From Zhuge Su Yeon's Perspective
After rereading the document one last time — this time with the calm and clarity that political coldness demanded — I folded it carefully and handed it back to Su Lan.
The sound of the parchment resting on the table was soft, yet in the silence of the hall, it seemed heavier than any word spoken until then.
My sister continued to watch me, her eyes sharp, her expression weighed down by restrained worry.
It was unusual to see Su Lan like that.
She rarely showed emotion — her face was usually a mask of composure, trained for control.
But now, there was something different: a trace of uncertainty, barely visible, hidden beneath her practiced serenity.
And, as always, faced with tension, I did what I did best.
I performed.
"This is good," I said calmly, offering a faintly sincere smile. "Bringing back old traditions can unite the clans. Accept their request."
Her expression changed instantly.
Surprise.
Distrust.
Perhaps even a flicker of irritation.
She opened her mouth, hesitated, and finally began, "This—"
But before she could finish, I raised a hand, interrupting her smoothly.
"As for the other issues, forget them for now," I said, leaning back slightly and glancing toward the open windows where sunlight was beginning to spill into the hall.
"Once the tournament is confirmed… let's say… schedule it for a year and six months from today."
Her brow furrowed.
I could practically feel her urge to argue, but I continued before she had the chance.
"The gap is perfect. It'll give the clans time to prepare, exhaust themselves, and distract one another. And the exact date — let them decide."
I leaned forward slightly, meeting her gaze.
"When people have something to focus on, their other problems tend to disappear."
It was a simple reasoning, and Su Lan knew it.
On a political board, distraction was often as effective as victory.
Let them fight over the spotlight, and soon they'd forget the shadows that brought them there.
She fell silent for a moment.
Her eyes lingered on my face, searching between the lines of what I said — trying to decipher what I was really thinking.
To be fair, I couldn't have explained it myself.
At last, she exhaled deeply.
"Fine…" she murmured, her voice low and resigned. "But who will fight?"
The question hung in the air —
simple, direct, and yet heavy enough to make any answer feel insufficient.
I smiled faintly, interlacing my fingers atop the table.
"Well, let's see…" I muttered, letting the thought unfold.
My brothers and sisters were, without question, talented.
Each of them possessed their own virtues, gifts, and personalities — which made our lineage both diverse and, at times, unbearably complicated.
But among the thirty-three of us, few were true fighters.
Some had chosen the path of study, others pursued auxiliary professions, and others simply got lost in their own spiritual pursuits.
Pure combat ability was rare among the children of our father.
That was why the mental list forming in my mind was harder than it seemed.
I had to consider more than strength — control, loyalty, and, above all, image.
Whoever represented the Zhuge Clan would need not only to win but to embody what our family stood for.
I picked up a quill and began writing names in silence while Su Lan watched.
One by one, the names took shape — nine in total: six sisters and three brothers.
When I finished, I dried the ink with a small pulse of spiritual energy and pushed the parchment toward her.
"Han, Ren, and Zi — summon them from their sects immediately," I said, my tone cool and authoritative, like issuing a military order. "Do it quickly."
"As for the girls…" I added, looking up at her, "we should speak with them today."
Su Lan took the paper without a word.
Her eyes skimmed over the list line by line, her brows narrowing slightly at each name — silently calculating the logistical and political headaches that were sure to follow.
I could only imagine what was going through her mind.
Perhaps she agreed with some choices, perhaps she disagreed with all of them.
But Su Lan was pragmatic — and she knew when questioning me was pointless.
In the end, she simply nodded.
"Understood," she said at last.
She gathered her folders and documents with her usual precision.
One by one, the papers were stacked neatly, sealed with a flicker of spiritual energy, and tucked under her left arm.
The soft rustle of silk from her robes echoed through the hall as she stood.
For a moment, I thought I had finally won that quiet battle between us.
She was leaving without further questions, without demanding explanations — and that, in our relationship, was as close to a rare victory as I was ever likely to get.
I watched as she walked toward the door, the golden morning light outlining her poised silhouette.
For a brief instant, I almost felt relief.
Maybe, just this once, I would actually get to eat in peace.
A quiet meal — no reports, no contingency plans, no looming political tension.
Just the sound of wind, the aroma of tea, and the taste of freshly prepared spiritual food.
Yes — a fleeting hope, but a real one.
I could almost taste tranquility.
Then she stopped.
One step short of the doorway, Su Lan paused.
The movement was small, but it was enough to drain every trace of calm from the room.
She glanced back over her shoulder — her face still calm, too calm — and her eyes steady, direct, emotionless.
"Oh, yes, almost forgot," she said casually, as if mentioning something trivial — a footnote in a conversation of little importance.
My instincts flared instantly.
Nothing Su Lan "almost forgot" was ever insignificant.
Adjusting one of the folders beneath her arm, she continued in the same composed tone,
"Yu Jin is returning."
The words fell like a silent thunderclap in the hall.
Before I could even react, she added,
"He killed one hundred and four monks and is on his way home. Shall I include him on the list?"
She said it with complete neutrality — not a hint of irony or emotion — as if she were informing me of a simple schedule change.
And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.
Her footsteps faded down the corridor, and the heavy jade door closed behind her with a muted click.
I remained still, staring at the empty space ahead.
The air felt colder.
For several seconds, I tried to process her words — as if my mind refused to accept them as part of the same reality.
Yu Jin.
Killed one hundred and four monks.
Is returning.
Three fragments of information — enough to turn any morning into a disaster.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, massaging the spot between my brows.
Whatever appetite I had left vanished completely.
I exhaled slowly, suppressing the urge to laugh at the irony of it all.
It was almost comical.
In mere minutes, the day had gone from mild political annoyance to a full-blown omen of chaos.
The Zhuge Catastrophe was coming home.
And if history had taught our family anything, it was that when Yu Jin was around…
no plan — no matter how well crafted — ever survived for long.