Clan Building System: I'm not the Protagonist?!-Chapter 38: ’Yuan-ge.’

Fang Tian wandered through the east courtyard, his steps slowing as the familiar sight of the plum blossom trees came into view.

Their petals drifted gently in the breeze, and beneath them, exactly where he expected, sat Fang Mei.

She was perched on the stone bench, brushing ink across a scroll with practiced ease but her eyes were distant, her strokes slower than usual.

Fang Tian smiled softly. He took a breath.

"Mei’er."

She stopped writing.

Her brush froze mid-air. Her shoulders stiffened.

Slowly, she turned to look at him.

Fang Mei stood. Her gaze locked with his.

Then, without a word she stormed toward him.

Fang Tian opened his arms instinctively.

She didn’t hug him.

She punched him in the chest. Not hard but hard enough to make a point.

"You were gone for a week, Tian," she said, voice trembling.

"I know. I’m sorry," he said, catching her hand gently. "I didn’t mean to worry you. I just... needed time to clear my head."

Her lip quivered, and she tried to look away, but his other hand was already on her cheek.

"I didn’t want to drag you into that chaos," he murmured. "But I missed you. Every day."

Fang Mei hesitated then stepped forward, leaning into his chest.

She rested her forehead against him, voice barely a whisper. "You’re not allowed to disappear like that again."

"I won’t."

"Swear it."

"I swear."

They stood there for a long moment, bodies pressed close, the scent of plum blossoms drifting around them like a curtain of spring.

Then Fang Mei looked up, her eyes wet but steady.

"Next time," she said, poking his chest, "if you need to clear your head, take me with you."

Fang Tian chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Deal."

Elsewhere, beneath a quieter sky...

Fang Yuan sat at his desk, the low creak of wood beneath his elbows the only sound in the room besides the occasional rustle of parchment.

He exhaled slowly.

Another report rested in his hands, this one not soaked in red.

His eyes scanned the neat lines of cultivation updates and performance summaries.

For once, something promising.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

A handful of younger disciples had advanced. Some had stepped into mid-stage Qi Realisation.

One had reached early Qi Condensation. Modest progress, but real progress.

Hard-earned.

Fang Yuan leaned back, resting his head against the lacquered frame of the chair.

His fingers drummed the tabletop slowly.

The system hadn’t been much help lately.

His SP balance was laughable.

No pills could be purchased, no cultivation manuals could be unlocked, and there was no shortcuts offered.

Only one thing gleamed in the quiet void of the system interface.

[ Quest: Win the championship in the upcoming annual Coldwind City Championship ]

Reward: 100,000 SP

Divine-grade Cultivation Manual

Divine-grade.

Fang Yuan stared at those words for a long moment.

That grade... didn’t even exist in records he had read.

He had seen Yellow-grade.. Black, Earth, and even Heaven! But Divine?

He hadn’t known if that was real or just a different name for Heaven Grade.

His gaze drifted to the window.

Outside the window, the sky had deepened into hues of violet and gold, dusk gently settling over the Fang estate.

Fang Yuan stared for a moment, letting the silence wash over him. The wind rustled the trees. A bird cried somewhere in the distance.

He exhaled.

Then nodded once, quietly.

"...I hope Fang Mei can win it," he murmured to himself. "For all of us."

Not just for the reward. Not for the prestige.

But for the family.

For their name.

Fang Yuan smiled faintly, pride warming his chest as he looked out over the desk.

...And then, a beat later—

"I mean, obviously not because I want the Divine-grade manual," he added with a perfectly straight face.

"That would be selfish."

A pause.

Then he cleared his throat.

"For the family."

He rose from his chair and stretched, rolling his shoulders with a faint crack.

The last of the reports had been signed and sealed. The last number double-checked.

Now, it was time for his daily visit to the Spirit Mine.

Ever since he had made his uncle combined the newly restored formation flags with the enhancements from the Spirit Pond, the eastern ravine’s flow of spiritual energy had surged to unprecedented levels.

The very air shimmered with qi—dense, rich, wild like a current of thunder held just below the surface.

It was no longer just a mine.

It was a treasure trove.

And that, of course, had begun to draw attention.

He had already spotted signs foreign robes at the forest’s edge, unfamiliar auras lingering just long enough to be noticed.

The five great families also knew something had changed.

Some of their cultivators even dared to wander close.

But so far, no one had crossed the boundary.

Not yet.

Fang Yuan stepped outside into the evening air, dark robes fluttering slightly in the breeze.

His gaze swept across the horizon where the mine lay nestled between jagged cliffs and thick mist.

He would make his rounds.

Just like always.

And if anyone tried to sneak in tonight...

They would find the patriarch of the Fang family wasn’t as calm as he looked.

Fang Yuan was halfway to the Eastern Ravine when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Ahead, sprawled across the path like a scene ripped straight from a low-budget drama scroll, was a girl—bloodied, barely conscious, and dressed in a tattered robe that looked like it had lost a fight with a hungry beast.

Thankfully, the fabric still clung to the vital zones... barely.

A sword rested atop her head, sheathed.

Fang Yuan narrowed his eyes.

He didn’t move.

His gaze swept the scene again.

Still unmoving.

"...Hmph."

This was it. He had read about this in novels. A classic setup. Damsel in distress.

Hero walks by. Finds beautiful dying girl. Swoops in to rescue. She clutches his sleeve, bats her eyes, calls him "Big Brother" or worse, "Yuan-ge."

Then—bam! Wakes up tied to a tree with his spatial ring gone, reputation ruined, and possibly even missing a kidney.

"Nope," Fang Yuan muttered flatly, folding his arms.

He circled the girl for a while keeping his eyes both on her and the sword.

The sword didn’t react. The girl didn’t move.

Still, he narrowed his eyes.

"Is this one of those cursed swords that seals your cultivation if you pick it up? Or maybe she’s the sword spirit in disguise. Is that a... formation seal under her leg?! No... just a rock."

He squatted down—still at a very safe distance.

Then paused.

"...Huh." novelbuddy-cσ๓

She wasn’t... pretty.

Not in the enchanting, hero-baiting way novels liked to describe.

Her face was smudged, nose slightly crooked, and one eyebrow was shaved clean off.

Her lips were chapped, and what little of her hair wasn’t matted with blood was tied in the world’s saddest bun.

"Definitely not the honey-trap type."

That, more than anything, gave him pause.

"...Maybe she really is just unlucky."

She moaned faintly, barely lifting her head.

"Water..."

Fang Yuan didn’t budge. He squinted harder.

"What kind of girl passes out perfectly diagonally across a trail? What kind of person collapses with a sword neatly on their head? That takes skill."

He looked around.

No assassins leapt out of the bushes.

No arrows flew from the trees.

No weird flute music played in the background.

"...Tch. Damn it. What if this one’s real?"

Fang Yuan sighed deeply. The kind of sigh that said ’I’m too smart for this, and yet here I am.’

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