Author's Note
Before anything else, I want to thank you for choosing to read my book. That means a lot to me, and I hope the story manages to touch you in some way. But I need to be honest: you might find some mistakes in the English translation. I sincerely apologize for that, in case something doesn't sound natural or causes any confusion.
Portuguese is my first language, and English... well, let's say it's not my strong suit. I'm not very proficient or fluent in it, and that limited me quite a bit. To bring this story to you, I used artificial intelligence to help with the translation. It was the best resource I had at hand, but I know it's not perfect and some slips might have gotten through.
Writing this book in Portuguese was something I did with a lot of care and dedication. I wanted to share this journey with readers in other languages, and the English translation was my attempt to make that happen. Even if the result has its flaws, my wish is that the spirit of the story still reaches you.
So, I ask for a bit of patience and understanding. If you can look past the possible mistakes, I hope you find something special in the pages I wrote. Thank you for being here and for giving my voice a chance!
---
Duke:
I never imagined things would shift so drastically. I still see the child I raised with every scrap of care I could muster—care often shadowed by my own fears. I gave what I had, though I know I fell short of the father he deserved. The memory of that day still sends shivers through me.
He was so frail, so untainted... It plays out like it was yesterday: his mother, her eyes icy and unrelenting, thrust him into my arms and declared him mine to tend from that moment on. I tried to push back, to refuse the weight of it, but her power forced me to my knees. My bones rattled, my mind reeled— that cold dread has never left me.
And then, as a token of goodwill—or perhaps a veiled bargain—she did something that still knots my chest to recall. Two of my ancestors, rooted deep in the Upper Saint Domain, and another in the King Domain, their years nearly spent, were gifted more time. She stretched their lives and lifted them to Emperors, though at the price of never cultivating again. She claimed it was no great feat to nudge them toward the 'Great Emperor Domain,' but the world was too fragile to bear it fully— this was her limit, she said, to avoid rousing the heavens or tipping the scales. They held the title of Emperor, even if the true power eluded them.
Nothing comes free, of course. In exchange, she asked that these ancestors guard someone precious to her— though she never named them. The next day, they arrived, and to my astonishment, little Wei was there, weaving an advanced technique none of them recognized. He shrugged and said a senior had taught him in his dreams. From then on, all three were convinced little Wei was the one she'd meant to shield.
So the misunderstanding took hold. Whenever they could, the two Ancestors poured their teachings into little Wei, sidelining little Fei. At first, they dismissed his worth entirely. To counter it, I turned my focus to little Fei, ensuring he wasn't cast aside for what they dubbed his "flaw." He wasn't broken—his consciousness was simply sealed back then, a mystery no one could unravel. I couldn't fix it all or force fairness, but at least he was spared harm. He grew up well, and for that, I hold tight to a fragile gratitude.
That memory clings to me, a weight of what slipped away—or what he never had. The world's cruelty often outmatched my strength to mend it. Yet now, seeing the resilience he bears, scars and all, a faint spark of hope flickers within me. That day still haunts me, trembling in my bones.
"I wasn't the father he needed, but maybe, somewhere, my efforts weren't in vain," I thought, my voice quaking with regret and a tentative peace.
Every word, every recollection, stood as a testament to choices lost and the ceaseless reach for redemption. Though the past gnawed at me, I knew the future—murky as it was—still whispered of new dawns.
Patriarch of the Yang Clan:
The Patriarch of the Yang Clan stared distantly at the trove of resources heaped before him, each piece seeming to carry the legacy of ages past. It was the Sixth Elder who tugged me back from that reverie, grounding me in the now.
—"What do you think we should do with them?"— I asked, leaning on the seasoned wisdom of that old man. —"These resources aren't even ours by right. Maybe it's reckless to use them."
The Elder's brow creased as he sank into thought, then spoke:
—"If we tally it all up, we could raise over ten disciples to the King Domain in short order. That'd make us a first-rate power at last. Plus, there's an ancient force, long buried, that we might just rouse."
The Fifth Elder, blunt as ever, chimed in:
—"Why not pour it into the young ones? One of them might become a Great Emperor for the Yangs. Take little Wei—he's got a rare make, tied to the Ancestral Dragon. Dragon blood flows in him; he's a dragon among men, bound for the highest realms, I'd wager."
The hall thrummed with voices and clashing visions, the air growing thick with tension as if the resources themselves pressed down harder than my own shoulders. The burden of leadership crushed me, made heavier by the fact that I'd never craved this role. My hair, though I still looked youthful, was starting to betray time's touch. This mantle was never meant for me.
"My brother Jian, off in the Dao Holy Land, ditched the succession ages ago. My other brothers, eleventh and second among the elders, couldn't care less about leading. So it falls to me. Can I carry it alone? How long can I hold up?" I thought, a chill snaking down my spine.
