Settling All Scores, Xiao Yan: Refuse and Die! (Two Chapters—Four Thousand Words)

"Xiao Han."

In the corner, a young man in his early twenties abruptly rose to his feet, sending his chair crashing backward with a tremendous noise.

His face was bloodless, his eyes rimmed red, as though he might burst into tears at any moment.

Each time Xiao Yan called out a name, the person named looked as though they had been sentenced to death.

Some trembled all over, some dropped straight to their knees, and some even began kowtowing. Their foreheads struck the blue bricks with dull, frantic thuds, one after another, like beating drums.

"Young Master Xiao Yan, I was wrong!"

"Spare me! I'll never dare again!"

"Please, for the sake of our shared bloodline, let me off this once!"

Pleas for mercy rose and fell, mixed with sobbing, the sound of kowtowing, and the dry retching of those overcome by fear.

The hall was in utter chaos. The people who had just been sitting there arrogantly, drinking tea and watching the show, now seemed to have had their spines pulled out. They lay collapsed on the floor, stripped of any trace of dignity.

Xiao Yan watched the scene quietly, his expression unchanged.

He felt neither satisfaction nor pity.

When these people had mocked him, had they ever imagined this day would come?

For three years, every insult thrown in his face, every slander whispered behind his back, every deliberately amplified laugh when they saw him pass by—they had done it all with such ease, such enjoyment, as though bullying someone who shared their blood was only natural.

They had never imagined that the person they bullied would one day rise up, become stronger than them, and gain the power to judge them.

Now, that day had arrived.

"The Xiao Clan gave them resources and opportunities, yet their strength has remained at this level."

Xiao Yan's voice carried no fluctuation, like a cold machine reading out a verdict. "Xiao Ning in particular. Seventeen years old, and only at Seventh-Stage Dou Zhi Qi."

His gaze fell on Xiao Ning. Xiao Ning had stopped trembling. He was sprawled on the ground like a discarded rag.

"There's no need for him to remain in the Xiao Clan."

Xiao Yan's voice was soft, so soft that it seemed he was speaking to himself.

"Send him to manage ordinary affairs at one of the branch household's businesses. He can at least do his part for the Xiao Clan."

Xiao Ning's body suddenly went rigid.

Branch household.

Businesses.

Ordinary affairs.

Those words were like knives, carving into his heart one cut at a time.

In the Xiao Clan's main household, he was the clan chief's grandson and the direct descendant of an elder. Everywhere he went, people flattered and indulged him.

At a branch household business, he would merely be a steward managing trade, lowering his head before everyone he met. No one would care who he was anymore.

He would rather Xiao Yan beat him senseless, rather lose an arm or a leg, than be driven out of the Xiao Clan.

"No... no..."

Xiao Ning raised his head. Tears and dirt were smeared across his face, leaving him in a pitiful state.

His lips trembled violently, and his voice was like bubbles rising from beneath the water, muffled and broken.

"Xiao Yan, you can't... you can't do this... My grandfather is an elder, my grandfather..."

His voice grew softer and softer before vanishing completely. He had seen Xiao Yan's eyes—there was no anger in them, no hatred, not even the slightest excess emotion.

There was only the indifference of a judge toward a criminal.

That indifference was more terrifying than any hatred.

Hatred at least meant the other person still cared about you.

Indifference meant that, in the other person's eyes, you had become nothing.

The First Elder's body began to tremble violently.

His withered hands clutched the chair's armrests tightly, his knuckles turning white as the wood creaked beneath his grip, as though it might shatter at any moment.

There was no anger or resentment on his face, only pain and helplessness that ran deep into his bones.

Xiao Ning was his biological grandson.

He had watched him grow from childhood, taught him to walk, taught him to read, taught him to cultivate.

He had placed all his hopes on this grandson, hoping he would achieve something, hoping he would bring glory to their family.

He had withheld Xiao Yan's cultivation resources and given them all to Xiao Ning—those pills, those medicinal ingredients, those things that should never have belonged to Xiao Ning. He had shamelessly acquired them one by one and stuffed them all into his grandson's hands.

But Xiao Ning had failed to live up to expectations.

