I walked over to my uncle, who was staring blankly at the covered form of his son. "Uncle," I said gently. "We will find the truth. I swear it. But for now, your priority must be Aunt. She needs you."
I helped him guide his weeping wife away from the gruesome scene, handing her over to her personal servants with firm instructions to look after her. Then I turned back to the crowd of family members, my voice rising to command their attention.
"Everyone," I said, my tone resonating with the power of my Golden Core, cutting through the fearful whispers. "I know you are all scared and confused. But now is not the time for wild speculation. We are the Chen Family. We do not bend to fear. We do not break in the face of tragedy."
I looked at each of them, my gaze firm and unwavering. "Go back to your duties. Train harder. Cultivate with more diligence. Show our enemies that this tragedy has not weakened us, but has instead tempered our resolve. The family's honor depends on it."
My words had the desired effect. The fear in their eyes was replaced by a flicker of determination. They saw their genius elder cousin, their future leader, standing tall and resolute, and they drew strength from it. They bowed in unison and began to disperse. I had managed the situation.
As I was speaking a final word of comfort to a distraught elder, a soft voice cut through the tense atmosphere beside me.
"Arya."
I turned to find Meira Su standing there, her expression a mixture of strength and genuine concern. Before I could offer a formal greeting, she did something completely unexpected, something that shattered the rigid decorum of the moment. She reached out and took my hand.
A jolt, not of electricity, but of simple warmth, shot up my arm. Her hand was soft but her grip was firm. My first instinct, the ingrained reaction of the arrogant prodigy I was pretending to be, was to pull away. It was a breach of protocol, an overly familiar gesture in a time of public crisis.
But I didn't. I couldn't.
Because in that single touch, I felt something I hadn't realized I was starving for: sincerity. In this world of masks and manipulation, her touch was the only truth. This was not the cloying scheme of a Su Lian or the fearful obedience of a servant. This was the pure wave of support from a woman whose soul I knew was loyal to a fault; a love so deep it was willing to defy death itself—a fact I knew all too well from the pages of the book.
My fingers, of their own accord, tightened around hers, holding back just as tightly, as if gripping an anchor in a storm. I kept my focus on the elder, finishing my words of comfort, my hand holding hers the entire time. The act felt surprisingly natural, a silent declaration of unity that was more powerful than any speech.
After the elder finally bowed and departed, I turned my full attention to her, my gaze softening. I still hadn't let go of her hand. "Meira," I said, my voice low. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," she replied, her own voice remarkably steady, though I could see a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "I was… worried about you."
"It has been a difficult morning," I admitted with a genuine sigh. I looked down at our joined hands, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. For a heart-stopping second, the politically savvy part of my mind told me to release her. But a foolish part of me didn't want to let go. Her grip tightened just a fraction, a silent plea. The decision was made. "Come. Walk with me. I need to speak with my father about the arrangements."
I led her away from the grieving crowd, towards the patriarch's study. We walked in silence, our hands still linked. The whispers of the remaining family members followed us, but their tone had changed. It was no longer just fearful; there were murmurs of hope, of speculation. They saw us, and they saw a future. An alliance made manifest.
This was right. This was a foundation I could build on.
We found my father in his study. Meira came with me, her hand still a warm and reassuring presence in mine. She understood without my saying a word that this next conversation was critical and that our united front was our greatest weapon.
He sat behind his desk, his expression heavy.
"Father," I said, bowing. Meira offered a respectful bow beside me.
"Arya. Meira," he acknowledged, his voice tired. "This is a disaster. A direct-line descendant dying under such mysterious circumstances… The rumors will be merciless. Our enemies will paint this as a sign of our decline."
"They will try," I agreed, stepping forward, Meira moving with me. We stood before his desk, a unified image of the next generation's strength. "And we will not let them."
"How?" he asked, his gaze shifting between us. "The boy is dead, and we have no explanation."
"Then we create one," I said, my voice hard as steel. "We tell the domain that my cousin, Chen Wei, in his desperate pursuit of strength to honor his family, attempted a forbidden body-tempering art. He pushed himself too far. It is a tragedy, yes, but one born of martial ambition, not of curses or assassins."
My father's eyes widened as he absorbed the cold logic of it.
I continued, pressing the advantage. "We will hold a public memorial. We will honor his 'martial spirit.' We will show the world that the Chen Family's children are so dedicated they would die for power." I tightened my grip on Meira's hand. "And we will organize it together. The Chen and Su families, united in grief and resolve."
My father stared at me, then at Meira, and back to our joined hands. A complex mixture of pride, sorrow, and awe filled his expression. He was seeing a future Patriarch, a leader who understood the power of alliances.
"You have thought this through," he said, his voice holding a grudging respect.
"We have," I replied, including Meira. I then softened my tone. "But this is a heavy burden, Father. You should not have to carry it alone. Let us handle the arrangements. Let us quell the fears of the juniors. You need to be with Uncle and Aunt. They need their family head right now."
I felt a gentle squeeze from Meira's hand, a silent affirmation.
"You are right, Arya," he said, a genuine, if tired, smile touching his lips. "You have grown up. Very well. Do as you see fit." He stood and walked around the desk, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder, his gaze falling on Meira with gratitude. "Be careful, both of you. The world is more dangerous than you know."
"We will, Father," I said.
I watched him leave, his back a little straighter. I had turned my cousin's pathetic demise into a political victory. I stood with Meira in the quiet study, the scent of old books and power surrounding me. The day had been a masterful performance. I had worn the mask of the grieving cousin, the resolute leader, the filial son. And no one had seen the smiling shepherd underneath.
No one except, perhaps, the woman whose hand was still held firmly in my own, whose quiet strength and genuine warmth were a welcome complication to my cold calculations.