After hours of heated, doubt-riddled debate, we settled on a path: we'd consult the ancestors. I couldn't lean too hard on my father—he was still clawing toward the King Domain, with no victory yet in sight. I'm not sure he'll ever make it.
Every choice felt like a peak I had to scale. Even with cool air drifting into the hall, it grew stifling. Each word spoken dragged me deeper into a sea of duties. The future loomed uncertain, and worse, I began to wonder if I had the grit to steer the Yang Clan to safety and glory.
The weight of it all hit me harder than ever, and I murmured to myself as the voices around me reverberated, marking the path I now trod.
—"Want me to knead that tension out of you, love?"— my wife asked, her smile a gentle tease to lighten my load.
—"I'd be lost without you,"— I replied, a faint grin tugging at my lips, almost instinctive, though her words struck a deeper chord.
—"Naturally,"— I whispered, but inside, the burden swelled day by day. I couldn't fathom facing it without her steady presence.
Seated in the vast stone hall, where every echo seemed to weave ancient yarns, I felt the years as the Yang Clan's head. Time, a boon to some, had turned foe to me. Decades had passed since I last pursued cultivation, ever since I took up this post. The Upper Saint Domain drifted further away, a dream caught in an endless stretch.
Fate carves its own trail, heedless of my wishes, I thought, bitterness lacing my silent words.
My cultivation had stalled in the eighth realm for years, and even that felt like a faded hope. Tales of the Upper Saint and the elders' hidden lore rang like hollow myths. Reaching it would take decades—centuries, maybe. My voice, once firm, now carried the frustration I fought to mask.
—"This whole mess has grown so tangled... Decades have passed since I took on the mantle of patriarch—decades spent holding the clan together while my own strength slips away, drop by drop. There's no time left for me. I can't immerse myself in cultivation like I once did. Even in the Lower Saint Domain, the barriers boxing me in are tougher than I can break. And the ninth realm? It's still a far-off dream..."— My voice faltered for a moment, and a sigh escaped, echoing through the hall. —"I don't even dare imagine the Upper Saint Domain. That could take centuries... Being patriarch is no simple task."—
My words lingered, heavy with the scars of every decision and sacrifice I'd endured. The Kingdom, the alliances, the resources, the endless clan disputes—all of it bore down on me, as if time itself were trickling through my hands, beyond my grasp.
My wife, ever gentle and perceptive, stepped closer and placed her hand on my shoulder. That simple touch, warm with unspoken care, offered more comfort than any words could.
—"You're doing everything you can,"— she said, her voice soft yet firm. —"The clan doesn't rest on you alone. I see how fiercely you fight to keep it steady. I know it's no small burden to shoulder by yourself."—
I looked into her eyes and caught the worry she tried to mask. Hailing from a mighty clan herself, she never stood idly by. She understood the toll of being patriarch as deeply as I did. Still, exhaustion had settled into my bones.
—"I know I'm giving my all... but sometimes it feels like it's never enough. These years have stretched on, draining me dry. Being patriarch isn't just about making choices—it's about surrendering dreams, desires, even parts of yourself, just to keep everything from crumbling."— My voice carried a raw edge that stung to hear. —"I didn't choose this; the role crashed down on me, unasked for, unprepared. And now I see how easily it can swallow you whole."—
A silence bloomed between us, vast and heavy. The hall, lined with shelves of ancient lore, weathered relics, and statues worn by time, seemed to echo the weight I bore. It felt as though the ancestors—silent shadows of bygone eras—watched my struggle without a whisper.
—"I don't know what to do anymore. Cultivation... time slipping away... the pressure... each day pulls me further from the man I meant to become."— Resignation draped my words like a veil.
She squeezed my shoulder gently, lending me a quiet strength beyond words.
—"It's not just you,"— she murmured, her tone low, as if sharing a truth rarely spoken. —"So many bear this burden without even knowing it... and you're not alone. The clan, me, your brothers—we're not just bystanders. We're in this with you."—
Her gaze met mine, and a faint, fleeting relief stirred in my chest. Yes, they stood with me. But something was still missing—something I had to reclaim. Time wouldn't pause, and with every fleeting moment, I drifted further from what I might yet achieve.
In that shared stillness, I realized the struggle wouldn't cease. My path wouldn't end so long as Yang blood flowed through me. I'd have to find a way to face the trials ahead—not merely as a patriarch with a title, but as a man who, day by day, must prove to himself that the burdens of yesterday could forge a brighter tomorrow.
The Patriarch's Wife:
I listened to my husband's grumbling, but honestly, I didn't mind. In truth, I was pleased with the resources that wretch had handed over. I'd despised him since the day he crossed our threshold, dragging a shadow that seemed to steal the light once reserved for my Yang Wei—my greatest treasure.