At seventeen, he was at Seventh-Stage Dou Zhi Qi. Within the Xiao Clan, that was not a poor achievement; it could even be considered outstanding. But it depended on whom he was compared to. Against Xiao Yan, Xiao Xun'er, Xiao Mei, and the others, he was no different from trash.

The First Elder closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

His chest heaved several times, as though he were making one final struggle against something.

After a long while, he slowly opened his eyes. There was no light left in those cloudy old eyes, only ash-gray defeat and lifeless silence.

He nodded.

He did not say a single word.

The word "fine" was too heavy. So heavy that he could not force it from his mouth.

He could only nod, once, then again, like a broken machine making its final movements.

The Second Elder and Third Elder exchanged a glance, and each saw the same emotion in the other's eyes—relief.

Relief that Xiao Yan was targeting the First Elder's grandson, not theirs.

Relief that their descendants had not been as reckless as Xiao Ning, had not offended Xiao Yan so deeply.

But their relief lasted less than three seconds, because Xiao Yan's gaze had already turned toward them.

"As for the three elders."

Xiao Yan's tone did not change. It remained unhurried and calm, so bland it was almost negligible.

Yet that very calmness made all three elders' hearts skip a beat.

"There's no need for you to retain your positions as elders either."

It was as though all the air had been sucked from the hall.

The expressions of all three elders changed at once.

At last, a trace of color returned to the First Elder's ashen face—not healthy color, but the flushed red of anger.

The Second Elder's mouth twitched, as though someone had slapped him across the face.

The Third Elder suddenly raised his head. A sharp glint flashed through his eyes before quickly fading, like a stone dropped into deep water that created only a brief ripple.

The position of elder.

That was the position they had spent decades climbing toward.

It was the foundation of their standing in the Xiao Clan.

It was the source of all their power, status, and dignity.

Without their positions as elders, what were they?

"Strip them of their elder positions and make them stewards instead."

Xiao Yan's voice continued, as though he were announcing a trivial matter. "Once they have rendered merit to the Xiao Clan, they may return to the positions that belong to them."

Once they had rendered merit to the Xiao Clan.

It sounded like hope, but all three elders understood the true meaning behind it—it was a carrot dangling before a donkey.

They could see it, but they could not touch it.

Render merit? How much merit would count as merit?

Who would judge their contributions? Wouldn't it all be up to Xiao Yan?

He clearly intended to drag them down from their lofty positions of power, throw them into the mud, then tell them: Want to climb back up? Fine. Crawl on your knees.

The Second Elder finally could not sit still.

His body lurched forward, and he nearly rose from his chair. His lips parted, and the word "I" had already burst from his throat—

He did not get the chance to say a second word.

Because Xiao Yan raised his right hand.

A ball of flame appeared above his palm.

The flame was somewhere between gold and crimson, blazing yet restrained, warm yet tyrannical.

It hovered quietly above Xiao Yan's palm like a miniature sun. Its light was not blinding, yet the temperature throughout the hall abruptly rose by several degrees.

The people closest to Xiao Yan instinctively shrank back. That scorching heat was not merely against their skin, but deep within their souls—as though something was warning them: Stay away from that flame. Farther away.

Undying Divine Flame.

All three elders' pupils shrank to pinpoints.

They could not sense the flame's exact grade, but the oppressive aura seeping into their bones made them afraid to make even the slightest movement.

Xiao Yan did not say a word.

He did not threaten them, intimidate them, or even look at the three elders.

He merely raised his hand, revealed the flame, and stood there calmly, as though waiting for an answer.

But he did not need to say anything.

That flame itself was the best language.

It was a silent, unquestionable, absolute language—those who obey me prosper; those who oppose me die.

The three elders felt the undisguised killing intent emanating from Xiao Yan.

It was not a threat, not intimidation, and certainly not a bluff.

It was the aura that only someone who had made every preparation and would act without hesitation the moment he heard the word "no" could possess.

Xiao Yan was not negotiating with them. He was informing them—informing them of a result that had already been decided.

Agree, or die.

There was no third path.

The First Elder's lips trembled violently several times.

