NOVEL NEXT Chapter 69: Happy Birth Day To Me!
Eastern Fortune Tree City…
Outside, murmurs of the gathered crowd still echoed faintly, as they spoke about Mo Han's name. They also knew that no Mo Han existed in the Han family. But the drama created many doubts for them.
As Dong Jing left the Han family, the patriarch Han Tian also stood up to leave. But his wife Li Han closed the room doors and stopped his advance.
The patriarch Han Tian stared at her with a confused look.
She also stared back with a serious look.
"Han Tian," she began, her voice low but carrying a thread of urgency, "what if this Mo Han they speak of… is our family missing Ro Han?"
The patriarch's shoulders stiffened for the briefest moment, but he didn't show any confusion. "No," he said flatly, "Ro Han is already dead."
Her eyes narrowed. "But his body was never found," she pressed, each word deliberate. "We received reports of his disappearance in the outer territories, but no proof of death. You know as well as I do that in this world, the absence of a body leaves more questions than answers."
Han Tian's gaze shifted to the burning incense, the glowing fire sticks reflecting in his pupils like dying stars. "Whatever the truth, I am not ready to take another headache," he said, voice firm but cold. "The Han family is already facing decline. The trade caravans have been raided, our allies grow distant, and our name is whispered with doubt in every tea house. I have no time to chase phantoms while the clan's foundation crumbles beneath my feet. I need to rebuild our business… our reputation. That is my duty."
Madam Li stepped closer, her embroidered sleeves brushing against his arm. "And what of your duty to blood?" she asked sharply. "If this Mo Han is truly Ro Han, then he is your younger brother's son. Do you not feel even a shred of obligation?"
The words hung in the air like a sword poised to fall.
"My brother… is already dead." Han Tian's voice dropped, edged with steel, "And his son… also."
Madam Li was utterly surprised by this declaration. There was no tremor, no hesitation—only the cold certainty of a man who had buried more than just his kin in the past.
Her voice softened, but the bite remained. "You speak as though you wish it to be so, Han Tian. As if acknowledging his survival would unravel everything you've worked for."
Finally, he turned to face her. The candlelight caught the hard lines of his face, the years of responsibility etched deep into his features. "You don't understand," he said. "If Ro Han is alive, and if he is truly this Mo Han… then trouble will follow. Trouble that will swallow what little stability we still have. My brother's path was one of blood and defiance, and his son—if he carries that same will—would only bring the storms of his father back to our gates."
For a moment, neither spoke. The faint crackle of the incense was the only sound.
Madam Li tilted her chin, refusing to yield. "Sometimes storms are not meant to be avoided, Han Tian. Sometimes… they are the only thing that clears the rot away. Who knows… this Mo Han might bring past glory to our Han family!"
The patriarch's jaw tightened. "Enough," he said at last. "I will not gamble the Han family's future on sentiment. Whether Mo Han exists or not, whether he is Ro Han or not—it changes nothing. If fate has truly kept him alive, then he will either carve his own path… or perish as his father did. But I will not intervene."
She stared at him for a long heartbeat, as if searching for any crack in his resolve. But there was none.
Finally, she stepped back. "Very well," she said, her voice quieter now. "But remember this, Han Tian—denying blood does not erase its bond. One day, you may find the son you ignored standing before you… not as kin, but as judgment."
With that, she turned and left the chamber, her footsteps fading into the echoing corridors of the Han estate.
Han Tian remained still, gazing into the faint glow of the altar. The incense had burned low, its smoke curling like the unanswerable questions he had buried long ago.
In the stillness, his thoughts drifted to the past—his brother's wild laughter, the clashing of blades under the moonlight, the sound of a boy's cry the last time he had seen his nephew.
He closed his eyes briefly, forcing the memories back into the past where they belonged.
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Burning Sun Peak…
The wind howled down the cliffs of Burning Sun Peak as two flying birds streaked across the sky. The first was sleek and graceful, a white Spirit Crane whose feathers shimmered like moonlight upon snow. The second was a fierce Mountain Eagle, wings spanning nearly twenty paces, its golden eyes glowing.
Their cries—clear, piercing, and brimming with vitality—rolled through the mountain range, drawing eyes from every direction.
Below, on the sprawling sect grounds, disciples paused mid-practice. Spears halted in the air, sword forms broke, and even the rhythmic clatter of forging ceased as heads tilted skyward.
"Spirit Crane?" a young disciple gasped.
"And a Mountain Eagle!" another exclaimed, clutching his friend's arm.
From the outer barracks to the inner pavilions, people spilled out to witness the rare sight. Even a few gray-robed elders stepped from their secluded courtyards, brows furrowed in interest.
The soul-bound beasts like spirit cranes were treasures of the cultivation world, rarer than high-grade artifacts. Only the truly wealthy and powerful families possessed them, for the price of binding such creatures was more than spirit stones—it was the fortune and lifeblood of an entire generation.
The crane and eagle circled once above the sect, before descending toward the inner court. The moment the two birds touched the ground before the Third Aura Tree, the surroundings turned silent.
The stone house of Jia Kai stood nearby, plain and unadorned, but now overshadowed by the presence of the two mighty beasts.
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Author Note: Today is my birthday. Thank you if you read this and Give little support!