Chapter 18: The Idea of Forcing the Issue!

Anxi County, Chengdong, Zhang Family Mansion.

Inside a lavishly furnished, brightly lit study, the air had frozen like ice in the depths of winter.

“Xu’er, you’ve disappointed me terribly!”

A middle-aged man, clad in a dark purple brocade robe with intricate floral patterns, slender yet imposing, his face stern yet sharp with acumen, stood behind a large purple sandalwood desk, his gaze like tangible blades scraping across Zhang Xu’s ashen face.

He was Zhang He, patriarch of the Zhang family and Zhang Xu’s biological father.

Facing his father’s rebuke, Zhang Xu—who normally exuded arrogance and haughtiness before outsiders—now hung his head like a wilted eggplant, teeth clenched, daring not to breathe a single breath, let alone offer rebuttal.

In the Zhang family, no one dared challenge the authority of Patriarch Zhang He.

“Think of your elder brother!”

Zhang He took a step forward, his voice growing colder:

“His innate talent is merely average—far inferior to yours! Yet his will is unyielding, he endures solitude, bears hardship, and shattered the Dark Force barrier in one decisive strike! He never once required me to expend even a fraction of extra effort!”

“Your innate talent is superior; my expectations for you are higher, and the resources I’ve poured into you are far greater!”

He fixed Zhang Xu with a hawk-like gaze and continued:

“You possess top-tier talent, blessed by heaven! My hopes for you far exceed those for your brother, and the resources I’ve provided have never once fallen short—yet how have you repaid me?!”

Zhang He’s voice suddenly rose, the pent-up fury of a long-suppressed volcano finally finding its rupture:

“I’ve tolerated your frivolous socializing, your lingering in taverns, your pursuit of pleasure—I assumed it was merely youthful recklessness!”

“But you—on the very matter of breaking through to Dark Force, a pivotal moment tied to your martial foundation and future destiny—have treated it as a joke! You failed?!”

He nearly roared the final three words, each syllable a heavy whip lash striking Zhang Xu’s already shattered self-respect.

The crushing weight of disappointment and pressure nearly suffocated Zhang Xu; his frame trembled imperceptibly, his already unstable qi growing more chaotic.

Zhang Xu’s face turned terrifyingly pale, beads of cold sweat forming on his temples, his lips quivering but producing no sound—he could only lower his head further, as if trying to bury it in his chest.

The immense shame and his father’s oppressive aura made even breathing feel impossible.

The air in the room had turned to ice; only Zhang He’s heavy, angry breaths broke the silence.

Long moments passed. Zhang He cast a long, complex glance at his silent, bowed son—anger at his failure, perhaps also a faint, unspoken weariness and helplessness.

Finally, he let out a long sigh, its weight echoing heavily in the silent study.

“Enough. Your father has said all he needed to say,” Zhang He’s tone softened slightly, yet his authority remained unshaken. “Right now, your priority is to rest, to restore your depleted primordial qi. The Zhang family has no shortage of medicinal herbs—I’ll have the finest tonics sent to you. Once your blood and qi recover and your mind steadies, you’ll have another chance to break through.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening again as he locked eyes with Zhang Xu: “But Xu’er, remember—opportunities don’t wait forever! Next time, you must not disappoint me again! Understood?!”

Zhang Xu, like a drowning man clutching a floating log, snapped his head up, meeting his father’s stern gaze with resolute clarity:

“Father! Rest assured! From this day forward, I will cleanse my heart and mind, devoting every thought and every ounce of energy to martial cultivation!”

“I will train in solitude. Next time I break through to Dark Force—I will succeed!”

“If I fail again… I have no face to show you!”

Hearing this vow, heavy with blood and oath, Zhang He’s icy facade cracked slightly; his fury eased a fraction.

He gave a slight nod: “I hope you mean what you say.”

Then, his tone shifted, his gaze darkening with scrutiny and calculation: “By the way—how is your relationship with Liu Qingshi’s daughter progressing at the martial academy? Any tangible progress?”

“Father, she… she…”

Zhang Xu’s expression froze, his eyes darting away, his voice stuttering—the sweat on his forehead, just now dried, seemed to well again.

He had no idea how to answer.

At the martial academy, Liu Yiyi had always treated him as if he were invisible.

Her frost-white, lotus-like face had never once shown him any expression different from that she gave others.

All his deliberate approaches, his subtle courtesies, had vanished like mud swallowed by the sea—leaving not even a ripple.

Seeing his son’s stammering, embarrassed silence, Zhang He already understood seven or eight out of ten.

The faint warmth on his face vanished instantly; his eyes flared again with the familiar frustration of a father seeing his son fall short.

“When I sent you to Qingshi Martial Academy, I warned you repeatedly!”

