The family of four reached the entrance to the Cheng clan's terrains. More than a private compound, it was a neighbourhood owned by one, big family.

  The houses owned by the clan distinguished themselves in the small details.

  While the style itself of the buildings was the same as those outside the neighbourhood- elegant wooden houses, with only one, but tall and large floor- the red decorations, from drapes, to flowers, to the clothes of the people living there, were everywhere.

  The same colour as the hair that all of them seemed to share.

  A servant guided them to the central house, where the patriarch lived.

  It was the only one with two floors, both at least five, maybe six steps tall, and far larger than any of the others.

  The main hall they were guided to was a big room, even if it was smaller than Chang Heng expected it to be. It wasn’t like the books he read, where this kind of room was bigger than many houses, and it was kept more functional instead.

  His father sat at the centre of the room on his knees, keeping a straight back and a dignified expression. The other three waited behind him, standing.

  After a couple of minutes of waiting, the patriarch walked in.

  Just as everyone else in the family, he was tall, with copper red hair, a stern face covered by a short beard, and a strong build. His genealogy said the man was in his nineties, almost a century old, yet he looked half his age.

  Chang Heng felt a subtle suppression as the man sat on his ornate chair; his Qi filled the room with an intensity that the boy's lacked.

  “Good evening. I'm Chang Guang, patriarch of the Chang clan. I believe I recognise you, Jun. Could you introduce those behind you?”

  Wow, he is trying so hard to sound pompous. The boy did his best to hide a chuckle. His father had made it clear that any show of emotions could become an issue.

  “Patriarch, this is Chang Li, my beloved wife; Chang Xia, my daughter; and Chang Heng, my son, the reason why we are here. Just yesterday, he awakened as a Cultivator, and we wished to report it to you, patriarch.”

  “There is no need for such formality, not in a family.” He said it in such a tired tone that it was clear it was more for himself than them.

  Wow… He didn't hold it up for long.

  “Of course.”

  “Hm… he is quite short for a Chang, how old is he?” a light appeared in his eyes, but no one could recognise what it meant.

  “He became sixteen years old just today, patriarch. This Chang Jun knows that his talent may be low, but I'm also sure my son can be an asset for the clan, if given the right resources, patriarch. ”

  The annoyed look on Chang Guang's face made clear what he thought of the father’s speech.

  “Well, he may be untalented, but having one more Cultivator in our ranks can't hurt, even if four may not seem the best number. Having a relative of the same generation will create some healthy competition for my son, I'm sure.”

  Four? I didn't even know we had his son as a third, who is the fourth now?

  “I am sure that, if supported, my Chang Heng will prove his value as a good rival. We heard that our common ancestor, Chang Ling the Creative, who my son admires, left some techniques-”

  A flare of Qi silenced the man. Chang Heng could almost see the patriarch's Qi press on the whole room, adding a weight on everyone's shoulders. While even the guards were affected, the little Chang Xia was spared from the pressure.

  It wasn't enough to make anyone fall on the floor, but the intent was clear.

  “We will discuss that later. First, I have a doubt. The Cheng are tall, yet the boy is short, as you can see.” The light in his eyes got dimmer with every word. “Our family is notoriously too proud, yet the boy stands behind his father instead of speaking for himself. Your son is known to be so, so sick, and yet the boy stands here, behind you, older than anyone thought he'd become.”

  Chang Guang’s tone wasn’t accusatory, not openly, but the meaning behind his words was far too clear.

  Chang Jun, in response, started fixing his posture, losing the air of ossequiency it had moments before. He didn’t dare interrupt, not yet, but knew what the man was going to say.

  “Are you sure this is your son, Jun?”

  He stood up with a straight back, completely ignoring the weight pressing on him, an open hostility in his eyes that his son had never seen before.

  Chang Heng wanted to intervene, but he felt his mother put a hand on his shoulder as she walked forward. The touch was kind, asking for calm, but the tense muscles underneath told stories of how she felt.

  ““How dare you-””

  Both of the spouses were ready to spit venom when the patriarch said just two words:

  “I apologise.”

  They looked at him, confusion in their eyes. They barely had time to infuriate themselves before the man calmed them down.

  What in the heavens goes on in this man’s head? Was all they could think.

  “Sadly, it’s not too uncommon for relatives of this family to come, bring with them a Cultivator, and ask for resources, rare and powerful techniques that I produce every day for the sustenance of my clan. Some don’t even choose one that resembles them. But I’ve seen your reaction, and it’s clear that I was far too wrong.

  Chang Heng, you loved my great-grandfather’s work, right? I’ll have a servant escort you to him. She’ll show you where he works, but don’t get your hopes up, he is called the Fool for a reason.”

  “He is alive?!” the boy shouted with joy, the accusations forgotten completely before the chance to meet the man he most admired, and always thought was dead.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Yes, even if not many would consider it a good thing. After you meet him, you can freely explore the library of his and mine works. In the meantime, your parents will tell me your story.”

  When the same servant who brought them here stepped forward, he rushed at her. She was obviously unhappy about what was going to happen.

  …

  The servant guided Chang Heng deep inside the building, reaching a library: it wasn’t the biggest he had seen, but all the books inside were either Cultivation Techniques, about them, or Fighting Techniques in a different handwriting. The value of their contents was on a different scale from any mortal library he’d ever seen.

  He took one item out of his bag, his ancestor’s book, one much more worn out and consumed than any of those there. He recognised the writing style in many of them.

  Hidden behind a bookshelf was a small door, and the servant stopped in front of it, grimacing.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Young Master?”

  It took him a few seconds to understand who she was talking to.

