The afternoon winds carried the scent of parchment and stale tea. The Jun clan's ancestral library was a place of long shadows and silent lines—aisles of ancient papers, shelves groaning under the weight of centuries, notebooks with notes so meticulous they seemed like maps of the soul. It was there that Jun Tian had spent the last few months like a ghost: there he had found what could not be contained in the conversations of the salons.
That day, he closed the last tome he had left. It wasn't a gesture of triumph; it was a calm movement, like closing a window to let the night air in. His hands full of ink, his eyes slightly red from his nocturnal reading, Jun Tian breathed. Everything there was familiar: the ancient methods of Condensation, fragmented accounts of anomalies, runic diagrams that the Lotus had taught him to understand. Now there was nothing more the old scholars could offer him.
"You did it all without anyone noticing." The librarian's voice, a white-haired man named Elder He, sounded from behind a stack of scrolls. He had the calm of one who had seen many ages. "He finished."
Jun Tian smiled briefly. "Yes. The city's records and even some memories of ancient travelers. Nothing that dares to convey what I already feel here." He touched his chest, where the Lotus revolved, silent as a guardian.
Elder He stared for a moment. "You spend so much time here that others say you only eat and sleep. Interesting... You know, today I went to the council hall. I spoke with the old Patriarch. I told him you spend your days leafing through and your nights on the stone. How little use..." His tone was neutral, almost without malice, but the message was there.
Jun Tian closed his eyes for a moment. He felt no shame. For him, the library was both armor and a training ground. Everything said in the clan corridors didn't reach the nights he spent alone reading the internal runes Lotus had shown him. Still, he asked, with the slightest hint of curiosity, "And what did the Patriarch say?"
"He just laughed and shook his head," the elder said. "Jun Xiao cares about his blood. The boy is lazy; he's preparing to be a good merchant, and nothing more." He said time will tell." Elder He raised his eyebrows, then let out a weak laugh. "But he asked me to keep watch. Not out of malice," he said honestly, "but because we're concerned about the clan's future."
Those words didn't hurt Jun Tian as they once did; they were merely echoes. Within him, progress was something else, measured by runes no elder counted. He thanked the librarian—a polite gesture—and left the room. Dusk was already tinging the cracks in the doors. On the streets, life went on: small shops closing, conversations still repeating Yun Xiang's name, and preparations for the festival celebrating the rise of the purple talent.
As he crossed the central square, he almost bumped into her.
Yun Xiang walked with the elegant cut of someone accustomed to being celebrated. Her dress had the purple thread that denoted talent; a servant in the distance carried a congratulatory scroll from the governor. Her eyes swept the square, turned to Jun Tian—and then rested curiously.
"Oh," she said in a clear, almost musical voice, "is that the young man from the Jun house? Jun Xiao's brother? I see you always reading... Always so quiet. If I hadn't won something this month, I would have come here just to see the exhibitions. How have you been, lazybones?"
The conversation floated in the air like an elegant challenge. Around them, a few young people whispered, chuckling softly. For Yun Xiang, arrogance was just a childhood game: reminding the clan where its brilliance resided.
Jun Tian looked at her with measured indifference, a gaze that didn't seek to offend, just not fuel that flame. He gave a slight nod.
"Good afternoon." It was brief, dry.
Yun Xiang was surprised. Someone was ignoring her. Her smile faltered. That calm contempt—not out of ill will, but out of neutrality—was something her pride couldn't accept. She tilted her head, regained her composure, and tried a different tone: "They say you spend hours in the library. Isn't it better to train? Talent doesn't blossom with reading alone."
The people around her laughed—the mockery was a fabric everyone shared. For many, Jun Tian was a fixture of the "useless" label that was reappearing in the salons. He could have reacted with anger or with a joke, he could have humiliated the young woman for her ostentation. But Jun Tian chose otherwise: he looked directly at her with absolute calm.
"I cultivate at night. I study during the day. The rest... is for others to make up stories." He turned and continued on his way without waiting for an answer.
Yun Xiang's expression hardened. Not from pain—wounded pride is gray—but from suppressed anger. Feeling slighted, her purple-talented instincts spat out surprise and anger: so many eyes admired her; someone who paid her no attention seemed to want to disrupt the order. To her, everything was a social reflection—and Jun Tian shattered the mirror.
The laughter grew louder; the vendors displayed Yun Xiang's robes with more vigor; and the young man was called lazy, dreamy, useless. Words that once would have wounded his flesh now slid off him like feathers. He knew the reasons: hiding the Lotus, caring for the 2.13, calibrating the meridians. All of this required silence—and the price was public ridicule.
