The next day, the Wang Family’s grand hall was filled with expectation. Elders sat upright in their honored seats, discussing the clan’s troubles and quietly planning for the future. In the last row, four of the family’s most talented juniors waited in silence.

  Feng Mei sat quietly, her eyes bright with anticipation—eager to see the looks on everyone’s faces when Wang Jian arrived. Next to her were the family’s other young geniuses: Wang Hao, eldest among the juniors, with the grace of a scholar and the calm strength of a leader. His cultivation at the perfect Foundation Establishment stage shone in his presence. Wang Yong had the bearing of a mountain, a stout spear always resting in his strong right hand, and his power pulsed at the middle of Foundation Establishment Realm. Wang Qin, the only girl besides Feng Mei, was a rare beauty—maybe not as dazzling as Feng Mei or Wu Ruolan, but her elegant aura and her mastery of the guqin gave her a special charm. She, too, was a bright talent at the mid Foundation Establishment stage.

  The elders’ voices whispered like rustling leaves, worries weighing heavy in the air. Some wondered: if they lost the bet, what would happen to their clan? Each word spoken felt sharpened by doubt and hope.

  Suddenly, a gust of wind stirred the huge doors. In a flash, Wang Tian appeared before the Patriarch’s seat, his posture calm and commanding as he sat. Surprise rippled through the hall—even the elders, who’d seen Wang Tian’s remarkable speed the night before, still found themselves awed. The young geniuses—Feng Mei, Wang Hao, Wang Yong, and Wang Qin—were even more amazed, their admiration for their Patriarch quietly deepening.

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  Snapped from their daze, everyone in the hall stood in unison. Their voices rang with respect, “We greet the Patriarch!”

  Wang Tian greeted them back with a measured nod. His gaze swept across everyone—yet he quickly noticed the First Elder’s absence, who still not returned from the Imperial City. Wang Jian, too, was missing. Turning to Feng Mei, Wang Tian asked, “Mei’er, where is Jian’er?”

  The hall instantly fell silent and all eyes turned to Feng Mei, waiting for her answer. But before she could speak, a calm voice called from outside, “I’m here, Forgive me for being late.”

  Heads turned. At the entrance stood a young man in white robes—his sword-like eyes sharp, long hair bound with a silver crown, his very presence exuding quiet strength. It was Wang Jian. He strode forward with grace, drawing the gaze and admiration of all.

  Wang Jian approached Wang Tian and stopped. With a respectful bow he said, “Wang Family junior Wang Jian greets the Patriarch.”

  He did not call him brother—here, under the watch of elders and juniors, everyone followed tradition: Wang Tian was called ‘Patriarch’ on formal occasions or before outsiders. Even the elders, who had watched Wang Tian grow from a child, honored this rule—though in private, he let them call him nephew, never willing to place himself too far above the family’s warmth.

  The air in the grand hall settled. Something new and hopeful had arrived with Wang Jian’s entrance, witnessed by all.