The study smelled faintly of old parchment and polished wood.
Light filtered in through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air and casting long lines across the carpet. Ren Ning sat behind his desk, posture straight, hands folded loosely before him. Across from him, Qin Ning occupied a chair with practiced ease, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting on the armrest as though he owned the room.
The door opened.
Jiang Ning stepped inside and closed it quietly behind him.
His gaze flicked once over the room, taking in his father and his uncle without surprise. He inclined his head slightly. "Father. Uncle."
Qin Ning's face brightened at once, the smile reaching his eyes a fraction too quickly.
"Ah, there you are," he said warmly. "I was just telling your father how much better I've been feeling lately."
Jiang paused near the door, hands clasped behind his back. He said nothing yet.
Qin continued, tone light, conversational. "Those Dragon Tail Ferns truly live up to their reputation. My mana circulation has been smoother than it's been in years. Even my nightly cultivation feels… lighter." He chuckled softly. "It seems I underestimated just how valuable they were."
Ren Ning's expression didn't change. "They are rare," he said evenly. "And dangerous to misuse."
"Of course, of course," Qin replied, nodding. His eyes slid back to Jiang. "Still, I can't help but feel grateful. To my family especially."
The words were polished. The intent beneath them was not.
Jiang stepped forward at last, stopping a few paces from the desk. "I'm glad they were of use to you, Uncle."
Qin's smile widened a touch. "You say that, but I've been hearing some interesting things lately."
Ren Ning's fingers tapped once against the desk. A subtle sound.
"Oh?" he said.
Qin leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. "Rumors, mostly. Merchants talking. Alchemists whispering. Apparently, a few Dragon Tail Ferns have surfaced in the city markets in recent days."
Jiang met his gaze calmly.
Qin sighed, shaking his head as though burdened by concern. "It made me wonder, is all. Whether perhaps… not every stalk was accounted for."
Ren Ning answered before Jiang could. "There are no more."
His voice was flat. Final.
Qin turned his head toward his brother, brows knitting together in mild surprise. "Is that so?" He paused, then smiled again. "You'll forgive me for asking. With something so valuable, it would be understandable to hold a reserve. For emergencies."
Ren Ning did not respond.
The silence stretched.
Qin's eyes shifted back to Jiang. "You understand, nephew. I only worry for the family. If there are more ferns circulating, and they didn't come from us, then someone else must be dealing in them. Perhaps one of your men has stolen some and sold them to make a profit for themself."
Jiang inhaled once, slowly.
Then he spoke.
"Uncle," he said, his tone even, unhurried, "are you accusing my father and me of lying to you? In our own home?"
The words landed softly.
The effect was anything but.
The air in the study seemed to cool, the warmth of Qin's smile stiffening as if frozen mid-curve. For a brief moment, his expression betrayed him, surprise flickering across his eyes before he smoothed it away.
Ren Ning remained silent.
He did not look at Qin. He did not look at Jiang.
He simply waited.
Qin straightened in his chair, uncrossing his legs. "That's a strong way to phrase it," he said carefully.
"It's a direct one," Jiang replied. "If you believe we've withheld information from you, then say it plainly."
Qin studied him for a long second, reassessing. The boy standing before him no longer had the air of someone testing his place. There was no uncertainty in Jiang's posture, no nervous deference. He stood as one who belonged exactly where he was.
"…No," Qin said at last. "Of course not."
Jiang inclined his head slightly, accepting the answer without comment.
Ren Ning said nothing.
Qin let out a small laugh, forcing levity back into his voice. "I see I've spoken too freely. My apologies. One grows cautious with age."
He rose from his seat, smoothing the front of his coat. "In any case, I've taken enough of your time."
He turned toward the door, then stopped.
His gaze fell to Jiang's side.
To the long, reinforced case resting against his leg.
Qin's breath caught.
It was subtle. Anyone not watching closely might have missed it. But Jiang saw the way his uncle's pupils narrowed, the way his posture stiffened as recognition dawned.
"What is that?" Qin asked, his voice sharper than before.
Jiang followed his gaze and rested a hand lightly against the case. "My weapon."
Qin's eyes flicked back up. "That's not a Ning piece."
"No," Jiang said. "It isn't."
Qin took a step closer despite himself. "Do you have any idea what you're holding?"
Jiang met his gaze. "The Golden Eagle."
The name hung in the air.
Qin's jaw tightened.
"And you intend to use it?" he asked.
"Yes."
