The moment the tremor rippled through the clan grounds, the elders felt it. Not with their eyes, not with their ears, but deep within the core of their cultivation—the quiet resonance that told them the balance had shifted. The Forbidden Courtyard, sealed for decades, had been disturbed. A presence had awakened within it, and the ripples traveled faster than any sound, faster than the wind, faster than even the trained senses of Wen Clan's most vigilant disciples.
Elder Wen Zemin's hand trembled slightly as he leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing. The incense smoke curled lazily between the pillars of the grand hall, but it did not mask the tension. His voice, low and measured, carried authority that had bent countless wills.
"Did someone enter the Forbidden Courtyard?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
One of the senior elders, an old man whose white eyebrows drooped like frozen willow branches, bowed slightly. "It seems… yes, Master Zemin. There was a sudden release of spiritual energy—unusual, volatile. Whoever entered… they were not alone."
Zemin's dark gaze swept over the council, flickering with both intrigue and calculation. "Unusual, volatile energy… in that courtyard? No clan member of proper cultivation would dare. And yet, the pattern… it is precise, measured. Someone trained their presence before entering. Someone… careful."
Another elder leaned forward, voice quivering just slightly. "Master Zemin… could it be Young Master Wen Chen?"
The words hung in the air. Some elders stiffened. Others exchanged wary glances. A young boy of mortal roots entering the Forbidden Courtyard? Only the bold—or the foolish—would dare.
Zemin's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Boldness does not measure here, only capability. If it is him… he has grown far beyond what we anticipated." His eyes darkened. "And if he has… then this changes everything."
The eldest elder, his voice calm but firm, lifted a hand. "We must consider our response carefully. The Forbidden Courtyard is sacred, yes—but it is also a tool. Any energy released there cannot be contained lightly. If Young Master Chen has awakened something… we must observe. We cannot act rashly, or we risk drawing attention unnecessarily."
Zemin's gaze sharpened, glinting like cold steel. "Observe? Or manipulate? Let me remind you… treasures of this caliber are not left to chance. If he has absorbed something… something rare… then we must decide: cultivate him carefully, or claim it before he learns to wield it fully."
A murmur ran through the council. Even the most stoic elders could feel the tension, could feel the invisible web of power and danger starting to tighten around Wen Chen.
"Master Zemin," said another elder, younger and cautious, "should we not send someone to test him? To measure what he has gained?"
Zemin's eyes flickered, his smile thin and dangerous. "And risk revealing our cards too early? No. Let him take the first move. Let him reveal his intentions naturally. The moment we act… he will know. And once he knows, the game becomes far more dangerous—for all of us."
The council fell into uneasy silence. Some considered the wisdom in Zemin's words; others felt the chill of inevitability creeping into their bones.
Meanwhile, somewhere high in the shadows of the clan estate, Wen Lang watched through carefully concealed gaps in the eaves. His lips twitched with a mixture of irritation and concern. He had suspected that Wen Chen was moving faster than the boy's mortal roots should allow, but to see it confirmed… to see the young man actually harness the Forbidden Courtyard's energy… unsettled him more than he would admit.
The boy is not just growing, Wen Lang thought, teeth gritting. He is learning to control fate itself.
He leaned back into the darkness, calculating his next move. He could not strike directly—not yet. The elders' eyes were upon Wen Chen, and any rash action could expose his own ambition. But the thought of waiting… of watching the boy accumulate power while he remained constrained… filled him with quiet fury.
He will be mine soon enough.
Back in the grand hall, Elder Zemin leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. He allowed himself a slow exhale. The energy readings were unusual—but promising. Whoever had entered the courtyard had not merely stumbled upon the Luck Orbs. They had absorbed them, skillfully, without disturbing their stability. Only someone meticulous and clever could achieve such a feat.
"Have all surveillance measures been maintained?" Zemin asked quietly.
"Yes, Master," an elder replied. "No other presence has approached. The courtyard remains sealed aside from what we detected."
"Good. Let him continue. Let him test his limits. We will watch—and we will see if he is a pawn or a king."
A faint tension gripped the council again, the sort that hinted at hidden ambitions and unspoken threats. Zemin's mind, sharp as the blade of a longsword, started weaving threads of strategy. He would not waste time; he would not allow the boy to grow unchecked. But neither would he reveal his hand too soon.
And then, unexpectedly, the eldest elder's voice cut through the thickened air.
"Master Zemin… it is not only the boy we must consider. His influence… his luck… will draw others. Rivals, spies, those who dwell in shadows. If he continues undisturbed, the balance of the Wen Clan—and perhaps even beyond—could be disrupted. We are witnessing the rise of someone extraordinary… someone dangerous."
Zemin's eyes glinted. "Dangerous, yes. But dangerous can be controlled. Opportunity… is always worth the risk."
He leaned forward slightly, the shadows from the pillars flickering across his face. "Prepare discreet observers. Not to intervene, but to record. Let the boy move freely. Let him touch the edge of his potential. When the moment comes… we will see where his loyalties lie, and whether he is an asset—or a threat."
The elders murmured their agreement, the tension in the room thickening as they realized the subtle treachery behind Zemin's words.
Outside, the clan slept peacefully—or so it seemed. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying a faint scent of danger, a whisper of fate beginning to turn. High above, Wen Chen's actions had left more than a mark on the Forbidden Courtyard; they had set in motion a chain reaction that the elders would now be forced to follow. Every step he took, every subtle movement, every rise in his power, would be noticed, dissected, and evaluated.
And yet, none of them realized the full truth.
Wen Chen's calm, deliberate demeanor, his measured steps, his indifferent posture—all of it was a mask, a careful calculation. He had seen the shadows lurking in the corners of the clan for years. He had felt the hunger of ambition before it even spoke. And now… he had begun taking control, quietly, invisibly, with precision and patience.
He was not just a boy with a Peak Water Root. He was a strategist, a predator learning to map the jungle before his prey realized it existed.
Zemin's sharp mind, Wen Lang's ambition, the subtle scheming of other elders—they were all pieces in a game he had only just begun to understand. And in the distance, silent and unnoticed, he planned the moves that would put him at the center.
The council remained in tense discussion, debating, observing, whispering behind closed doors. But the boy himself—calm, poised, and always three steps ahead—was already preparing his next step.
In the shadows of the Forbidden Courtyard, the Luck Orbs rested within his spirit, humming quietly. A soft glow, like a heartbeat. Each point of fortune, each fragment of potential, was now a tool he could wield.
The clan could watch. They could plot. They could wait for him to stumble.
But Wen Chen had no intention of stumbling.
And with the first whispers of dawn approaching the horizon, a single truth became clear to the Elder Council: the boy they had dismissed, the Mortal Root who had once seemed insignificant, was no longer a child to underestimate.
He was the storm forming behind the walls of the Wen Clan.
And every eye in the hall, every hidden observer, every ambitious heart, would soon have to choose: to follow, to oppose, or to be crushed beneath his calculated rise.
Wen Chen's calm eyes, reflecting faint starlight through the windows, remained unreadable.
But in the quiet of the night, deep inside the Forbidden Courtyard and across the clan's inner halls, a single, undeniable thought resonated:
The game had truly begun.
And no one—not elders, not rival clan members, not even ambitious uncles—would be untouched by the ripples of his ascent.
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