His gaze lingered on the golden-crimson flame for a long time before slowly shifting to Xiao Yan's eyes.

Within those golden-crimson eyes, he saw his own reflection—an aged old man covered in wrinkles, no longer sitting upright, no longer sharp-eyed, like an old tree hollowed out by insects that could collapse at any moment.

When had he become like this?

Had it been from the day he took his position as elder, or from the day he decided to suppress Xiao Yan?

He did not know.

He only knew that, at this moment, he no longer had any right to contend with the youth before him.

It was not merely a difference in strength, though there truly was a gap in strength. The First Elder was not even confident he could withstand that flame.

It was something more fundamental.

This youth possessed a quality he had never had—a resolute determination that could not be stopped.

He did not dare.

So he had lost.

The First Elder slowly, slowly nodded.

Seeing the First Elder nod, the Second Elder and Third Elder watched the last trace of hope in their hearts shatter.

The First Elder was the toughest among them. If even he had lowered his head, what right did they have to refuse?

Enough.

That was enough.

Xiao Yan looked at the lowered heads of the three elders, his expression unchanged.

He felt no satisfaction, no fulfillment, not even the slightest emotional ripple.

It was like doing something that had to be done: cutting away rotten branches so that the tree could keep growing.

He withdrew his right hand. The golden-crimson flame flickered once above his palm, then silently dispersed.

The temperature returned to normal.

The frozen air in the hall began to flow again. Everyone unconsciously let out a breath, like drowning people finally breaking the surface.

"That's more like it."

Xiao Yan's tone remained calm, carrying none of a victor's pride or arrogance.

Those four words, coming from his mouth, sounded like a teacher praising a student who had finally solved a problem correctly, with a faint, lofty satisfaction.

He turned around to face Xiao Zhan, seated in the main position, and bowed deeply.

The gesture was proper and respectful, making him seem like a completely different person from the cold, ruthless youth he had been moments ago.

"Father, I'll leave the rest to you."

Xiao Zhan opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, no words came out.

He nodded, signaling that Xiao Yan could leave.

His eyes were red.

Not because he was sad, but because he was proud.

His son—the son he had once thought would spend his entire life crushed beneath fate—not only had risen to his feet, but stood taller and steadier than anyone else.

His way of handling matters was swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation—that was the method of a true person in power.

His son no longer needed his protection.

Xiao Yan straightened up, swept his gaze across the hall, then turned and strode toward the hall's entrance.

His black robe billowed behind him, its golden patterns glimmering with scattered light beneath the sun.

His back was straight as a pine, his steps steady as a mountain. Every stride was calm and unhurried, as though he were walking a path long since planned, with nothing but light ahead.

No one whispered behind his back.

No one dared.

The people in the hall watched the youth walk out through the doors, out of the courtyard, and beyond their sight. Only after his figure disappeared completely into the sunlight did anyone dare to loosen their tense bodies slightly.

They looked at one another and saw the same expression in each other's eyes—shock.

Not because Xiao Yan had regained his talent, nor because he had defeated Nalan Yanran.

Those things were shocking, but they were still within the limits of what they could understand.

What truly stunned them was the way Xiao Yan had handled this matter.

For three years, Xiao Yan had given everyone the impression of being gentle, reserved, and good-tempered.

A young man who had been mocked for three years without ever talking back, a young man who had been bullied for three years without holding a grudge.

Everyone thought he was easy to push around, weak and cowardly, that he would never fight back.

But today, they had witnessed another side of Xiao Yan with their own eyes.

Decisive in killing, swift and forceful, leaving no room for mercy.

He had settled every account, one by one, with those who had once humiliated him, sparing not a single one.

The three elders were removed just like that, without the slightest hesitation.

When that flame appeared, the temperature throughout the entire hall became scorching hot.

This was not the Xiao Yan they knew.

Or rather, was this the real Xiao Yan?

That gentle, good-tempered young man had merely been a mask, a disguise he had used to protect himself when he lacked strength?

Now that the mask had been removed, it revealed the true face beneath—cold, sharp, and untouchable.

Whichever it was, they understood one thing.

From this day onward, the skies over the Xiao Clan had changed.