  “Uhm, yes, please thank you. Why… why are you all so worried? Chang Ling is a luminary, a brilliant mind like no one else! Why is everyone acting so weird about him?”

  “You’ll see, Young Master, you’ll see… You can enter whenever you are ready. Take your time.” She looked at him with pity that a servant usually had no reason to offer. But she knew she had reason.

  The woman walked away with quick steps.

  The boy wasn’t sure what to do- he really wanted to just barge in and talk to his favourite author, and yet the two who talked about him told him he’d regret it.

  It doesn’t matter, they just don’t get it.

  He made sure to look at his best, orderly and clean- having blood on his clothes wouldn’t do well for a first encounter. As soon as he felt ready, he opened the small door, his heart beating with a variety of different emotions.

  …

  Darkness. Nothing could be seen behind the door, except darkness, the light of the library unwanting to penetrate it. A damp smell flowed out of the room- old, stale air, and the disgusting odour of a deceased body.

  Anxiety spiked in Chang Heng as he stepped forward. He wanted to call out, but only a croak came from his throat. It was weak, but it felt like a scream in the ominous room.

  A small light came alive. A deep red spark, floating. It didn’t show him anything until more and more of them appeared.

  He could barely see patches of white, rough skin, from which protruded veins and bones, as if it was dead and stretched too tight on a body. And the more lights appeared, the bigger the creature wass revealed to be:

  Two thin, long legs stretched from incredibly huge feet, rising almost to the boy’s chest before twisting into a back that first rose, then arched down, every single vertebrae visible on the taught skin. Just like the legs, two gnarly, impossibly long arms grew from its bony shoulders, with meat that seemed to want to fall off of them; after the elbow, patches of black started to appear, and the closer it got to the wrists, the more it spread, until it reached its fully-black, gigantic hands.

  After a neck of abnormal shape and length, the head was finally illuminated: elongated in an almost humanoid shape, with an impossible amount of wrinkles, almost no lips, and two dark pits instead of eyes.

  It opened its mouth. A coarse sound and rancid breath wrapped around the boy:

  “OUT!”

  He stepped back as the door slammed on its own.

  Chang Heng was paralyzed, falling on his ass, back pressed against a bookshelf. His breath couldn’t seem to slow down. He wanted to get up, run away, call anyone to take care of the monster.

  What even was that being? Why was it in his ancestor’s room? A guardian, or a killer? A failed experiment? Or something else?

  More and more questions filled his mind, and he still couldn’t get up.

  The door opened once more.

  The first time, a young man came in, the second, a tall and ancient-looking man came out of it.

  He was at least seven feet tall, if not more, and incredibly thin, with every part of him either sagging or wrinkly, sunken and unsettling eyes, and hands and forearms dirty with ink. He was wearing a simple robe of the usual red colour of the Heng clan- one that once was of a deep, most likely expensive red- that had clearly been in use for far too many years.

  Despite his flat expression, something in him looked annoyed to Chang Heng. With that annoyance came a feeling of pressure, a weight that fell heavily on his body, just like with the patriarch. He wouldn’t be able to get up even if his legs stopped trembling.

  “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  He had the raspy voice of someone who didn’t talk for a long time.

  That voice, and ugly body… is he the monster?

  “Why don’t you answer? Are you the new servant, too afraid to speak?”

  “I'm not a servant… but there is something around you… It's heavy, it's making it hard to talk.”

  “Hm, my aura. I like the feeling of letting it out, though. We'll settle it by having me lower it.” The pressure was reduced; instead of feeling like he could hardly breathe, it now felt more like the boy was just carrying a full backpack.

  I think… he is stronger than the patriarch.

  “Now tell me, boy, why are you here?”

  “I’m here for Chang Ling. I’m here to talk about his theories, and maybe techniques too.”

  “I am Chang Ling, boy. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give you a technique. You don’t need to trick me into giving a better one by pretending to care about my work.”

  The casual dismissal of his years-long passion made Chang Heng frown.

  He had set aside pride once already. Instead of trying to explain himself, he handed him his copy of the man’s book.

  “What is this supposed to mean?”

  “Read it. Read my notes. We’ll see who cares more about your work.”

  Chang Ling didn’t smile, but the annoyed light in his eyes seemed to fade.

  “I have dedicated most of my life to Cultivation Techniques, boy. I doubt I'll find one thing you wrote to be even just curious. And speak faster, your low cultivation is showing.”

  “I've dedicated most of my life to them too. There are nine years of study, effort, and endless nights of ‘it hurts too much to sleep, so I'll do this instead'.”

  “Don't use your disability as a crutch, boy, this is not a matter of the body. It's all in the mind, and it's all I have in my mind.”

  “If you were so smart, you'd be reading and praising me already, instead of bragging, old relic.”

  “Ha! You didn’t strike me as someone with guts, boy. Not with the way you screamed earlier. Now give me that thing.”

  He grabbed the book, and looked at the room behind him, grunting.

  “Whatever. I'll sit here. Don't disturb me while I read, boy.”

  “Can you stop saying ‘boy’ all the time, please? It's quite annoying.”

  “Huh. Weird. I heard that referring to people directly while we talk is good for building a positive relationship. I guess those who said it are wrong.”

  “Why do you care about your image now? You don't seem like the kind of person who does. No offence.”

  “I'm not sure why I'm supposed to be offended, but alright. I care because it's the social contract to try and build one. I don't understand why, but I can accept it.”

  “You are weird.”

  “You are not supposed to insult and disrespect your elders, so you are weird too. Now, silence. I don't like to hold a conversation while reading.”

  He sat on the floor in front of Chang Heng and opened the first page. Pieces of paper fell from it.

  “I don't like this. Your work is disorganised, b… ugh.” He complained already, but started reading anyway.