Han Lei spent the following days locked away in his room, drowning in his thoughts.
The first day was rage.
Raw, blinding anger.
How could his father keep such a truth from him? How could he hide behind silence while Han Lei grew up believing he was just another orphan taken in by kindness? His fists trembled until his knuckles bled from clenching too hard. His heart screamed that it wasn't fair—that his father owed him the truth.
But on the second day, the anger began to crumble beneath the weight of understanding.
He started to see the pain that must have lived inside Zhennan all those years. The loneliness. The guilt. The torment of losing everything—his wife, his child, his clan—and still choosing to live on only to protect a son he could never embrace as his own openly. Han Lei felt his chest tighten. The anger remained, but now it shared space with sorrow.
By the third day, the storm inside him quieted. Acceptance came—not gentle, but inevitable.
Maybe his father's silence wasn't betrayal. Maybe it was his only way to cope. Maybe carrying the truth alone was how Zhennan punished himself, and how he protected his son at the same time.
Han Lei understood now.
He finally knew why his father wanted to rebuild the clan—why he spoke with such burning conviction about restoring the Han name. It wasn't just pride. It was defiance. A way to stand against Han Zhenwu—the man who had shattered everything.
And when that realization struck him, a new feeling replaced the ache in his chest.
Fury.
Cold, sharp, consuming.
Han Lei's blood burned as images of his father's suffering filled his mind—the years of exile, the humiliation, the pain of watching everything he loved destroyed by one man's greed. Zhenwu. That name alone was poison.
He thought of his mother—a woman he could not remember, but whom Uncle Zhenhai said was bright, gentle, and full of life. He thought of his father—who endured the Empire's chains, who lived as a shadow of himself, all for his son's safety.
That day, Han Lei made a vow.
A vow that shook the silence of the room.
"I will find him. I will find Han Zhenwu—and I will destroy him. For my father. For my mother. For every pain he caused. And after that… I'll rebuild our clan, not in his image—but in my father's."
He stood up, eyes hardened with purpose, and stepped out of his room for the first time in days.
Lu Zhenhai was waiting for him. The old warrior looked up, seeing the determination burning behind the boy's eyes, and smiled faintly.
"I see you've cleared your mind," he said.
Han Lei nodded firmly.
"Good," Zhenhai continued, his tone turning serious. "But before you can inherit what your father left you, you must grow stronger. That phoenix your father mentioned—it won't hand you power without testing you. You'll need to reach the Second Realm at least, and more importantly, you must learn to protect what you'll gain. Wealth, techniques, treasures—they mean nothing without strength to defend them. Remember, the Empire and the sects are always watching. They never stop."
Han Lei listened in silence, his expression resolute.
"I understand," he said quietly.
Lu Zhenhai's stern face softened. "Good. Then get up. We start today. I'll provide you with what you need to reach the high stage of the Second Realm—but power is useless without discipline. You'll train until your body can no longer stand."
Han Lei nodded once more, following his uncle toward the training yard.
The next days were filled with blood, sweat, and exhaustion. He lifted stones larger than himself, ran until his lungs burned, and practiced sword forms until his hands blistered and bled. He learned balance, control, and patience—traits his father once held in abundance.
One afternoon, as he collapsed onto the grass to rest, a familiar voice called out.
"LEI!"
He barely had time to turn before Han Yi came running, a bright smile lighting up her face as she threw herself into his arms. He staggered backward, laughing despite himself.
Then came Xue Lian—her warm smile filled with both tenderness and nostalgia. She wrapped her arms around Han Lei, holding him tightly.
"I see he's already got you slaving away," she teased.
Lu Zhenhai chuckled from behind them. "He's training. Leave him be."
"Training, huh?" she said with a raised brow. "I remember you saying you'd have the servants move these boulders. I guess by 'servants' you meant my son?"
Han Lei couldn't help but laugh. For a moment, the heaviness in his chest lightened. He laughed with them—his family.
The sun hung high in the sky, the air cool and crisp. Han Lei gazed upward, a calm smile crossing his face.
He didn't know what the future would bring—whether it would be glory or tragedy—but he knew one thing for certain: whatever it held, he would face it head-on.
And if he ever stumbled, if he ever fell, he knew there were people who would stand behind him—those who once stood beside his father.