On the fifteenth of the first month, the Fang Family’s Inner Hall ended its New Year’s rest and reopened.

The cold wind was still biting on the training grounds in the early morning, but it couldn’t disperse the lively atmosphere of the gathering crowd.

Inner Hall Descendants arrived one after another, gathering in twos and threes to stretch their limbs and chat in low voices.

The air was filled with the unique atmosphere of a new year’s start, a subtle mixture of anticipation and lingering idleness.

As time went on, however, some of the more observant descendants began to notice that something was amiss.

"Huh? Chief Fang Han... doesn’t seem to have arrived today?"

An Inner Hall Descendant who had just finished warming up looked around, a confused expression on his face, and asked his companion in a low voice.

"You’re right, I haven’t seen him... Why is he so late?"

His words caught the attention of several other Inner Hall Descendants nearby. Everyone subconsciously scanned the grounds, and sure enough, they couldn’t find the figure who had now become iconic in the Inner Hall.

"Could it be that he was injured during that assassination attempt... and his wounds haven’t healed yet?"

An Inner Hall Descendant whispered, his tone hesitant and speculative.

At these words, the expressions of the surrounding Inner Hall Descendants filled with worry. ’Could Fang Han really have been severely injured in that assassination attempt?’

Even Fang Hong, Fang Xue, and the other top-ten Inner Hall Descendants gathered to one side had noticed Fang Han’s absence.

Fang Hong stood with his arms crossed. His gaze swept over the crowd, and when he didn’t see Fang Han, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Fang Xue’s cold gaze also swept through the crowd. Not seeing Fang Han, a very faint trace of confusion flickered in her eyes.

"Could Fang Han really have been... severely injured in that assassination attempt?"

Fang Wen asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Just then, the sound of steady footsteps came from the covered walkway.

Elder Fang Yuan, dressed in his usual clothes and flanked by a group of solemn-faced Tutors, slowly walked to the front of the training grounds.

The chatter on the grounds immediately fell silent, and all eyes snapped toward him.

Elder Fang Yuan came to a stop. His gaze was like lightning as he slowly swept it over all the descendants, taking in their expressions. Only then did he speak, his deep voice not loud but reaching every ear clearly:

"The New Year festivities are over. It’s time to get serious. The path of the Martial Dao is like rowing a boat upstream; if you don’t advance, you fall behind."

"I expect you all to remember the family’s teachings, to cultivate diligently without pause, and to not waste your time, nor the support the family provides you..."

The lecture was clear and methodical. All the descendants bowed their heads and listened respectfully, none daring to show the slightest disrespect.

When he finished speaking, Elder Fang Yuan nodded slightly, gesturing for everyone to disperse and begin their cultivation.

After bowing, most of the descendants prepared to turn away.

Just then, Fang Lin, who had entered the Inner Hall in the same group as Fang Han, seemed to muster his courage. He took a step forward, bowed respectfully, and asked in a loud voice:

"Elder, forgive my presumption, but... I was wondering why Chief Fang Han is not here today. Is it because of the attack at the beginning of the year? Has he not yet recovered?"

As his voice fell, the atmosphere on the grounds, which had just relaxed slightly, grew tense once more. Almost all the descendants stopped their movements and looked back at Elder Fang Yuan, obviously deeply concerned about the matter.

Elder Fang Yuan’s gaze fell upon Fang Lin. He pondered for a moment, his expression unreadable, then slowly shook his head.

"Although Fang Han was attacked, he was not injured."

Everyone had just begun to breathe a sigh of relief when they heard the Elder continue:

"He is not here today because he will soon be escorting a family caravan. He has been granted special permission to stay away and prepare for the journey."

He did not mention the Qingxuan Sect’s assessment.

’For one thing, the competition to be accepted by the Seven Sects is brutal. Although Fang Han’s talent is excellent, victory isn’t guaranteed. It’s too early to announce it.’

