CHAPTER 113: 113- FANG YUAN

A day had passed, the echoes of Lin Zhaoyue’s exasperated screech replaced by the quiet scratch of Fang Yuan’s brush.

He sat in his austere office within the Phoenix Soul Pavilion, sunlight filtering through the lattice window, illuminating motes of dust dancing over stacks of parchment.

His focus was absolute as he meticulously transcribed tasks onto scrolls.

The System’s quests shimmered in his mind’s eye, invisible and inscrutable to anyone else.

The tedious work of manual transcription was the price for translating system prompts into clan action.

The rewards he gained were System Points every time each of the tasks got completed.

He paused, raising his head to gaze at the phantom numbers only he could see, superimposed against the far wall:

[System Points: 43,500

Faith Points: 4,100

Passive FP Gain: +1,100/day]

A grimace flickered across his face. 43,500. A stark descent from the 100,000 he’d started with.

That fortune had bled away into Bone Marrow Pills and cultivation elixirs now carefully cataloged in the clan treasury, awaiting distribution to those who earned the Merit Points he was currently creating.

Merit Points. The currency of mundane effort. He dipped his brush again, the ink flowing dark and sure.

Task: Sweep perimeter of Alchemy Pavilion.

Risk: Negligible

Reward: +10 Merit Points

He set it aside, picked up a fresh scroll.

Task: Collect Moonshine Flowers (West Meadow)

Risk: Low (Minor spirit beasts possible)

Reward: +20 Merit Points

Scroll after scroll joined the growing pile. He hummed a tuneless, absent-minded melody, his mind drifting momentarily.

An image surfaced: Lin Zhaoyue’s face yesterday, a volatile storm of outrage morphing into reluctant, sulky acceptance.

It took time but she finally relented... although that woman wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

"Under one condition. I get to hug you. Whenever I want. Wherever I want. That is my condition, Husband." He could almost feel the unnerving intensity of her grip.

Fang Yuan sighed, a long, weary exhalation that seemed to deflate his shoulders.

He dropped the brush onto the inkstone with a soft clack, the sound loud in the quiet room. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his temples.

"Felicia," he called, his voice carrying easily through the open door.

She appeared instantly, gliding into the room with her characteristic silent grace. Her expression was serene, attentive.

Fang Yuan gestured towards the neat stack of completed scrolls on the corner of his desk.

"Take these to Elder Mei. Instruct her these are the next batch of tasks for distribution. Prioritize according to the risk tiers."

Felicia gave a single, deep, and utterly polite nod.

Without a word, she stepped forward, gathered the scrolls with efficient movements, cradling them securely against her chest.

She turned and walked out, her footsteps silent on the polished wood floor, leaving Fang Yuan alone once more with his ledgers, his phantom points, and the lingering specter of conditional hugs.

With a slow sigh, Fang Yuan opened the System tab again.

[Hollow Spirit Pill: ???]

Still locked, still hidden behind a wall labeled: Insufficient Authority.

A nerve ticked in his jaw.

It was maddening. Like being a dying man, lungs filled with ash, bones rotting from the inside and just before the final breath, someone appeared holding the cure for cancer.

And imagine that he wasn’t really poor. He was a trillionaire. A billion times over. He could pay any price. Sell empires. Burn worlds. But the answer wasn’t no.

It was worse.

"You’re not qualified... yet."

Qualified? He nearly laughed. Seriously? I’m dying here.

That’s what this felt like. That’s what made his hands tremble ever so slightly as he clenched them into fists on the desk.

One Hollow Spirit Pill. Just one. That was all he needed.

Just one, and he could truly ascend. Be secure. Stand without fear.

He was already at the peak of Nascent Soul. So what? That no longer meant safety.

Not after revealing himself. Not after exposing his real strength in the face of the Gu family.

Now, eyes would be watching. Calculating. Waiting.

Fang Yuan exhaled slowly through his nose and dismissed the System screen with a flick of his will.

He rose from his seat with a quiet breath and moved to the corner of the room, where a small alchemy kettle sat nestled among jars of dried herbs.

His fingers, long and practiced, moved without thought, this was muscle memory.

He opened one jar, pinched out a gnarled shred of bitterness root, then another: thin curls of molten elderleaf bark, blackened at the edges like paper kissed by flame.

He dropped them into the kettle, poured spring-fed spirit water over them, and placed his hand atop the lid.

A flicker of golden spiritual light pulsed from his palm, activating the formation etched into the metal.

The kettle hummed softly, runes lighting up one by one like slow breaths returning to a slumbering beast.

Steam began to rise, sharp, earthy, and bitter enough to bite.

Fang Yuan remained still, arms folded behind his back as he watched the brew darken.

He said nothing, but his silence was not empty.

The scent that filled the room was rich and earthy, faintly bitter.

When it was ready, he poured it with slow precision, the tea falling in a steady stream into a single porcelain cup.

He stared at it for a moment, the steam rising like ghosts.

Then, softly:

"What’s so special about this tea that Tian always asked me to brew?"

He brought the cup to his lips.

One sip and the world tilted.

The bitterness was staggering, almost violent.

It scalded the tongue with sharp, herbal fire, as if grief had taken liquid form.

His face twisted faintly, but he swallowed it down.

"My brother’s taste buds are clearly built for war," he muttered.

And yet... he brewed this tea.

Every time he missed him.

Without realizing it. Without thinking.

Fang Yuan stared into the dark pool in the cup.

It didn’t shimmer with any special glow. No secret properties.

No hidden powers. Just.... bitterness.

But sometimes, that was enough.