The Patriarch listened to Han Yu's request and immediately nodded, his expression filled with sincerity.
"That was our intention as well," he said weakly but firmly. "It is only right that you, who refined the pills, witness their use with your own eyes."
Han Yu inclined his head slightly, accepting the words without further ceremony.
The main hall grew silent. The incense continued to burn, thin streams of smoke curling upward as if carrying the clan's hopes with it. No one spoke unnecessary words. There was no need for long speeches, no need for empty blessings.
Every person present knew what this ceremony meant. It was not a celebration. It was a gamble with fate.
The Patriarch slowly stepped forward, supported by Zhushen on one side and Zhuwen on the other. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes were clear. He looked at his two sons for a long moment, as if trying to engrave their faces into his memory.