’For another, if word got out beforehand, there was no guarantee the other four great families—especially the Lin Family—wouldn’t try to secretly sabotage him and create complications.’

’Some things are best done quietly. That’s the safest approach.’

This answer was clearly unexpected, and a wave of suppressed discussion rippled through the grounds.

Elder Fang Yuan said no more. With a wave of his hand, the descendants finally dispersed.

...

Meanwhile, it was a completely different scene inside Tingyu Pavilion.

In the courtyard that morning, the sunlight was perfect, pleasantly warming anyone standing in it.

Lin Wan sat on a stone stool, mending a piece of clothing in the warm sun. Her stitches were fine and close, and she would occasionally glance up at her young daughter playing in the courtyard, a gentle smile on her lips.

Fang Ying, meanwhile, was chasing a bee that had made an appearance as the weather turned warmer. She wanted to get closer but didn’t dare, letting out cheerful, bell-like peals of laughter.

"Han’er, while you are away with the Patriarch this time, you must be cautious. In all matters, listen to his instructions."

Fang Zheng stood to the side, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched his wife and daughter for a moment before his gaze finally settled on his eldest son. His tone carried its usual admonishments, yet it held an almost imperceptible undercurrent of deeper concern.

"Father, I understand."

Fang Han replied with a steady voice, nodding.

Lin Wan stopped her needlework, looking up to study Fang Han for a moment before speaking softly:

"It won’t be like being at home out there; you’ll have to look after your own food and lodging. I hear you’ll be gone for a while, so make sure to take those thicker clothes I prepared for you."

"Mother, don’t worry. I’ll bring them."

Fang Han replied, his voice softening.

Just then, the bee flew away. Pouting, Fang Ying ran over and threw her arms around Fang Han’s leg, tilting her little face up at him.

"Brother, are you going to be gone for a long time? When you come back, remember to bring me a sugar figurine! The biggest and sweetest one!"

A soft look appeared in Fang Han’s eyes. He bent down and gently pinched his little sister’s nose.

"Alright, I’ll remember. You be a good girl at home, okay? No mischief."

"Ying’er is always good!"

The little girl immediately puffed out her chest to make her promise. Just as quickly, her attention was captured by a fluttering bee, and she chased after it with a happy cry.

Fang Han straightened up, watching his sister’s carefree back as she ran.

He quietly savored this warm family moment, knowing he would soon have to leave it behind, and silently engraved its warmth into his heart.

’On this trip to the Qingxuan Sect, if I fail the assessment, I’ll naturally be back soon.’

’But if I pass... according to the Patriarch, I’ll have to stay and cultivate within the sect. I probably won’t have a chance to come home until the year’s end.’

His future was undoubtedly important, but this simple, precious family affection was a tender part of his heart he couldn’t bear to leave.

...

「A few days later.」

An ornate carriage, bearing the Fang Family insignia and escorted by several mounted guards, slowly rolled out of the gates of Liangshui City through the morning mist.

Inside the carriage, Fang Han sat with his eyes closed, meditating and regulating the nascent strand of Inner Qi within his body.

Across from him, the Patriarch, Fang Lingyuan, sat ramrod straight with his eyes slightly closed, seemingly either meditating or deep in thought.

The steward, Fang Zhong, sat quietly to one side, responsible for handling any miscellaneous needs on the journey.

The carriage wheels rumbled rhythmically over the official road, carrying them further and further away, toward the distant and mysterious Qingxuan Mountain.

At almost the exact same time, in cities large and small throughout Qingyang County, other equally impressive carriages were setting out.

These carriages were luxurious and heavily guarded. Inside, sitting alone or in small groups, were young men and women, each with a focused aura and bright, clear eyes.

They came from different backgrounds and various family factions, but the tracks of their wheels all pointed in the same direction: toward Qingxuan Mountain, a place considered a Holy Land by the Martial Artists of Qingyang County.

A grand event, gathering the many young talents of the county, had quietly begun.