Qin let out a short, incredulous laugh. "A named weapon from another house? Wearing another family's legacy on your back?" His smile returned, thin and sharp. "Do you truly have no shame?"
"That's enough."
Ren Ning rose to his feet.
His chair scraped softly against the floor as he stood, presence filling the room in an instant. "Mind your words, Qin."
Qin turned toward his brother, startled despite himself.
Jiang raised a hand.
"Father," he said calmly. "Allow me."
Ren Ning hesitated, then nodded once.
Jiang looked back at Qin. "This weapon was a gift," he said. "Given to me personally by Anthony Olliver."
Qin's expression froze.
Ren Ning spoke, voice steady. "My son was invited to House Olliver's estate after defeating him in the tournament yesterday."
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Qin opened his mouth, then closed it again. He forced a breath through his nose, composing himself with visible effort.
"I see," he said at last.
He bowed his head slightly toward Jiang. "Then… congratulations are in order. On your victory. And on forging such a promising alliance."
His words were polished but empty.
"And on acquiring a named weapon," he added. "Few can claim such a thing."
Jiang inclined his head. "Thank you, Uncle."
Qin straightened, his expression unreadable now. "I'll take my leave."
He turned and walked to the door, pausing only long enough to glance back once more at the case in Jiang's hand.
Then he was gone.
The door closed softly behind him.
Only then did Ren Ning relax.
He looked at Jiang, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You handled that well."
Jiang exhaled quietly. "He was fishing."
"Yes," Ren Ning said. "My brother can be... a handful sometimes."
The tension that had lingered in the study finally eased.
Ren Ning walked around the desk, his steps unhurried, and stopped in front of Jiang. For the first time since his son had entered, his expression softened fully, not the measured composure of a lord, but the quiet warmth of a father.
"Welcome home," he said.
Jiang inclined his head. "It's good to be back."
Ren Ning's gaze shifted, inevitably, to the long case at Jiang's side. "May I?"
Jiang unclasped it without hesitation and lifted the weapon free, holding it out carefully.
Ren Ning took it with both hands.
The Golden Eagle was heavy, even for him. He adjusted his grip slightly, eyes narrowing as he examined it from barrel to stock. His fingers traced the reinforced frame, the angled segments of the barrel that broke any illusion of a straight firing line.
"…So that's how it's built," Ren Ning murmured.
He tilted the weapon, peering along its length. "The barrel isn't aligned for direct fire at all. Every segment is offset, designed to redirect rather than guide." His brow lifted a fraction. "A weapon meant to bend force instead of channel it."
He exhaled softly, something between admiration and understanding. "No wonder it's infamous. Anyone trained to aim straight would fight the weapon itself."
Jiang nodded. "That's exactly what happens. I learned the hard way."
Ren Ning glanced up at him. "Most would call it unusable."
"It isn't," Jiang said. "Its hard to handle at first but once you get the hand of it, its managable."
Ren Ning let out a low chuckle and handed the weapon back. "I can't believe you managed to use it."
"I had help in getting use to it," Jiang replied simply.
Ren Ning's eyes sharpened. "Anthony."
"Yes and his disciple."
Jiang gave a faint smile and offered a brief recounting,the weapon trials, Lucien's challenge. He kept it concise, factual, leaving out embellishment.
By the time he finished, Ren Ning was laughing openly.
Ren Ning leaned back against the desk, folding his arms. "I heard the Olliver estate hasn't been lively in years. Seems you changed that."
"To think," he said, shaking his head, "my son goes out for the day and comes back having defeated a Transcendental Knight, earned a named weapon, and rattled my brother all at once."
Jiang shrugged lightly. "It wasn't all planned."
"That makes it better," Ren Ning said, eyes bright with pride. "Your name is starting to carry weight beyond this estate. People are watching you now, not as my heir, but as your own man. A warrior walking down his own path"
He grew thoughtful, gaze drifting toward the window. "Which brings me to something else."
Jiang waited.
"I can teach swordsmanship but guns…" Ren Ning shook his head. "They aren't my path. Yet more of our knights are choosing them. They have the talent, but no one to truly push them."
He looked back at Jiang. "Would you be willing to help? Train them. Show them what that path demands."
Jiang considered it for a moment, then nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
Ren Ning smiled. "That's all I ask."
Jiang secured the Golden Eagle back into its case and bowed slightly. "I'll head to the yard. They did ask for me to spar with them."
"Go," Ren Ning said. "They'll be eager to fight you."
Jiang turned and left the study.
As he stepped into the corridor and made his way toward the training grounds.