Gho listened quietly, wide-eyed, as his father and brother spoke.
There was a kind of glee simmering beneath his composed expression — not childish excitement, but a deeper, more meaningful awe.
As he absorbed every word, every careful discussion about the future of the clan, a realization bloomed in his young heart:
Big Brother and Father...
They really are the two most important people here.
Every decision they made rippled outward, affecting not just their family, but the hundreds — maybe even thousands — who lived under the clan's banner.
It was dizzying to think about.
And it filled Gho with a fierce, growing determination to one day stand beside them as an equal.
Meanwhile, Xin moved gracefully, leading their father out of the heavy atmosphere of the cultivation hall and into the bright, open courtyard beyond.
The sun hung high, warm but not oppressive, and a soft breeze stirred the banners bearing the Dugu Clan's serpent sigil.
They made their way toward the same pavilion where, not so long ago, they had sat together before venturing into Doku Swamp.
The stone table there was cool to the touch, shaded by carved wooden beams entwined with flowering vines.
Settling into their seats, Xin continued, picking up the thread of their deeper discussion.
"Father," he said, voice calm but carrying a certain fervor, "you were taught that only animalistic Spirit Beasts could enhance the growth of a Spirit Master's Beast Spirit."
Dugu Bo nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue.
Xin leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely before him.
"But through your merger with Manchineel, we've already proved that belief... flawed."
Bo's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he did not interrupt.
"Not only have there been no adverse effects," Xin said, "but with Manchineel's assistance, your Spirit — and even your bloodline — has strengthened."
He paused, letting that point land.
"Sure, we could attribute some of that to Machinneel's extremely high cultivation age," Xin allowed, "but age alone would not explain the evolution we've witnessed. The refinement of blood, the heightened resonance with poison... these are specific, not general, improvements."
Bo nodded again, slower this time, acknowledging the truth of his son's words.
"But here's where the old thinking fails even harder," Xin continued. His eyes gleamed as the fire of understanding burned within him.
"Tool Spirits were always considered 'lesser' because they can't merge with living creatures of the same type to advance. That assumption has boxed everyone's thinking for centuries."
At that moment, Ichiji approached — the quiet, ever-reliable attendant — carrying a tray with three cups and a finely carved teapot.
He bowed with impeccable grace before setting the tray down and pouring steaming tea for the Clan Leader and his two sons.
"Thank you, Ichiji," Gho said softly, the words shy but sincere.
Ichiji only gave a faint, respectful bow before retreating silently to a respectful distance.
Meanwhile, Xin sipped his tea once, briefly savoring the jasmine-sweetness, before continuing without missing a beat.
"In my opinion," Xin said, setting his cup down carefully, "we should stop thinking of Spirit Beasts in terms of form — animal, plant, tool — and start thinking in terms of traits."
He locked eyes with his father, voice steady.
"The Medusa you absorbed... and now Manchineel — both are supreme in their fields. There is no beast, no plant, whose poisons can rival theirs."
Dugu Bo's gaze sharpened, thoughtful, as he absorbed this reframing of everything he had once been taught.
Xin smiled faintly, a glimmer of excitement showing through his usual composure.
"For my own cultivation..." he said, shifting slightly in his seat, "I intend to take the same approach."
Gho leaned forward instinctively, hanging onto every word.
"My Winged Glacial Phosphor Serpent Spirit," Xin said, "has great potential, but it must be specialized. I'll focus on enhancing its agility and poison."
A faint gleam entered his eye — a strategist already seeing twenty moves ahead.
"I intend to walk the path of a control system Spirit Master — using speed and toxins to dominate the battlefield without ever needing to rely purely on brute strength."
Gho listened, entranced, as his brother's vision unfolded.
"And for the Bronze Cauldron," Xin continued, his fingers tapping lightly against the table, "each spirit ring it absorbs seems to refine its ability to amplify pills, potions, and elixirs. It improves the quality of everything it touches."
He paused, allowing that to sink in before adding:
"But..." His tone shifted slightly, carrying a note of deeper intrigue. "When it bonded with a 100,000-year spirit ring, it also gained something unexpected: a powerful defensive ability."
Xin's smile widened, just slightly.
"Which means," he said quietly, "I can walk three potential paths with it — Auxiliary system, defensive system, or even power attack system with the right spirit rings."
For a moment, the pavilion was filled only with the faint chirp of birds and the soft rustling of the vines.
Bo sat back, his sharp eyes never leaving his son, the corners of his mouth twitching in something that almost resembled a smile.
Xin set his cup down gently, the soft clink of porcelain punctuating the quiet air between them.
His voice, when he spoke again, was low but steady — threaded through with a growing sense of conviction.
"There are so many cultivators," Xin said, "so many people, who have been neglected simply because they lacked the right knowledge."
He lifted his eyes to meet his father's unwavering gaze.
"Aunt Meiying, Uncle Guan, even Second Sister — all of them have immortal herbs as their Spirits."
Gho's head snapped up slightly at that, astonishment flickering across his young face. He hadn't known that.
Xin continued, his words deliberate, as if laying bare invisible truths long hidden beneath tradition and ignorance.
