"Yuan'er, you've returned."
Jiaying's voice was filled with a mix of warmth and melancholy as she glanced at her son, Fang Yuan, stepping into the doorway.
Fang Yuan gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod.
"Mother, inform the maids that for the coming weeks, my meals should be brought to my room." His voice, devoid of warmth, was cold and direct.
"I don't wish to be disturbed."
Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply and ascended the stairs, his footsteps echoing along his ascent.
Jiaying watched him go, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
"Yuan'er has truly grown up," she murmured, though a shadow of concern lingered in her eyes.
She quietly gave instructions to the maids, ensuring they would respect her son's wishes.
Elsewhere, Fang Zheng stood in the dimly lit wine tavern, his hands clasped behind his back.
His expression was composed, his voice calm as he directed the servants. "Place the barrels inside."
"Handle them carefully."
As the workers scurried about, loading the barrels into the storage warehouse, Fang Zheng's gaze remained fixed.
When they finished, he gave a brief nod, his approval understated but clear. "Good work."
The servants, sweating under the weight of their labor, looked up at him with a mixture of relief and admiration.
The contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that once hung around Fang Yuan was stark. Where Fang Yuan's presence had always been one of cold command and brutal discipline, Fang Zheng's demeanor was a quiet authority, one that felt like a balm to the servants' spirits.
They had seen the rage in Fang Yuan's eyes before—when a single mistake would bring about fear of death or punishment.
But now, with Fang Zheng, they felt only respect and a kind of peace they had never known under his brother's rule.
It was as though they had met their saviour at last as the tavern smelled faintly of wine and damp wood.
Flickering lamplight cast long shadows across the floor as a middle-aged shopkeeper stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he held out a pouch.
"Young Master," he said, bowing respectfully. "This is the week's collection."
Fang Zheng took the pouch, weighing it in his palm. His brows furrowed.
"Why is the income so low? Didn't you used to send boxes of primeval stones to my brother's room?"
The shopkeeper hesitated, eyes darting nervously before he answered, "Young Master Fang Zheng, those were the monthly collections."
"Lord Fang Yuan would come at the end of each month to collect the total sum. That's why it used to be… so large."
"I see," Fang Zheng said softly, the weight of his brother's name still echoing in the air.
"So this is merely the week's earnings."
"Yes," the man said, bowing again. "Compared to the monthly profit, it is indeed small."
Fang Zheng nodded slowly. "It's fine then. I will continue with the monthly collection system." He paused, his tone calm yet firm.
"Do you also receive your wages monthly?"
The shopkeeper blinked, then nodded quickly. "Yes, Young Master."
"Okay." Fang Zheng's voice was light, but his words carried quiet authority.
"From now on, I will pay you weekly—just as the clan does for other mortals."
"But the tavern's earnings will still be gathered monthly and sent to my brother."
He looked around the room—the barrels of wine stacked neatly, the faint scent of fermenting grapes hanging in the air.
"Do it just as before," he said at last, his voice softer, almost reflective. "My brother's way brought order. We will keep to it."
"The wages and reserve will remain here. The rest will go to him."
The shopkeeper bowed deeply, relief washing over his features. "As you command, Young Master."
"Also... my brother, Fang Yuan, once told me—if anyone dares to skim even a single primeval stone, he will deal with you personally," Fang Zheng said coldly.
The mere mention of that name froze the room.
Fang Yuan—an existence that still inspired fear even in his absence.
"So," Fang Zheng continued, his gaze sweeping across the trembling servants, "just do your work honestly."
"Perform well, and I will raise your wages."
The servants and the shopkeeper exchanged anxious glances.
Fear still pulsed in their hearts from hearing Fang Yuan's name, yet when the promise of higher pay reached their ears, relief followed swiftly.
They fell to their knees and bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Young Master Fang Zheng!"
Their voices echoed, overlapping in the dim tavern.
Fang Zheng looked at them, feeling their fear, their gratitude— and a faint smile crossed his face.
'This kind of life… isn't so bad after all,' he thought.
Outside, the mountain wind howled softly, brushing past the tavern's wooden walls.
Three days earlier, his mother had summoned him home, presenting a line of young girls—
'Prospective partners,' she had said, urging him to choose.
But Fang Zheng's heart had already chosen long before.
'Should I tell Mother about her?' he wondered. His thoughts wavered, then hardened.
'No. She wouldn't approve.'
A pause. Then a flicker of light flashed in his eyes.
'But Brother… Brother might help.'
'If I can convince him, maybe she'll agree.'
That thought took root in his mind, spreading warmth through his chest.
The tavern lamps swayed faintly in the evening breeze.
He placed a hand over his heart, feeling it beat faster, harder—alive with hope—but behind his eyes, a seed of obsession began to stir.
'Shen Cui…' he whispered inwardly.
'You are mine. Only mine.'
...