The guard's words, though spoken without emotion, landed with the weight of a mountain. The Lord Patriarch summons you. Immediately. It was a command that no one in the Lin Clan, from the lowest servant to the highest elder, would dare to disobey. The remaining spectators and participants cleared a path for them, their faces a mixture of awe, pity, and morbid curiosity. The enigma of the day was about to face the ultimate authority.
The journey to the Patriarch's study was a silent one. The armored guard led the way, his heavy footsteps echoing on the stone pathways, a stark contrast to Lin Yuan's light, almost weightless tread. They did not take the familiar routes Lin Yuan knew from his childhood. Instead, they walked through the heart of the main family's estate—a place of elegant gardens, ornate pavilions, and corridors patrolled by powerful guards. It was a world away from his own dilapidated courtyard, a blatant, unspoken reminder of the chasm that separated him from his father's world.
Lin Yuan's mind, however, was not on the lavish surroundings. It was a whirlwind of activity, running through countless scenarios. In the thirty-eight-year simulation, I never once earned a direct summons to my father's study, he recalled. My simulated self rose to power through stealth and patience, only revealing my strength when I was powerful enough to challenge the entire clan. This… this is uncharted territory. The simulation provided me with knowledge of his personality, his ruthlessness, and his priorities, but it never prepared me for a direct, face-to-face interrogation at this stage. This was a new variable, a dangerous deviation from his carefully laid plans. He needed a strategy, a story that was plausible enough to satisfy a man whose gaze could seemingly pierce through lies.
The Patriarch's study was located in the tallest pagoda at the center of the estate. The guard opened the heavy, intricately carved wooden doors and gestured for Lin Yuan to enter, before closing them firmly behind him, leaving him alone in the lion's den.
The room was vast and imbued with an aura of oppressive power. The air smelled of aged sandalwood and old parchment. Towering shelves filled with countless scrolls and leather-bound books lined the walls. In the center of the room was a large desk carved from a single piece of dark, spirit-infused wood, and on it, a brush, inkstone, and a half-finished calligraphy scroll.
Lord Lin Quin was not at his desk. He stood with his back to the door, facing a large, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the entire Lin Clan estate. His hands were clasped behind him, his posture as unyielding as a mountain. He did not turn, nor did he speak. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, designed to unnerve, to intimidate, to force the one being summoned into a state of anxious submission.
But Lin Yuan was not a frightened eighteen-year-old. His mind contained the fortitude of a man who had lived fifty-six years, who had faced death, and who had meticulously planned the downfall of empires in his simulations. He stood perfectly still, his breathing even, his presence calm. He became a rock in the suffocating silence, refusing to be the first to break.
After what felt like an eternity, Lord Lin Quin finally spoke, his voice deep and devoid of warmth, echoing slightly in the large study. "Explain."
It was not a question. It was a demand for the absolute truth.
Lin Yuan did not feign ignorance. He knew exactly what his father wanted. "I am not sure what the Lord Patriarch wishes me to explain."
Lin Quin turned slowly. His face was a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes were like a hawk's, sharp and penetrating, missing nothing. "You went from the first stage of Body Tempering to defeating a fifth-stage practitioner in a single day. You used the clan's most basic techniques with a level of mastery that even the clan elders have never seen. You will not insult my intelligence by calling it 'luck'. Explain the source of your change."
This was the critical moment. Lin Yuan had prepared his cover story on the walk over, a carefully constructed blend of truth, sentiment, and believable fiction.
He lowered his gaze, a flicker of feigned sorrow in his eyes. "It is… a legacy from my mother."
This caused the first subtle shift in Lord Lin Quin's stony expression. The mention of Su Yun was unexpected.
Lin Yuan continued, his voice quiet but steady. "Before she passed, my mother left me a small, damaged manual. She told me it was an unorthodox cultivation art she had found by chance. She said that my clogged spiritual root was not a curse, but a unique constitution, and perhaps this strange art was the only key to unlocking it. For years, I studied it in secret, but I understood nothing. It was too profound, too fragmented."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "A few weeks ago, as I was practicing, I… had a moment of enlightenment. It was as if a dam in my mind broke. Everything suddenly made sense. The principles of the 'Qi Circulation Art,' the essence of the 'Basic Body Tempering Technique'… I understood them on a level I never had before. My sudden insight was not a trick, Father. It was the culmination of ten years of desperate, silent effort."
It was a perfect story. It explained his sudden leap in comprehension without revealing an external system. It used his mother's memory as an emotional shield and framed his power as something earned through his own unique quality and perseverance, a narrative that any powerful patriarch would, at least on some level, respect.
Lord Lin Quin stared at him, his gaze unwavering. He was silent for a long time, weighing the story. "A moment of enlightenment," he repeated, his tone skeptical. "Such things are the stuff of legends, happening once in a generation. You expect me to believe that it happened to the clan's most well-known failure?"
"I expect nothing," Lin Yuan replied calmly. "I can only tell you what happened."
"Show me," the Lord Patriarch commanded. He walked to his desk and picked up a scroll. "This is the 'Azure Dragon's Claw,' a mid-tier martial art. No one below the Qi Condensation Realm should be able to grasp its core principles. Read the first chapter. Tell me what you understand."
This was the test. Lin Yuan took the scroll, his heart steady. He unrolled it and his eyes scanned the complex diagrams and profound text. To the old Lin Yuan, it would have been incomprehensible gibberish. But now, with "Heaven-Defying Comprehension" active, the words and diagrams dissolved in his mind, reforming into a perfect, flowing concept of power. He saw the technique's strengths, its flaws, and three different ways it could be improved.
After only a minute, he rolled the scroll back up and placed it on the desk.
"The art is powerful," Lin Yuan began, "but its foundation is flawed. It emphasizes aggressive force but neglects defensive circulation. The practitioner's Qi is channeled almost entirely into the fingertips for the 'claw' strike, leaving the wrist and forearm vulnerable to a counter-attack that targets the meridians. A simple 'Flowing Leaf' parry, if timed correctly at the third acupoint of the wrist, would not only neutralize the attack but could cripple the user's arm."
Lord Lin Quin's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Lin Yuan's analysis was not just correct; it was an insight that would take a seasoned master weeks of study to uncover. To have gleaned it in a single minute was monstrous.
The story of "enlightenment" suddenly seemed far more plausible.
Lord Lin Quin turned back towards the window, his back once again facing his son. The interrogation was over. "Your mother was… a woman of many secrets," he said, his voice softer now, almost distant. "This 'legacy' of hers… guard it well. The world is larger and more dangerous than this clan."
He paused. "You have advanced to the quarterfinals. Do not disappoint me further. From now on, you are not just the son of a concubine. You are the son of Lin Quin. Act like it." He waved a hand in dismissal. "You may leave."
Lin Yuan bowed deeply, his expression unreadable. "Yes, Father."
He walked out of the study, the heavy doors closing behind him, shutting him off from the suffocating pressure. He was mentally exhausted. The battle of wits with his father had been more draining than any physical fight in the arena.
He had succeeded. His father did not fully believe him, of that he was certain, but he had given him a plausible explanation that could not be easily disproven. He was no longer an invisible piece of trash, but a son under the Patriarch's direct, watchful eye.
As he walked down the pagoda's steps and back into the darkening courtyard, he saw a fleeting shadow disappear behind a distant pillar. He recognized the uniform of one of Lady Zhao's personal servants.
A cold smile touched Lin Yuan's lips. He had survived the lion's den, but he knew the vipers were now stirring in their nest. His success had not solved his problems; it had only replaced them with more dangerous and far more interesting ones.