Immortality Starts With Face

AN: Trivia: A shī lǐ ( 失礼 ) is a social misstep -- conceptually similar to a faux pas, although it is something you do rather than say. If you, instead, put your foot in your mouth, I believe the Chinese term for that might be shī yán ( 失言 ) instead.

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The night was deep and silent, the kind of profound quiet that only settles after a day of tumultuous, world-altering events. We were gathered in the main reception hall of my personal suite of rooms, the air still subtly charged with the lingering scent of ozone and the clean, sharp fragrance of purified Qi from the repeated, miraculous breakthroughs brought on by my theatrics.

The soft, warm glow of enchanted lanterns, their light filtered through panes of polished spirit-silk dyed into warm colors, cast long, dancing shadows on the paneled walls, creating an atmosphere of intimacy.

I sat in a heavy, carved Spirit Wood chair, observing the transformed elders who had gathered to "pay their respects" one final time before retiring for the night. They were visibly tired, the skin around their eyes drawn and tight, yet they radiated an almost feverish energy, a stark contrast to their physical fatigue.

They looked younger now, their skin healthier, their eyes bright with a wild, desperate hope they had long since abandoned. These were the looks of starving people who had just been seated at an endless feast — and developed a profound, life-altering gratitude to the one who had just provided it.

My gaze settled on Jiang Tianheng, Yue's father.

His transformation was perhaps the most complex, a tangled knot of conflicting emotions playing out across his weary features. He stood straighter now, the new, potent power of an Early Foundation Establishment cultivator coursing through him.

This was a strength he had watched others achieve but had never, in his most secret, bitter dreams, truly believed he would ever get to experience himself.

The change was palpable. He was no longer just a clan elder in name only. He was no longer a man defined by his lineage. No; he was now a true expert, a member of the realm's elite!

And yet… his eyes could not quite meet mine in the lantern light. When he spoke, his gaze would flicker to my shoulder, to the wall behind me, anywhere but directly at my face. There was a deep, visible shame in him now—the shame of a proud, traditionalist elder who had been forced to kowtow and swear a binding oath of service to a "junior," his own distant cousin's son, to achieve his lifelong dream.

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It was, I analyzed, a fascinating cocktail of human frailty. The pride in his new strength warred with the shame of how he had acquired it.

And yet, both of these were dwarfed by another, more profound feeling: the relief of being free from a deeper, even older shame—the shame of his long stagnation, of being so publicly and thoroughly surpassed by his own adventurous daughter. He was no longer just "the famous Jiang Yue's father"; he was a Foundation Establishment expert in his own right! This desperate gratitude, this complex brew of pride and humiliation, would — I hoped — forge a loyalty that was absolute.

Time, of course, would tell if I was correct.

"You should rest well tonight, Li'er," my mother said gently, her voice smooth and pragmatic, her genius mind undoubtedly already moving on to the next strategic consideration. "Tomorrow will be a long day. We must bring you up to speed on the current political landscape of the City and prepare you for that banquet."

My father nodded in agreement, his face still flushed with a lingering, proprietary pride, as if my successes were a direct result of his own excellent genetics and tutelage. "Indeed! You must make the right impression! The honor and very future of the family rest on your shoulders!"

I felt a wave of weariness wash over me, a fatigue that had nothing to do with the long night of performing miracles.

"Don't worry. I am sure I will be fine," I said confidently. "I am ready."

Both my mother and Yue reacted with a shared, almost identical look of faint, weary amusement, the look of seasoned veterans listening to a raw recruit's boasts before his first battle.

"No, Little Li," Yue said, a smirk playing on her lips. "You are most definitely not ready."

"Your cousin is correct," my mother added, her tone that of a master strategist briefing a novice general. "This is no simple dinner! It is a battlefield. Your clothing, your accessories, the very way you hold your teacup—every single detail will be scrutinized, analyzed for meaning by a hundred pairs of greedy, envious eyes. And, if they sense even a hint of weakness, they will eat you alive! You must cultivate an image of profound mystery and unshakeable power. We must decide which families to honor with a moment of your attention, and which to pointedly ignore. We must prepare responses for the inevitable provocations from the Chen and Zhao heirs. And that is before we even begin the briefing on the current politics, the alliances, the hidden enmities, the latest gossip on who is currently romancing whom amongst the younger generation… Face, wealth, and status have all been gained by you, yes — and these were remarkable achievements that I won't try to downplay. But you must understand: all that you've gained can be lost with a single, careless shī lǐ."

I sighed internally, a deep, existential weariness that went beyond mere tiredness. In that moment, I understood with perfect clarity why Yue had fled this gilded cage for the honest, straightforward dangers of the wilderness.

I met her eyes across the room, and she gave me a small, knowing smile, suppressing a laugh.

She understood exactly what I was thinking.