"Aunt Meiying and Uncle Guan..." he said, "they had to figure everything out on their own. Step by painful step. Researching Plant Spirit Beasts, learning through trial and error — until, somehow, they carved their own path to strength."
He exhaled slowly, the weight of that struggle heavy in the air.
"But they were still constrained."
He leaned forward slightly, intensity sharpening his features.
"They only used Plant Spirit Beasts. Only what tradition told them was appropriate. But what if..."
Xin's voice grew quieter, more dangerous.
"What if they had fused a spirit ring from the Obsidian Turtle? From the Stone Ox? The two greatest defensive Spirit Beasts known to us?"
He let the question hang between them, heavy and undeniable.
"They could have balanced their Spirits — added strength to their resilience, tempered their growth. Reached even greater heights."
Gho swallowed hard, feeling the immensity of what his brother was proposing. The simple, radical idea that strength could come from outside the narrow confines of tradition — if only one dared.
But Xin wasn't finished.
He sat back slightly, gathering his next words with care. His gaze darkened, not with anger, but with something closer to sorrow.
"And then there's First Uncle," he said quietly.
Bo's tea paused halfway to his lips. Gho, too, felt a somber shift in the air.
"A pitiful soul," Xin said, voice softer now. "He struggled even harder than the others. Alone."
The word fell heavy between them.
"His father died early, before Uncle Jian could learn anything beyond the basics. And no one..." Xin's mouth tightened slightly, his eyes flashing with restrained frustration, "...no one respected him. Not truly. Because most people saw Tool Spirits as inferior — unless, of course, it was something like the Clear Sky Hammer."
He shook his head once, almost in disbelief at the smallness of that thinking.
"Even when he succeeded, they never gave him the same respect they gave others. And yet... he carved his path with nothing but his own hands."
Xin paused, letting the quiet stretch.
Once again, he found himself looking at his father, waiting. Waiting for the inevitable question: How do you know all this?
Surely, any ordinary father would have demanded to know how his son had uncovered such personal, hidden histories.
But Dugu Bo only sat there, drinking his tea with slow, graceful deliberation.
He did not interrupt.
He did not question.
He simply listened — fully, intently, as though every word Xin spoke was a truth he had been waiting to hear spoken aloud for years.
And somehow, that quiet acceptance said more than any question ever could.
It was an acknowledgment. A silent trust.
One that made Gho's chest tighten, sitting there at the edge of this conversation that felt so much larger than anything he had ever been part of before.
Xin exhaled slowly, centering himself.
He wasn't speaking just to inform anymore.
He was laying the foundation for something far greater.
Xin straightened his back, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him — but he did not shy away. His voice, when he spoke, was strong but filled with a deep, unwavering respect.
"Father," he said, meeting Dugu Bo's sharp jade-green gaze head-on, "you are our Clan Leader — the signboard of our strength, the pillar that holds all of us upright."
Bo said nothing, only watching, his face as still and inscrutable as a statue.
"If you said to go south," Xin continued steadily, "I would never even glance to the north. If you told me to drown..."
Xin's hands clenched briefly at his sides before he forced them to relax, the intensity in his voice never faltering.
"...I would accept my fate without hesitation."
The courtyard seemed to grow quieter around them — even the soft whisper of the breeze seemed to pause, as if listening.
"But," Xin pressed on, voice softening with a different kind of strength — a loyalty that ran deeper than simple obedience, "it is our duty — the duty of every member — to inform you of what we see. To trust that you, standing at the peak, will choose the best path for all of the clan."
He paused, letting those words settle like stones into a river.
"And so..."
Xin drew in a slow breath.
"I believe we must review the Spirits our clan members have absorbed."
Dugu Bo's fingers, holding his tea cup, stilled. His gaze sharpened, though he remained silent.
"It may be painful," Xin said quietly. "It may even seem cruel."
He clasped his hands behind his back, standing tall under the weight of his own words.
"But if necessary... we should consider abolishing their cultivation — allowing them to start over from the beginning. Not out of punishment, but out of hope."
Gho sucked in a sharp breath, his small hands trembling slightly against his cup.
Xin continued, steady as a drumbeat.
"Start over, with Spirit Rings chosen not by accident or ignorance — but with purpose. With Rings that allow them to become the strongest, the sharpest versions of themselves. Whether warriors, healers, blacksmiths, alchemists, or scholars... each one cultivated properly, reaching heights they could never have imagined otherwise."
He lifted his chin slightly, not in defiance, but in unshakable belief.
"This," Xin said, voice ringing softly under the open pavilion, "is how we surpass the Great Houses. Not just by being strong — but by being better."
Across the table, Dugu Bo set his tea cup down with deliberate care.
The sound was very, very soft — but in that silence, it was like a mountain settling into place.
His eyes, sharp and ageless, studied Xin for a long moment that stretched endlessly.
Then slowly — so slowly that it seemed the very world itself was holding its breath — Dugu Bo nodded once.
It was not a casual nod.
Not a small acknowledgment.
It was a nod heavy with acceptance, with gravity.
The kind of nod a king gave when recognizing his heir not merely by blood, but by right.
"Very well," Dugu Bo said at last, his voice low and resonant, as if speaking directly to the bones of the earth.
"We will begin."