While I was chanting a curse, the system said I was Xiao Yan?

"ha?"

Naoya was stunned.

He looked at the boy in front of him, his hands in his pockets and his expression as indifferent as if he were saying, "The weather is nice today," and suddenly felt that something in his field of vision had subtly overlapped.

It was an afternoon many years ago.

He stood at the edge of the training ground, watching the man, the man considered a stain on his family and lacking even magical power, who used pure physical strength to simultaneously send three level-one sorcerers flying.

The man had the same expression after he finished hitting him.

With his hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly relaxed, he looked as if he had done something insignificant.

Then, as the man left, he turned his head and glanced at him.

There was no provocation, no mockery, and not even deliberate arrogance in that glance.

There was only a sense of entitlement, a calmness that seemed to be stating a fact.

Naoya couldn't remember what his expression was like at the time.

He only remembered the man's back, lonely, as if he wasn't walking in the corridor of the training ground, but on the top of Mount Fuji!

That was a powerful back view that he couldn't take his eyes off!

At this moment, Tianyan stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly relaxed, expression indifferent.

The overlapping shadow flashed by, yet it was like a needle, precisely piercing the deepest fragment of memory in Naoya's heart.

He opened his mouth, as if something was stuck in his throat.

"I......"

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them back.

Are you kidding me!

He is Zenji Naoya! Son of the head of the family! He is the heir to the projecting spell!

How could he possibly admit that he was persuaded? How could he possibly admit that he also had thoughts of leaving this place? How could he possibly admit...?

He actually wants to be like Shen Er?

"Stop talking nonsense!"

Naoya abruptly ripped the brass knuckles off his hand and clenched his fist.

"You haven't defeated me yet! Stop with your victory speeches!"

The fallen brass knuckles collided, making a piercing metallic sound.

Tianyan's lips curved slightly.

"OK."

He took his hands out of his pockets, stretched his neck, and his knuckles cracked.

"Then let's have another match."

......

Side Quest: The One-Year Promise Has Been Completed.

Side Quest: Defeating Xiao Ning is complete.

[Rewards: Low-level Xuan-rank Battle Skill: Absorption Palm; Low-level Xuan-rank Battle Skill: Fire-Blowing Palm.]

Tianyan pushed open the door, a kimono casually draped over his shoulders, revealing a slightly torn black short-sleeved shirt underneath, and slowly walked out.

The wooden door behind me creaked shut slowly.

He stood outside the door, paused, and glanced back at the tightly closed carved wooden door.

In the empty corridor, the warm morning light shone on Tianyan's profile.

"Tsk, where exactly did things go wrong?"

Tianyan scratched his head, looking puzzled: "According to the usual routine, shouldn't it be that first you show your strength to suppress them, and then you give them a deeply moving 'verbal persuasion,' and the other party will be so grateful that they will bow down and worship you?"

I've already made myself clear, and he still wants to confront me head-on?

Having demonstrated force first, and then resorting to verbal persuasion, was already a relatively safe approach.

Why is the result still so poor? Do we really have to resort to violent means to finish this off?

He originally thought he could subdue this arrogant young master with the "art of language," but in the end, he still had to rely on his fists.

"It seems my 'talk-no-jutsu' level is still too low; I haven't mastered it yet."

Tianyan sighed and pulled his kimono up over his shoulders: "Violence is ultimately too crude. I'll have to find some books on public speaking to brush up on my skills next time..."

"Are you alright, Lord Tianyan?"

Yamada's voice came from outside the door, carrying obvious tension and concern.

He had vaguely heard thuds and muffled sounds coming from the side hall, and his heart had been in his throat. When he saw the door open, he immediately ran to greet it.

Tianyan turned his head, smiled at him, and said with his usual gentle expression, "It's nothing, I just sparred with Naoya-kun."

Yamada's gaze immediately fell on Tianyan.

"My clothes are all torn..."

Yamada's expression changed, and he quickly stepped forward: "Lord Tenyan, are you really not injured? Should I call the infirmary right away?"

Or... I have a needle and thread here, I can sew it up for you!"

Tianyan glanced down at his torn t-shirt, waved his hand, and said in a relaxed tone, "Don't be so nervous, it's really nothing."

It's just a minor tear. I have twenty more of the same style in my closet; I can just exchange it when I get back.

"...Twenty items?"

Yamada paused, his mouth agape, unsure whether to be shocked by the number 'twenty pieces' or to marvel at how deep Lord Tianyan's obsession with this black short-sleeved shirt truly was.

"We're leaving, we're going back."

Tianyan had already put the matter out of his mind and strode towards the courtyard. He was reviewing the information that had appeared in his mind, and he was already quite impatient.

Yamada hurried to catch up, and before leaving, he couldn't help but glance back at the tightly closed carved wooden door. It was quiet inside; not a sound came out.

He shrank back and quickened his pace to catch up.

Zenji Naoya's room was in a mess.

One teacup was broken, the teacups on the table were tilted and crooked, the hanging scroll on the wall was shaken to one side, but the celadon vase in the corner was intact, not because of good luck, but because it was far enough away from the battlefield.

"cough......"

Naoya fell to the ground, his kimono flapping open to reveal a black short-sleeved shirt underneath, the same style as the one worn by Zenji.

His left cheek was swollen high, with a clear red fist mark on it, and faint traces of bone impact at the edges, making him look quite disheveled.

He lay on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him, his chest rising and falling slightly.

"...The ceiling in this room does seem a bit low."

Naoya muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and tinged with self-mockery.

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly sat up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, and called out towards the door:

"Someone come here!"

The old servant rushed in, and upon seeing his young master's state, he nearly knelt down in fright: "Young Master Zhizai! You..."

"Shut up."

Naoya frowned and interrupted him, his voice weak but still carrying his usual arrogance: "Go and prepare, I want to visit my father."

"Now...now?" the old servant hesitated.

"Now."

Naoya stood up, shaking his slightly dizzy head, but his eyes gradually hardened: "Just say... I have something important to discuss with him."

The old servant dared not ask any more questions and quickly bowed his head and retreated to prepare.

Naoya stood there, looking down at the black short-sleeved shirt he was wearing, the same style as Shinji's, then looking up at the direction Tianyan had left through the window, his gaze complicated.

"Zen Temple Heavenly Flame...you bastard..."

He muttered to himself, his fists clenching slightly.