Entering the Mountain

Yun Ji, Yun Long, Shi Tie, and Li Pinghu—four men—formed an inconspicuous squad.

Li Pinghu's cultivation had reached the peak of the Xiantian realm, while Shi Tie and Yun Ji were both skilled experts at the mid-Xiantian stage.

After practicing the Xiantian Gong, Yun Ji's strength had improved dramatically. Without using the Golden Bell Shield, Yun Long probably couldn't last more than a few moves against him.

Yun Long, though seemingly young, possessed no ordinary combat prowess. An average mid-Xiantian martial artist might not be his match.

Over at the Lingyue Martial Arts School, although the headmaster Li Pinghu was part of this group, the three Xiantian realm martial artists under him wisely chose not to follow.

They understood that for this arduous task of searching the mountains for the ruins, the Ninth Prince would never allow these hastily assembled Xiantian squads to have too many members.

What he wanted was to cast a wide net, using sheer numbers to stack the odds for that slim chance of success.

As for these Xiantian realm martial artists, they were nothing but pawns in his hand. If they died, they died. A big shot like the Ninth Prince, Fang Yuanhua, wouldn't even blink.

Beyond Nanshan Town, Fang Yuanhua had forcibly conscripted all the Xiantian realm martial artists from a full eight towns this time.

A vast, surging crowd, totaling over two hundred people.

Before entering the mountains, Fang Yuanhua was uncharacteristically "generous," handing out weapons stored in the government armory to these martial artists he regarded as nothing more than weeds.

"Those insatiable leeches in the government office finally got smart this time. They knew to read the wind and didn't dare fob off shoddy goods on the Ninth Prince."

Shi Tie's large, spatula-like hand rummaged through a pile of weapons as he spoke in a low voice.

His eyes were sharp, and he quickly picked out four gleaming, cold blades for the group.

The blades were straight, the edges tinged with a faint blue—clearly forged from refined steel with meticulous effort.

"Old Yun, you know these mountains better than any of us. Once we're in, everything will be done according to your orders." Li Pinghu took the long blade, his tone serious.

Shi Tie weighed the knife in his hand, feeling its familiar heft and chill, and rumbled in response: "That's right. I'm a blacksmith, Old Li here runs a martial arts school. Out here in the deep woods, whether we come out in one piece depends entirely on you, Old Yun."

Yun Ji took the blade, his fingers habitually tracing the cold steel. His gaze was deep as he looked toward the distant, dark green mountain ranges.

"I've hunted in these mountains for most of my life. I've seen every kind of wolf, tiger, and leopard, but this so-called 'ruins'—I haven't even caught a glimpse of its shadow."

His voice carried a hint of hoarseness.

"All of you, stay on high alert. This matter... it's probably not that simple."

Yun Long, however, was unimpressed. He patted the knife at his waist and grinned: "Dad, we'll just search the mountains honestly. What else can we do?"

"Besides, with the four of us, is there any beast in these mountains that could actually hurt us?"

"Shut your stinking mouth!" Yun Ji whirled around, his gaze sharp as a blade, making Yun Long shrink his neck.

"You simple-minded fool, with more brawn than brains! Do you really think this is a chance for you to show off?"

"Use that block of wood you call a head for a second. The imperial court mobilizes such a force, the Ninth Prince personally oversees it—do you think they need a few 'misfits' like us to save face?"

The chill in Yun Ji's voice made the surrounding air feel several degrees colder.

Seeing this, Li Pinghu quickly patted Yun Long on the shoulder to smooth things over: "That's right, Old Yun has a point. This matter is far from as simple as it looks on the surface."

"A-Long, your experience is still shallow. You need to listen more, observe more, and learn more."

Yun Ji's face was dark enough to drip water.

This son of his—his martial arts talent was indeed something the clan hadn't seen in a century.

But his ability to read people and situations was as simple as a blank sheet of paper, so naive it made one anxious.

