I didn't like wasting breath on proving things to people. If something works, it works. And if it doesn't, arguing won't change it.
But it turns out, even success needs defending in a clan as old and rooted as ours.
The shop was doing well—far better than I'd hoped. Over the last four days, we'd taken sixteen custom orders, sold more than forty robes, and had a repeat visitor rate already showing signs of loyalty. The Mo Clan perfumes were a bigger hit than I expected—especially the exclusive blends I paired with robes on the second floor. We had to limit appointments after the second day.
And still, they grumbled.
A few of the more traditional trade elders were beginning to circle. I'd overheard them in the side garden during the third evening.
"Too much flash. What if it doesn't sustain?"
"Tianxu gave him too much slack. That furniture alone cost more than three entire shops."
"He's too young. Cultivation genius doesn't mean he understands profit."
I didn't even flinch. They weren't wrong about the cost. But they were dead wrong about the outcome.
So I wrote a quick report. Neat, clean, full of actual numbers. Profit margins, repeat customer ratios, stock flow. Then I sent it to the one man they'd never dare question.
Ye Tianxu , Sixth Uncle. Frugal to the bone. Controlled the clan's most important ledgers like they were sect secrets. Sharp-tongued, cold-eyed, and absolutely brutal when it came to waste.
I made sure the final line of the report was the killer:
"If growth continues at current pace, investment recovery expected in three months. If not, I'll take full responsibility and liquidate."
An hour later, his steward delivered a message.
"Sixth Elder Ye Tianxu expresses that the business currently shows acceptable performance. Objections henceforth shall be deferred to his judgment."
That was it. Clean. Final. And deadly quieting.
The elders stopped whispering.
I didn't smile, but inside—I let myself feel the win for a breath.
Meanwhile, the shop was evolving fast. Our Grade 1 floor was humming with activity—walk-in traffic surged after rumors spread through the Ye Clan-owned apothecaries and weapon shops. Changhu had done his job well. Word on the street was:
"That robe store only takes appointments upstairs. But downstairs? You can walk in and smell the wealth."
Grade 2 robes were flying slower—but that was by design. The second floor was appointment-only now. We even had spiritual robe consultants trained to flatter, adjust, and upsell like silk-mouthed poets. I hired Hu Ren's cousin, an ex-dancer with sharp fashion sense, just to guide tone and style training. Guests felt elite before they even saw the racks.
Prices? Yeah, we were 35% higher, minimum. And no one was even blinking. The robes spoke for themselves. I had them displayed on spirit-light mannequins, enchanted to shimmer just slightly, like the robes moved on their own. Lighting was everything.
Changhu dropped in that evening, his bladed fan folded and tucked into a jade clip at his waist.
"You're getting a bit ruthless," he said, sipping cold tea in my office.
"Am I?" I replied, scribbling more figures.
"You didn't even defend yourself. You just sent Uncle Tianxu at them like a sword."
I looked up and smirked. "Why fight with words when someone sharper can shut it down?"
He laughed. "You're becoming dangerous."
"I hope so."
I didn't want respect for noise. I wanted it for results. And now, I had both.
~~~
Three months. It didn't feel like much when I thought of it. But the shop had changed everything.
I leaned back on the rooftop terrace of my four-story robe shop, a porcelain teacup warm in my hand, Clear Sky City spread out beneath me like a painted scroll. The late morning breeze tugged at the sleeves of my loose home robe—mid-grade spiritual silk, dyed in that signature charcoal-black with a red streak at the hem. Our shop's signature colors.
Sales were steady. Better than steady. The first month, I nearly panicked thinking we wouldn't recover the investment. The second, word started to spread. The third, we crossed even Uncle Tianxu's recovery threshold.
And when the sixth uncle himself, famed for guarding clan resources like a miserly dragon—dropped by unannounced and nodded at the interior design with a grunted "Hmm," I knew I had passed an invisible trial.
We weren't just selling robes. We were selling image. Prestige. Authority, wrapped in silk and sewn with gold thread. People came to us because they wanted to be seen walking out of our doors. That was the real product.
But lately… I found myself standing behind the second-floor balcony more and more often, not checking inventory or layout, but watching the crowd.
They came in groups. Cultivators of noble descent, rich merchants from the East Street districts, even two wandering cultivators who claimed to have broken through Foundation Building just last week—and wanted to look like they belonged among the elite. The Ye name carried weight, yes. But now my shop added polish to that weight.
Still, this wasn't why I left the clan grounds.
I sipped my tea, letting the silence settle around me before speaking aloud, as if to the city."I didn't come here just to sell robes."
The system hadn't pinged in weeks. No children. No rewards. I had grown stronger, yes—but alone. My siblings had their own paths. Changming in the clan war halls, Changrui practicing sword formations in the mountain courts, and Changjian—still sending reports from the spiritual mines in the west.
They supported me, but this was my journey.
That night, at a banquet thrown by a minor sect, I caught myself scanning the room. Not for allies. Not for customers.
But for someone else.
A laugh. A glance. A spark.
It was then I remembered what the system really wanted from me—and what I had almost forgotten in the chaos of bolts of cloth, perfume negotiations, and high-profit markups.
A child. My child. My legacy.
But not just anyone would do.
They had to be strong. Intelligent. Capable of leaving behind a mark. Someone whose cultivation and talent I could pass on. Someone who wouldn't just be a partner—but the mother of a future legend.
So, I began making appearances. Carefully. Banquets hosted by the Fan Clan's third son. A luncheon with the Baishi delegation. I even endured an awkward poetry gathering organized by the Whitemist Sect's younger disciples—where half the lines rhymed and none of the wine was strong enough.
I didn't jump on the first smile or coy compliment. This wasn't about romance. This was legacy.
But I did take note.
Lan Yue of the Whitemist Sect—graceful, distant, her eyes unreadable.Fan Jin's cousin, a bold saber practitioner with a sharp wit and no patience for nonsense.Even Mo Yuyan from the Cloudweaver Mo Clan, who visited the shop twice since our perfume contract began—formally, of course.
None were perfect. But none were ruled out either.
And in the background, the store continued to climb. Demand had outpaced stock. Changhu was talking about starting a separate accessories line, featuring his absurdly extravagant bladed fans.
Even Uncle Tianjian dropped by last week
"You're becoming quite the little fox," he said to me that night over a jug of sharp rice wine. "I don't know if the robes are your weapons, or if you're using the robes to sharpen yourself."
"Why not both?" I replied.
Now, I sat alone on the rooftop again. Tea cold. Mind racing.
The store had momentum. The clan had quieted. The revenue was rolling.
It was time to focus. On what came next.
On who came next.
Because I wasn't here just to build a robe empire.
I was here to build a dynasty.