Zhang He’s voice regained its suppressed anger:

“Martial training is only one part—and not even the most important one! The crucial goal is to win over Liu Qingshi’s daughter through the bonds of fellow discipleship, to forge a close connection with her!”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, yet making it heavier, more urgent:

“Xu’er, open your eyes! The world is growing increasingly unstable! Famine rages everywhere, refugees swarm like locusts, all manner of demons and monsters are rising!”

“Who knows when Anxi County might descend into chaos?”

“Securing Liu Qingshi—a True Force cultivator—through his daughter is vital to the Zhang family!”

Zhang Xu hesitated, then said:

“Father, the world is indeed unstable, and peasants in other regions are rebelling out of desperation…”

“But can those ragtag bandits really breach the walls of Anxi County? That seems unlikely.”

The Zhou Kingdom had entered its final dynasty years; rebellions by refugees erupted everywhere.

These rebels were mostly desperate peasants who robbed and plundered just to survive—hence labeled bandits.

Zhang Xu did not believe such peasants could ever break through the county walls.

“You think I’m exaggerating?” Zhang He snorted, a flicker of anxiety and dread crossing his eyes. “I just received word—Lushan County has sealed its gates and is in chaos.”

“What? Those wandering bandits caused Lushan County to lock down and descend into turmoil?”

Zhang Xu snapped his head up, disbelief etched across his face.

Lushan County bordered Anxi County—if unrest spread here, wealthy families like the Zhangs would be the first targets.

“Those peasants alone? Of course they lack such power.”

Zhang He’s face darkened as if dripping with ink; he leaned close to his son, whispering so low it seemed he feared being overheard by invisible ears: “Rumors say… the shadow of the Seven Kill Cult lurks behind the Lushan unrest.”

“What?! The Seven Kill Cult…”

At the name, Zhang He’s heart jolted.

In the Zhou Kingdom, the name “Seven Kill Cult” was infamous—capable of silencing crying children at night!

Originating from the previous dynasty, it was the undisputed demonic sect, secretive and cruel, worshipping murder as the path to enlightenment. It was once exterminated by the founding emperor of Zhou with a massive army, vanishing for a time.

But since the emperor’s death, its remnants had crawled back like rats in sewers, quietly reviving and enduring to this day.

The Seven Kill Cult’s greatest terror lay in the brutality of its followers—beyond any normal comprehension.

It was said one condition for joining was to have taken at least a thousand lives.

This meant every member of the Seven Kill Cult was a butcher.

Over the centuries of Zhou rule, nearly every major massacre that shook the realm bore the faint, hidden mark of this demonic sect.

Seeing his son turn deathly pale and tremble, Zhang He’s heart sank—but his face remained composed. He shook his head slightly: “Of course, this rumor may not be entirely accurate.”

“The Seven Kill Cult’s stronghold and main power have always been in the northern provinces; they rarely venture into our southern lands.”

“Perhaps… someone is merely using their name to instill fear, bluffing for advantage.”

Zhang Xu’s pallor eased slightly, but the fear in his eyes had not fully faded.

“Regardless, the wind has risen—the situation has turned dire!” Zhang He’s tone was ironclad, brooking no argument.

“Whether the Seven Kill Cult is real or not, Lushan County’s lockdown is real! The spread of chaos is real!”

“No one can guarantee Anxi County will remain untouched. Under a toppled nest, how can any egg remain whole? How can the Zhang family, which thrives within this city, rest easy?”

He locked eyes with Zhang Xu, each word deliberate: “So now, do you understand how critical it is for you to win over Liu Qingshi?”

“I… I understand, Father!”

Zhang Xu swallowed hard, suppressing the chill and panic in his chest, and nodded firmly: “I’ll… I’ll find another way. No matter what, I’ll get close to Liu Yiyi.”

“Xu’er…” Zhang He suddenly interrupted him, his gaze deepening into something unreadable, his tone carrying an unspoken weight—as if revealing a secret not meant for outsiders. He spoke softly:

“Between men and women… sometimes, it’s not all about mutual affection or natural progression. In times of crisis, one may need… unconventional methods.”

He paused, as if recalling something, his voice growing distant: “When I pursued your mother, she initially rejected me utterly, treated me as if I didn’t exist. Later… I employed a little… subtle strategy.”

“Look—now, your mother and I live in harmony, deeply devoted to each other, don’t we?”

Zhang Xu froze, then—as if struck by lightning—his eyes suddenly lit up with a flash of dawning realization, mixed with a dark, excited gleam; his voice trembled with excitement:

“Father… you mean… I can… use force…?”

“Go home. Think it over carefully.”

Zhang He cut him off before he could utter the vile word, turning his back and waving his hand dismissively, his tone returning to its usual stern detachment—as if the suggestive words had never been spoken.

Zhang He did not let him finish that vulgar word; he turned away, his back to him, waved his hand, and his tone returned to its usual authority and detachment, as if those highly suggestive words had never been spoken.