Inside the quiet Residence of the Han Clan, the air hung heavy, still, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

  Pale smoke from the bronze incense burners curled upward, weaving through the high ceiling like drifting spirits.

  Each breath carried a faint medicinal fragrance, mingling with the natural spiritual energy of the residence, meant to steady the mind.

  Deep within the inner grounds, the Hall of Ancestral Life Tablets stood in solemn shadow.

  Black-gold pillars rose like sentinels, engraved with ancient runes, and faint spiritual formations hummed beneath the floor, drawing in heaven and earth qi to stabilize the life flames within.

  At the center of the hall, an elder sat cross-legged on a jade mat, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. Hundreds of years had passed, and he had never once left his post.

  Rows of jade life candles stretched before him, carved with names and bloodline seals. Each flame pulsed with a soul’s existence.

  Then, a flicker.

  A violet-gold flame the young patriarch’s spiritual flame shivered violently.

  The elder’s eyes snapped open. His heart skipped.

  The flame twisted, surged, and collapsed. Darkness swallowed it.

  “No… no…” His voice was barely a whisper, cracking as he stumbled backward.

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  The jade candle cooled, a faint crack echoing as its last warmth vanished.

  “T-The young patriarch’s…!” His legs failed him. He gripped a pillar for support, staring at the empty flame, disbelief written across his weathered face.

  Han Tian Yi was dead.

  The elder’s breath caught in his throat. Robes flapping, he bolted from the hall. Immediately mounting his sword and flew.

  ---

  Inside the patriarch’s residence, an elder burst through the doors, panting.

  “Patriarch! An omen of death—within the Ancestral Hall! The young patriarch’s flame has gone out! His life force… severed!”

  Silence fell, thick and suffocating.

  Han Fei Yu’s eyes flared.

  His hands clenched.

  Without hesitation, he raised his hand, and a crimson thread shot skyward, coiling and twisting like a serpent.

  “Bloodline Detection!”

  Blood path dao intent spread. The thread quivered, pointing sharply toward a distant location.

  “Summon all elders! We depart immediately!”

  Fairy Yu Xing’s hands shook. “H-Husband… I must go with you…” Her voice broke.

  ---

  They arrived moments later.

  Han Tian Yi’s head lay on the shattered ground. His eyes stared unblinking, frozen in the final moment of life.

  Nearby, Han Tian Shi slumped against the broken wall of the restaurant. Blood soaked his robes. The demonic cultivator lay dead, charred and twisted, a judgment from Han Fei Yu’s divine artifact erased him in a flash.

  Silence pressed down like a tomb.

  Han Tian Shi did not move. His gaze was fixed on his big brother. Hands trembling, chest tightening, he could not find a single coherent thought.

  His world had collapsed.

  Around him, chaos rippled.

  “We’re finished! The Han Clan Patriarch has arrived—this place will be buried in blood!”

  “What do we do? Kowtow? Beg for mercy?!”

  “Silence! Idiot!”

  Shouts and whispers collided, panic spreading like fire. But Han Tian Shi heard nothing.

  He did not notice the two figures behind him, frozen in disbelief.

  “What happened?” Han Fei Yu’s voice cut like a blade.

  “I… I’m so sorry, Father… Brother… because of me…” Han Tian Shi stammered, voice breaking, body trembling, as the weight of helplessness pressed him into the dirt.

  Fairy Yu Xing sank to her knees, lifting her son’s severed head, clutching it to her chest.

  “WHO DID THIS TO MY CHILD?!” Her scream ripped through the air, raw and unyielding.

  All around, the crowd fell silent. Even the wind seemed to pause.

  Han Tian Shi’s voice barely carried. “A-A demonic cultivator… killed big brother while I… I was unconscious… Forgive me, Mother… If I hadn’t brought him outside…”

  Tears spilled freely, mixing with blood and dust. Guilt and regret twisted across his pale face.

  The elders sprang into action. Formation runes glowed. Healing lights washed over the ground. Spiritual arts stitched flesh and closed wounds.

  Han Tian Yi’s body was whole. His head, reattached.

  The blood was gone. The wounds healed.

  But Han Tian Yi’s chest did not rise.

  Life had ended.