From the moment he was born, with that bold, striking frame, I adored him with every thread of my soul. It wasn't just his looks; he was the living echo of all I held dear: my husband, Yang Wei, and the bond we'd forged. I'd admired him since our youth, when he shone brighter than the rest—driven, gifted, a prodigy. He reached the Dao Establishment before his hundredth year, and in the trials, his immortal-grade talent for cultivation blazed clear. He was every girl's dream—and I was no exception. I, too, bore near-immortal talent, earning my place among Xia's ten beauties. Yet, despite the suitors circling me, my heart belonged to him alone.
Then that woman arrived, bringing her son—a strange, foreign boy. I never let my hatred show, but it simmered beneath the surface. He was an outsider, a shadow out of place: skin dark as midnight, nothing remarkable about him, and worse, plagued by a mind that stumbled over words. I couldn't grasp what my family saw in him—or what my husband found worth nurturing.
What pierced me deepest was watching my Yang Wei turn to that boy, offering him more care than our own son. My disdain festered. Why couldn't he see? Why didn't he understand? I even stomached my husband taking two concubines, hoping it might lighten his load. But it changed nothing. He drifted further, wounding me with a coldness that cut like steel.
So I resolved that the boy would never claim a true place under the Yang name. This house would never be his. I tolerated him, but acceptance? Never. He was a flaw, a stain on our legacy that didn't belong.
I watched him from a distance, my stare frigid, willing him to fade away. The only children I cherished were those who truly mattered—our Yang Wei, the sole bearer of my love, alongside little Jiang and my two daughters. The concubines' offspring? They were nothing to me. If I could shield my Yang Wei from the pain that boy inflicted on me, I'd act without hesitation.
And if my husband refused to see reason... so be it. I'd protect my Yang Wei, even if the world turned its back on him. Even if he didn't grasp why, I'd stand by him—alone, if need be. He was all that remained of us.
Yet now, something in him had shifted. He was transformed. His features carried a softness, almost delicate, if not for his strong, commanding build. But his eyes—those were wholly new. It wasn't just his face; it was as if he'd become another soul entirely.
His mother—that woman from the Upper Realm—had left him treasures beyond measure. Treasures that, in my heart, belonged to my Yang Wei. What gnawed at me most was hearing her praise her son as flawless, while I, his true mother, was cast as a rival of no worth. I loathed her—her beauty, her power, her shameless pride. Still, I grudgingly admitted he'd finally done something of value, gaining purpose at last—even if it stemmed from that mother I despised.
—"Hello,"— I said, my voice gentle but threaded with the bitterness I bore, as my thoughts wandered.
If only my Yang Wei knew he's the true pillar of this clan, perhaps everything would change... I mused silently.
And so, amid resentment and echoes of a love once untainted, I swore to guard my one true prize. As long as Yang blood pulsed in his veins, I'd do anything to spare him the hurt that boy—and his unwelcome existence—might bring.
For a fleeting moment, that vow was the spark that kept me going.
Today, the clan gathered, and the air thrummed with tension. The family dinner loomed, with the younger generation returned. Xia Xiang was among them. They said she'd changed—still fiery, a tempest ready to unleash when thwarted.
The worst blow was the contract. They'd severed the engagement with my son, Yang Wei—the rightful heir, the true son of the Yang Clan—and bound it instead to that interloper. Not my Yang Wei.
Rage blazed within me, a fire that wouldn't fade. —"How dare they?"— I hissed under my breath, brimming with venom. How could they overlook my son? Xia Xiang never deserved him. But they'd learn—I'd never let Yang Wei be diminished by her or anyone. He wasn't a tool to be discarded. He was Yang Wei, the clan's true legacy.
As Xia Xiang entered, I caught the gleam of ambition in her eyes. She wielded honeyed words and hollow promises like weapons, bending others to her whims. But I saw past her false charm—a woman who deemed herself untouchable. I despised her with every fiber of my being.
Across the table, Yang Wei sat, his bearing flawless, confidence quiet yet unshakable in every move, his gaze steady. Seeing him eased the storm in my chest. He was my pride, my anchor. And I knew, beyond doubt, that neither Xia Xiang nor that intruder could shake him.
The dinner unfolded in a stifling silence, each word laced with hidden meaning. Xia Xiang tried her forced pleasantries, but no one answered with warmth. Her masked intentions were plain to all. Yang Wei remained mute, merely watching. He had no need to prove himself—not to her, not to anyone craving power alone.
I nursed my fury quietly. Sooner or later, the truth would rise. Yang Wei was the Yang Clan's rightful heir, and no deception could rewrite that.
As glances flickered across the room, I made a silent oath, fierce as a guardian of fate: to shield my son, uphold our lineage, and never let our clan's honor be sullied by lies. In that dinner, thick with unspoken words, one truth took root—real power always carves its own path.