Weak?

“Go now, cultivate diligently, and do not disappoint the hopes your mother and I have placed in you!”

“Father, please rest well. We take our leave,” Xiao Cai and Xiao Yunfan bowed together.

And with that, they slipped away.

Once the two sons had left, the study returned to its tranquil silence, the lamplight unwavering. Their father gazed at the painting on the wall—a landscape in ink, suffused with serenity—yet now tinged with a trace of melancholy.

“Eleven.”

No one replied. Only a wisp of cool air drifted in through the wooden window, making the flame on the incense candle flicker gently.

On the floor, the firelight cast their father’s silhouette—not imposing, yet somehow as if he could support the heavens. Beside his shadow, another appeared in the small room, silent and unnoticed.

No figure could be seen, only a shadow following.

The shadow bowed its head, as if kneeling on one knee.

“You always insist on these formalities. You know I don’t care for them,” their father said softly, still facing the wall and the painting.

The shadow, hearing this, remained kneeling, as if the person before him was truly worthy of such respect.

“Oh well, you’re so stubborn. I’ve told you so many times and you never listen. Do as you please.”

The shadow’s head bowed even lower, as if embarrassed.

“In the end, they have still set foot on this path. If they were unwilling, I could have ensured they lived a life free from want.”

The shadow shook its head ever so slightly.

“Heh, I know. It’s not for me to interfere. Their road is their own to walk, and even I, with so many matters, am often powerless.”

The shadow remained motionless, as if pondering something. After some time, small black words appeared on the wall before the father.

“Is Master worried for the second young master?”

“Him? Don’t be fooled by that boy’s quietness or his indifferent manner—he understands more than anyone. His path was paved for him long ago; there’s no need for us to fret. Our only duty is to stand behind him.”

The words on the wall shifted slowly.

“Then is it the eldest young master?”

Their father said nothing, still staring at the painting, brow slightly furrowed. After a long silence, he sighed.

“That child is restless and stubborn. I hardly know what to say. Sometimes he seems as deep as an adult, other times like a mischievous brat. Who knows what secrets he hides?”

“His fate is strange indeed. No matter how I try to divine it, I find nothing. Even his illness is a mystery to me. I am at my wits’ end, and can only try this method to see if it might help him. I can’t say if guiding him onto this path is right or wrong.”

“Do you regret it, Master?”

“Regret? What nonsense! Remember—no matter who he truly is or what secrets he carries, from the night I brought him home in that snowy storm, he became my son, Yu Moyuan’s son! He was, is, and always will be! Even if one day someone comes to claim him, they’ll answer to me first!”

Suddenly, their father turned, gazing at the shadow on the floor.

In that small room, spiritual energy surged and howled, rattling the air.

The shadow remained motionless, head bowed, as if aware he’d spoken out of turn.

Abruptly, the room settled.

“My tone was harsh. Don’t speak like that again. Strange as this boy may be, I can sense his childlike heart and his attachment to this family. That is enough.”

Their father pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly troubled by his eldest, though a faint smile touched his lips—who could say what thoughts crossed his mind?

“Go now. Protect them well. No son of Yu Moyuan should be bullied by cats and dogs.” After a pause, he added, “But if they bring trouble upon themselves, leave them be, so long as they don’t get crippled or killed.”

Ah, the worries of an old father.

“If anyone bullies them unjustly, kill without mercy. I’ll bear the consequences.”

His words were as light as a breeze.

“Yes,” the words on the wall changed.

“Go.” Their father turned back to the painting.

Only the shadow remained, flickering with the lamplight.

Time passed, and the candle burned down to its end, the tiny flame stubbornly resisting.

He remembered that street, that snow, that night—a tiny infant crying stubbornly in the cold.

Their father smiled softly to himself.

Did he regret it?

Never in this life.

…

The next morning, at breakfast.

A round table was laden with delicate pastries. The family of four enjoyed the rare warmth of a meal together.

Even cultivators, after all, have appetites. It wasn’t asceticism—why make life hard for oneself?

As always, Xiao Cai quietly ate, pondering whether he should find a chance to show off his cooking skills after that fake “happy fat house water” incident. There was a certain risk.

“Does it hurt?” their father asked quietly, eating his breakfast.

No need to guess who he was asking.

Huh? Father’s showing concern for me?

Why? Did I do something wrong again? Wait, why do I always think that way?

There’s a trap! I mustn’t fall for it!

“Does Father wish for me to be in pain or not?” Xiao Cai replied meekly.

What?

“What are you talking about? I’m asking if you cultivated last night—did you feel the pain of energy moving through your meridians?”

Oh, that’s it. Goodness, I thought you were going to punish me again, Yu Daoyi thought.

Why do I always assume Father’s about to beat me? Is this a dangerous mindset?

“Uh... I didn’t cultivate last night.”

“And what of perseverance, as I told you yesterday?”

Why didn’t you cultivate, and you, as a father, don’t have a clue?

“Father’s lesson is apt! I am greatly ashamed! Why not ask my younger brother about his progress?”

Secret technique! The art of passing the buck!

“I have entered the first stage of Qi Refinement.”

What?

Little brother, are you cheating? Didn’t you only start cultivating yesterday?

“Brother, lying is wrong,” Yu Daoyi said solemnly.

“That’s right,” their father nodded gently.

“See, even Father agrees with me,” Yu Daoyi said, feeling justified.

“I was talking about you.”

What?

“So it seems I haven’t loved you deeply enough!”

What the—? What does loving deeply even mean? What are you up to?

Suddenly, Xiao Cai felt a chill.

“Go on, and remember to be gentle,” their mother said, calmly nibbling her pastry, unfazed.

“Mother, it’s too noisy. Might I ask that Father close the door when he ‘teaches’ me?” Xiao Yunfan remarked coolly.

“Granted.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

What about my opinion?!

His little brother’s temperament truly took after their mother: innocent on the surface, but cold and calculating within!

“Eat up. When you’re done, I’ll take you myself.”

What? Father! Can you not make it sound like this is my last meal?

An hour later, in Yu Daoyi’s room.

His father watched his eldest son after half an hour of cultivation.

Face pale, sweat pouring down in rivulets, body trembling uncontrollably.

“My heavens! The pain is killing me!”

The cry was deafening, and finally he couldn’t continue.

His father looked at his son lying flat on the bed and massaged his brow, feeling utterly mortified.

“I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

“Hm? Why do you say that, Father? Is it possible I’m actually a genius among geniuses?” Yu Daoyi gasped as he sprawled on the bed.

“No, you’re overthinking it. I simply didn’t realize how weak you are, and your talent is the lowest I’ve ever seen—just a fraction better than the mortals who can never cultivate.”

What?

“Father, are you being sarcastic to encourage me? Even if I didn’t cultivate last night, isn’t that too harsh?”

Xiao Cai refused to accept this. Please, he was a transmigrator, the protagonist type! How could he not be a genius?

“Encouragement, my foot!” his father snapped impatiently.

“If Yun’er’s talent is a ten, you’re at best a two!”

“A two?”

“Just a two!”

Yu Daoyi froze. Did I get the wrong script?

“Son, listen to me. Don’t struggle. In Qi Refinement, you’re hopeless! Let’s focus on body refinement instead!”

What kind of father says that about his own child?

Moments later.

“Aaahh!”

“Father! At least let me see the name of this body-forging art before you start hitting me! I haven’t even learned it yet! Beating me now is pointless!”

His father paused, wondering if he’d started too early. Did it matter?

And then—

“Argh!”

“You old man! You’re doing this on purpose!”