Flower Technique. The difference was unmistakable. The jade was heavier, the inscriptions deeper, as though the knowledge within pressed outward rather than resting quietly.
Still, curiosity, and discipline, had driven him to request the orthodox manual as well.
Comparison was a habit he had learned early.
The Hans Flower Technique had been exactly as advertised. Clean. Structured. Conservative. It spoke of harmony between flesh and spirit, of steady growth and minimized risk. A method designed to produce reliable cultivators in great numbers.
Useful.
Respectable.
Inferior.
The Celestial Roots Binding Manual had made that obvious within the first few pages.
Where the Hans Flower Technique spoke of balance, the Celestial Roots Binding Manual spoke of selection.
No body excels equally in all things. Those who attempt it will excel in nothing.
Malichi's fingers tightened slightly as he remembered reading those words.
The manual proposed a radically different philosophy. Rather than strengthening the body evenly, it instructed the cultivator to identify certain "roots", aspects of the body that resonated most strongly with intent, and invest in them deeply, without restraint.
Strength.
Speed.
Endurance.
Perception.
The manual did not dictate which paths to choose.
It demanded that the cultivator decide.
Even the way it approached spiritual energy differed. Instead of drawing energy uniformly from the environment, it described roots, specific methods of gathering that aligned with the chosen roots. Certain breathing patterns, postures, and states of mind allowed energy to enter more cleanly, more safely, and in greater volume.
Not because the body was stronger.
But because the energy belonged there.
Malichi had found that concept unsettling.
And intoxicating.
The Celestial Roots Binding Manual did not teach balance. It taught commitment. It encouraged the cultivator to bind intent to flesh, to engrave purpose into the body itself. To become an outlier, someone who excelled so completely in a chosen aspect that conventional measures no longer applied.
A cultivator who struck harder than their level suggested.
Who endured longer than logic allowed.
Who could not be measured by ordinary standards.
Malichi stared out at the koi pond, watching the fish glide effortlessly through the water.
"The stronger you become," the manual had warned, "the more obvious your weaknesses will be."
Investment came at a cost.
To strengthen one root was to neglect another. A body forged for overwhelming offense might lack flexibility. A cultivator who bound intent to endurance might sacrifice explosive speed.
There was no safety net.
Only choice.
Malichi had spent most of the past three days thinking.
Not cultivating.
Thinking.
Because once a path was chosen, it could not be undone.
Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor.
Malichi straightened instinctively as his father and mother approached, their presence unmistakable even before they entered the hall.
Freidak Hans stepped inside first, his expression composed, his gaze sharp as ever. Malichi's mother followed, her eyes soft but observant.
"You've been waiting," Freidak said, more statement than question.
"Yes, Father."
Freidak gestured toward the opposite seat. "Sit."
Malichi obeyed.
For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Then Freidak's eyes flicked briefly toward Malichi's chest. "The manual."
Malichi did not pretend to misunderstand. "Celestial Roots Binding." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It does not forgive indecision."
"No," his father agreed. "It doesn't."
Malichi clenched his hands slowly in his lap. "The Hans Flower Technique would have made me strong. Eventually. But this…" He looked up, meeting his father's gaze. "This demands that I choose what kind of strength I want."
Freidak studied him for a long moment.
"Good," he said at last. "A clan leader cannot afford to be balanced."
Malichi felt something settle in his chest. Heavy but steady. The power of Expectation.
Outside, the koi broke the surface of the pond, ripples spreading outward in perfect circles.
Roots bound deep beneath still water.
Malichi Hans lowered his gaze, resolve hardening quietly within him.
Three days ago, he had been handed a brighter jade slip.
Now, he understood why.
And with the roots he had chose to bind, the heavens themselves would one day feel the strain.