Incense

The Seven Treasures Glazed Sect's branch office located near Heaven Dou City.

The message arrived that afternoon.

A formal dispatch bearing the official seal of the main lineage was delivered to the branch by a courier riding at breakneck speed. The wax seal on the envelope was intact, and upon opening it, only two thin sheets of paper were found inside.

Yet, these two thin sheets of paper triggered an earthquake throughout the branch's council hall.

"Resource supply... cut in half?!"

"All mineral quotas and sect guard allocations, all slashed by fifty percent?!"

"This is as good as killing us!"

In the council hall, a dozen elders of the branch lineage wore expressions of shock, fury, or utter despair.

A fifty percent cut.

For a branch lineage, these four words were practically a death sentence.

Everything their branch relied on—the training of their disciples, the maintenance of their businesses, and daily expenses—depended entirely on the resources allocated by the main lineage. To have that cut in half was equivalent to having half their lifeblood severed.

Furthermore, the dispatch contained a chilling phrase: "As for when this will be restored, it shall be determined based on the situation."

Determined based on the situation.

Translated, that meant: who knows? It might be restored, or it might never be. It all depends on your performance.

This blade hanging over their heads, with no telling when it might fall, was even more agonizing than the strike itself.

Beyond the resource cuts, the dispatch contained one more item—

Regarding the disposition of Ning Jing.

"Stripped of all duties. No longer to participate in any management affairs of the branch."

In the center of the council hall.

Ning Jing stood there.

His face was deathly pale, his hands trembling uncontrollably, the thin sheet of paper crumpled in his grip. Fine beads of cold sweat seeped from his forehead and slid down his temples, yet he remained oblivious.

"Respected elders..."

His voice shook.

His lips trembled as they parted and closed, parted and closed again, until he finally managed to squeeze a complete sentence from his throat.

"Respected elders! I, Ning Jing, have been loyal to the clan all these years! If I have no merit, I have at least put in the labor!"

He lunged forward, his voice rising sharply with a hint of hysteria.

"Why—why have you stripped me of my position?!"

"What did I do wrong?! When the people from the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan came knocking, I was the first to stand up and take a stance! I was the one who personally handed over that... that disgrace!"

"What was it all for? Wasn't it to ensure the safety of our branch? The main lineage told me to hand him over, so I did! It was the main lineage's will! I was just following orders!"

"On what grounds—now that trouble has come, do I have to shoulder it all alone?!"

His voice echoed through the empty council hall, carrying an indescribable sense of sorrow and resentment.

But the response he received was only a more violent surge of fury.

"Shut up!"

The elder seated at the head of the table slammed his palm against the armrest, his clouded eyes filled with rage.

"Ning Jing! You have the nerve to cry injustice here?!"

The elder stood up abruptly, his withered finger pointing straight at Ning Jing's face.

"Look at yourself! Look at the disgrace you sired!"

"He's dead! And he still won't let us have any peace even in death!"

The elder's voice was sharp and piercing, like a rusty saw grating back and forth.

"Cutting flesh to return to his father! Removing bones to return to his mother! He put on such a grand performance! Now the whole world is talking about it! The whole world is cursing us! They say we of the Seven Treasures Glazed Sect sell our own kin for glory! They say we treat our own flesh and blood like refuse!"

He took a heavy breath, his chest heaving violently.

"Our branch has truly had the worst luck for eight lifetimes by following your family!"

Another elder could no longer hold back, interjecting coldly:

"Ning Jing, who do you think brought this punishment from the main lineage upon us in the first place? Wasn't it your precious son? A piece of trash without even a martial soul, causing such a massive disaster outside, and even in death, he had to stir up such an earth-shattering scene—"

He let out a cold snort.

"The fine son you raised."

Ning Jing's complexion shifted from pale to ashen, then to a sickly, earthen gray.

He opened his mouth, wanting to offer a defense, only to find that he had absolutely nothing to say.

Because he had no way to refute it.

His son had indeed caused trouble.

His son had indeed died.

The manner of his son's death had indeed magnified the impact of the entire affair a hundred, a thousand times over.

And now—all the consequences had fallen upon his own head.

Another clan elder spoke up, slow and steady, his tone calmer than the previous two, yet the meaning behind his words was far colder.

"Ning Jing, let me be blunt."

He sat with his legs crossed, casting a detached glance at Ning Jing.

"I'm telling you—even if the main branch revokes our punishment and restores our resource supply,"

He paused, emphasizing the final words.

"Don't even think about getting your position back."

The sentence hit like a basin of ice water dumped over his head.

Ning Jing's body swayed.

He stood there blankly, the expression on his face as if all color and vitality had been drained away.

The clan elders no longer looked at him.

They began to discuss how to cut expenses and redistribute shares under the reduced resource allocation—these were the practical matters that truly required concern at the moment.

As for Ning Jing—

He was no longer important.

A dismissed steward, the father of someone who had caused a monstrous disaster, the culprit who, in everyone's eyes, had "dragged down the entire branch."

From this day forward, he no longer even had the right to speak within this branch.

Ning Jing stood frozen for a long time.

In the end, as if his spine had been pulled out, he hunched his back and shuffled out of the council hall step by step.

No one looked at him.

No one called him back.

The backyard of the branch division.

A secluded side room.

The room was small, with simple furnishings. A wooden bed, an old chair, a small table. The window was half-open, and the wind blowing in from outside carried the cool breath of early autumn.

In the innermost part of the room, in the corner against the wall, stood a small incense shrine.

The shrine was tiny. So small that it could only hold a single spirit tablet.

The tablet was made from a piece of ordinary pine wood, its edges not finely polished; it was clearly handmade rather than carved by a professional craftsman.

On the face of the tablet, two characters were written in neat, small regular script—

Ning Zha.

Above the spirit tablet sat a small clay figurine.

The statue was also small, no taller than a palm. Yet it was crafted with immense care and detail. It depicted a young child with a round face and two topknots on his head, his eyes and brows possessing an indescribable liveliness and stubbornness.

It was lifelike.

It looked as if it might jump off that small pedestal at any moment and call out, "Mother."

Three sticks of incense were burning before the tablet. They had burned halfway down, and thin wisps of blue smoke rose, spiraling and lingering in the dim room, refusing to dissipate.