Now, with him, his father, constantly knocking some sense into him and drilling him, he could still keep him somewhat in check.

But Yun Ji would eventually grow old, and one day he would pass on.

If the Yun Clan truly managed to grow stronger under his watch, how could Yun Long, with this kind of temperament, ever shoulder that legacy?

Would he have to watch helplessly as those scheming old foxes chewed him up and spat out the bones?

Just thinking about it made Yun Ji's heart feel like a boulder was pressing down on it, heavy and suffocating.

"Sigh..."

He let out a silent sigh, his gaze once again fixed on the treacherous mountain forest ahead.

"I just hope this trip into the mountains, this brutal reality, will teach you a harsh lesson, boy."

"Let you truly understand that the ways of the world and the hearts of men are far more complex and sinister than you imagine."

"Let those unrealistic pride and naivety of yours be utterly discarded!"

Yun Ji roared inwardly.

Only then could he truly grow up, and perhaps, in the future, bear the responsibility that belonged to him.

Yun Long, scolded harshly by his father, felt his face burn.

But this time, surprisingly, he showed no defiance whatsoever, nor did he stubbornly talk back.

His father's words, every single one, seemed to carry a bone-chilling coldness that sobered him up in an instant.

He lowered his head, appearing to admit his mistake, but in truth, his mind was churning with thoughts far more turbulent than his calm exterior suggested.

The Ninth Prince, the conscription, the ruins...

These words swirled in his head, linking together with the grave expressions of his father and Uncle Li.

He vaguely understood.

Ever since he came into contact with that mysterious Family Genealogy and accepted that weighty inheritance, the Yun Clan was no longer the ordinary hunter family of Nanshan Town.

A responsibility he had never truly comprehended before quietly pressed down on his shoulders.

The future of the clan, the life and death of its members, might all be closely tied to his every word and action.

He could no longer act as recklessly and impulsively as before, nor could he remain so naive and foolish.

This time, he had to be fully alert, with every ounce of his focus.

He had to learn, to observe, and to engrave every word his father said deep in his heart.

He silently clenched his fist, his nails digging deep into his palm, bringing a sharp sting of clarity.

In that moment, the pride of a frog at the bottom of a well within the young man's heart quietly cracked and fell away.

Within the deep and obscure Family Genealogy, Yun Jiang's will lingered like a wisp of smoke, quietly hovering.

He "listened" to the interwoven thoughts of the father and son outside.

Yun Ji's deep worry, Yun Long's sudden awakening.

A faint, almost imperceptible trace of approval surfaced within his ethereal spiritual form.

"This child can be taught; there is still hope."

Yet this brief comfort was soon replaced by a deeper sense of powerlessness.

He was now merely an imprisoned spectator, a player whose usual pleasures were nothing but self-amusement.

No matter how the gears of the clan's fate turned, he could hardly intervene any longer.

The future of the Yun Clan now rested entirely on those two somewhat slender shoulders in the mountain forest.

A chill ran through Yun Jiang's consciousness.

If... if the Yun Clan's bloodline truly came to an end, its lineage extinguished...

Would he, this wisp of a soul who had started the game, also vanish like a candle in the wind, utterly annihilated?

Then, the clan's destruction would mean eternal nothingness for him.

That would be a defeat from which there was no return, an outcome he refused to imagine, let alone gamble on.

The Yun Clan of today was far too weak.

Their strength was feeble, unable to withstand a single blow.

Their numbers were scarce, barely sustainable.

How could this be called a clan?

It was merely a small family struggling to hold on amidst the wind and rain.

Those true great clans of history, those behemoths that had stood for thousands of years—

Which of them did not have deep roots and abundant resources?

Which of them did not have multiple escape routes, maneuvering among various powers to seek the greatest survival and benefit for their clan?

The Yun Clan now found even basic self-preservation to be a struggle.

"Let us hope this crisis can also become a true turning point..."