Chapter 5 – The First Disciple
The grand gates of the Zhou estate loomed tall, guarded by men in dark suits and earpieces. Expensive cars lined the driveway, and reporters crowded outside, shouting questions.
From among them walked a lone man in a plain black suit. His steps were unhurried, yet there was an indescribable weight to his presence. As he approached, the guards instinctively straightened. Some even felt their palms sweat without knowing why.
"I am here regarding the Zhou Patriarch," Tang Zhenwu said simply.
The guards hesitated. Dozens had already come claiming they could heal, all frauds. Yet when they met the Emperor's calm, piercing eyes, none dared to stop him. One hurried inside to report.
Soon, Tang Zhenwu was led through marble halls into the inner residence. The air smelled faintly of medicine and despair. Inside the main room, doctors in white coats surrounded a pale, frail old man lying on a bed. Tubes and machines hummed faintly, measuring his fading life.
The Zhou Family members stood around with tense expressions. Their leader for the moment, Zhou Wei — the second son — turned sharply when he saw the Emperor.
"Another charlatan?" he said coldly. "We've seen enough tricks. Leave."
Tang Zhenwu did not move. His gaze swept over the room, then returned calmly to Zhou Wei.
"If I wished to trick you, I would have worn silk robes and carried talismans," he replied. "I came only to look."
Something in his tone silenced the room. Even the doctors stopped. Zhou Wei frowned but gestured reluctantly. "Fine. Look, then."
Tang Zhenwu stepped forward. He placed two fingers gently on the old man's wrist. For a moment, his eyes closed. Inside, his spiritual sense extended, probing.
What he found was pitiful — a body eaten away by strange toxins of the modern world, nerves failing, organs collapsing. The machines could delay death but not reverse it. Yet within the faint embers of the old man's spirit, the Emperor sensed stubborn vitality refusing to yield.
Tang Zhenwu opened his eyes. "Disappointing," he said flatly, drawing gasps.
"What?!" Zhou Wei snapped.
"Not the man," the Emperor continued, turning his gaze to the gathered doctors. "The methods. You trap the body with machines but ignore the essence of life. You prod a dying fire with sticks but never feed it fuel."
At first, Tang Zhenwu had intended to leave. It was amusing to witness the so-called peak of modern medicine, powerless before what ancient alchemy could mend. Yet as he looked again at the Zhou Patriarch, he remembered his clan's oath. This was fate's offering.
With a sigh, he flicked his sleeve. A small jade vial appeared in his palm — one of the last few pills refined by the Royal Alchemist of the Tang Clan before their long sleep. The pill glowed faintly with suppressed vitality.
"Give him this," Tang Zhenwu said.
The family stared in disbelief. Zhou Wei's face darkened. "And what is that? Another miracle pill?"
But before he could order the man thrown out, the eldest grandson, Zhou Ming, suddenly stepped forward. His sharp eyes locked onto Tang Zhenwu's face.
"I'll trust him," Zhou Ming declared.
"Why?" Zhou Wei demanded.
Zhou Ming's expression did not waver. "Because when he touched grandfather's wrist, his breathing changed. The despair in the room lifted, even if none of you noticed. And when he spoke… I felt the same presence I once felt standing before grandfather in his prime. If this man wished to deceive us, he would not stand so openly, with no fear of consequences."
His words stunned the room into silence. The young man's instinct pierced through doubt.
Zhou Wei hesitated, but the patriarch's breathing was growing weaker by the moment. He gritted his teeth and nodded.
The pill was administered.
Moments later, a soft golden warmth spread through the old man's body. The monitors beeped wildly, alarming the doctors — then stabilized. Color returned to Zhou Wenhai's face. His chest rose and fell more evenly. His eyes, once dim, opened slowly.
Gasps erupted. The doctors froze. The Zhou Family members shouted in shock and joy.
"Father!" "Patriarch!"
The old man's lips trembled. His gaze landed on Tang Zhenwu, and in a faint voice he whispered, "You… are not ordinary…"
The Emperor only inclined his head. "Rest. Your body will need time to mend."
The room was chaos, yet he had already turned to leave.
As he walked through the courtyard, his steps slowed. There, in the training yard, he saw a young man practicing with a wooden sword. Sweat dripped from his brow, yet each swing carried a natural rhythm, a faint sharpness that split the air unnaturally.
Tang Zhenwu's eyes narrowed. In the boy's body, he saw it clearly — a Sword Constitution. Rare beyond words, a natural affinity with the Way of the Sword. In the ancient world, such a physique would have been fought over by sects.
The boy stopped when he sensed the Emperor watching. "Who are you?" he asked cautiously.
Tang Zhenwu stepped closer, his voice like thunder hidden beneath calm waters.
"You were born with a gift no one here understands. If you remain, it will wither. Come with me, and I will make you a sword that can pierce the heavens."
The boy's breath caught. His heart pounded as if struck.
The Emperor's gaze was steady. "You have three days. Put your affairs in order. When I return, you will leave with me."
And with that, he walked away, leaving the young man trembling in the courtyard.
By the next morning, word had spread like wildfire. The Zhou Patriarch had risen from his deathbed.
The mysterious black-suited man who had healed him was none other than the newly-registered head of the Celestial Life Pavilion — a medical institution with a name that carried both grace and dominance.
In an instant, the Pavilion's name blazed across the city.
Note: The Celestial Life Pavilion operates as the public face and healing arm of the Tang Clan's medical endeavors. It is part of the larger Tang Medical Research and Care Division, where ancient alchemy and modern science are quietly combined to restore life and extend longevity. While the Pavilion is known to the world as a medical institution, its true foundation lies in the Tang Clan's timeless knowledge of cultivation, healing arts, and hidden medicine.