When he arrived home, the Jun mansion was eerily quiet. The closed windows and lit lamps gave the house the appearance of a boat anchored in fog. Jun Tian climbed the stairs and was summoned. His parents were in the main hall; Patriarch Jun Xiao read something from a scroll, his expression neutral; Gu Qingluo, with the composure of someone who holds back emotions, remained seated. There was an official tone in the room—not exactly gravity, but the weight of a summons.
"Tian'er," her father began quietly, "today we heard from Yun Xiang. Everyone here is celebrating." He placed the parchment on the table, as if showing off a trophy. "I wanted to see you because... well, the clan speaks. They say you show no progress. That you prefer books to the sword. That you lead a life of leisure. This worries the alliances."
Jun Tian listened in silence. Every word was familiar, repeated in so many forms and variations. He thought of the mountain nights, the warm glow of the Lotus. He thought of the runes and the strange sensation of 2.13 trying to settle down. He also thought of Yun Xiang—not with jealousy, but with the distant observation of someone watching a piece move too well on the board.
"Is there something else?" he asked, with restrained calm. It was a simple request: why this summons?
Gu Qingluo took a breath, her slight belly already showing a new curve—the life growing within her. She had never seemed like a possessive mother; politeness and poise dictated her actions. When she spoke, her voice was short, almost mechanical.
"I'm pregnant," she said, as if discussing the delivery of documents.
The news cut through the hall like a cold blade. Jun Tian felt something inside him that he hadn't expected. Not joy, not enthusiastic surprise. He felt an emptiness—not of cruel indifference, but of distance. He had grown up with his parents' care, but not with an attachment that would fuel dreams. For many, this news might be cause for celebration; for him, it was just another reason to ask: "Why did you call me?"
"Then why did you call me here?" he repeated, this time with a slight firmness. His voice didn't ask for comfort; it asked for clarity.
Jun Xiao closed his eyes for a moment. His calloused hands rested on the wooden table. The clan elder, watching in the shadows, leaned forward slightly, as if sensing the inconvenience of words that weren't meant to hurt.
"Father and mother..." Gu Qingluo began, with rare hesitation, "we want you to prepare for the future." This clan needs to secure alliances, and news of Yun Xiang's talent has many families talking about connections. We need to think—for the good of the lineage—about... prospects." His speech was a diplomat speaking. "We've also had reports that you show no public ambition."
Jun Tian heard the subtext clearly: the call was less about the pregnancy and more about reaffirming expectations. It was a reminder that on the social chessboard of cultivation, everything was a negotiation.
After a few moments of silence, he replied slowly:
"I understand," he affirmed. He didn't say he would cry, nor that he would fight for recognition. "But also... I won't rush to be another image for others. I will grow in my own way."
Jun Xiao looked deeply at his son. There was a mixture of pride, worry, and an old guilt that a father doesn't know how to swallow easily. He took a breath and spoke, with sincerity behind the gestures of a man of responsibility:
"Just don't disappear. You'll grow anyway, Tian'er." But be careful. The clan needs names to uphold its glory, and we have eyes that watch. Don't let them say... that true dangers approach without us having a chance to prepare.
Jun Tian nodded. On the outside, it was an empty promise to many; on the inside, it was a silent commitment: to keep the secret, to care for the Lotus, to protect what was growing within the family—without being bound by hopes that weren't hers.
As she rose to leave, Gu Qingluo touched her son's shoulder with a quick hand—a simple motherly gesture. She didn't say a word of affection. It wasn't a warm gesture. But the touch came, and it was enough to make him feel something human; a reminder that, despite everything, there were bonds, however tenuous.
Jun Tian left. The night that greeted him was cool, and the Lotus was already twirling within his chest like someone beckoning. On the street, the last torches were dying. He walked to the top of a rock, sat down, and gazed at the city lights like earthly constellations.
The library was finished, the records read. Yun Xiang shone in the light of the world, and the festivities crept through the city's throat. And yet, in the silence of the mountain, he felt a calm and steady peace.
"Mother will have a son," he murmured softly, almost to himself. "What does this change in me?"
The Lotus answered with the patience of one who has seen eras rise and fall:
"Nothing and everything. The blood of the house will continue. But your journey is different. Grow what must grow, and protect what must be protected. One day, questions like these will have answers."
Jun Tian closed his eyes, breathed in the cool air, and allowed the night to immerse him in calm. He wasn't seeking revenge, retribution, or approval—he was seeking understanding. And, as always, he would proceed slowly, reading, breathing, climbing the mountain, and guarding the secret that was transforming him.
The next day, conversations would return to the parties. But that night, the words that mattered were spoken in silence: veiled promises, warm touches, and the certainty that each step would be measured under the light of the Lotus.