The regional finals of the Obsidian-Tortoise Seminary’s qualifying tournament were held in the Grand Crimson Pavilion, a sprawling arena typically reserved for the major sect events. Today, however, its vast stands were packed to the brim. Word of the ‘Weeping Demoness’ had spread through the Cang-Luo Ascendancy, drawing even grizzled fighters who usually disdained such low-tier skirmishes. Kou Nanshan sat in his usual unobtrusive spot, a cracked ceramic tea mug gripped in one hand, his clipboard in the other. He had replaced the broken cup from the infirmary. He watched Suo Chuyan, who stood alone in the center of the vast circular stage. Her slight frame seemed almost swallowed by the grandeur of the colosseum, yet an odd stillness radiated from her. She looked less like a combatant and more like a particularly attentive student waiting for a lecture to begin. “The girl seems… placid,” grumbled a burly pugilist two rows ahead of Kou, his voice thick with confusion. “Is this the one who broke the Sunder-Fist brute?” “Aye, and the whole squad in the battle royale,” his companion responded, a nervous tremor in his tone. “But she doesn’t *do* anything. Just stands there.” Kou took a slow sip of his jasmine tea. He’d given Suo Chuyan some truly groundbreaking advice this morning. “Remember, Suo Chuyan,” he’d explained, stirring his tea with a chipped spoon, “many people who project aggression are simply covering up deep-seated insecurities from their formative years. You need to validate that inner child, acknowledge their pain. Sometimes, a simple, ‘Who hurt you?’ can be incredibly disarming.” He’d even sketched a diagram of a crying stick-figure on his clipboard. Suo Chuyan had nodded with profound understanding. Now, her opponent emerged from the eastern gate: Patriarch Shen Jue. He was a legend, a living relic from an age when the Cang-Luo Ascendancy was even more ruthless. His long, silver hair, meticulously braided with jade beads, reached his knees. His face, etched with centuries of power and disdain, was a map of cold superiority. He wore robes of midnight silk, embroidered with a stylized mountain range that seemed to writhe with dormant power. He had chosen to compete in these lower brackets, so the rumors went, to remind the younger generation of true martial might. Shen Jue stepped onto the stage, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with an imperious weight. A low growl rumbled from his chest, not quite sound, but a vibration that seemed to press down on the very air. The Grand Crimson arena, designed to withstand the clash of Heaven-ranked masters, began to creak. Thin, spiderweb cracks spread across the crystalline wards protecting the audience. The air grew heavy, like stone. Spectators coughed, clutching their chests, their spiritual energy feeling suffocated, their lungs burning for breath. “Feast your eyes, whelps!” Shen Jue’s voice, amplified by his internal arts, boomed across the ring, a metallic clang that vibrated in everyone’s bones. “This is the Heaven-Severing Blade aura! A technique that rends the very fabric of existence! You, girl,” he pointed a gnarled finger at Suo Chuyan, his eyes gleaming with ancient challenge, “prepare to witness the supremacy of the old ways!” The tyrannical aura intensified. The grand wards, fractured like winter ice, finally gave way with a piercing screech, showering the front rows with glittering shards. The sheer force of his presence seemed to flatten the very stage, dust kicking up in miniature cyclones around Shen Jue’s feet. Suo Chuyan, however, remained unstirred. She blinked slowly, absorbing the immense, crushing pressure. She didn’t raise her hands to defend, didn’t flinch, didn’t even brace herself. Instead, she took a single, deliberate step forward, her expression one of profound, gentle concern. The torrent of Shen Jue’s aura, which should have pulverized her, seemed to simply flow around her, like water around a smooth pebble. It was as if her presence created a pocket of calm in the raging storm. “Patriarch Shen Jue,” Suo Chuyan said, her voice soft but clear, cutting through the oppressive silence that had fallen over the arena. “I… I feel a deep sadness in your aura. A raw, unaddressed hurt.” She tilted her head, her eyes earnest. “Who hurt you so badly that you feel the need to dominate literal teenagers with such overwhelming power?” The Heaven-Severing Blade aura, which had been a force of nature moments before, flickered. It didn’t just diminish; it splintered. Like a colossal pane of stained glass struck by an invisible hammer, it exploded into a million shimmering motes of light that vanished into nothingness. The crushing pressure evaporated, leaving behind a sudden, disorienting lightness. Patriarch Shen Jue froze. His eyes, which had held centuries of slaughter, revealed a naked vulnerability that no one in the Cang-Luo Ascendancy had ever witnessed. His meticulously braided silver hair seemed to droop. His shoulders, once as broad and unyielding as a mountain, slumped. A single tear, then another, traced paths through the dust on his ancient cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a choked sob escaped. Then, another, louder. His knees buckled. The revered Patriarch, the legend who had ‘severed heavens,’ collapsed into a quivering heap on the dirt of the arena floor, his silk robes pooling around him like a discarded shroud. “He… he left me!” Shen Jue wailed, his voice cracking, the booming authority replaced by the pitiful cry of a lost child. “He just left me! On the Frost-Veil Peak! Five centuries ago! He said I wasn’t strong enough! That I was a disappointment! My father… my *father* abandoned me!” His cries echoed through the stunned silence of the stadium, raw and piercing. Suo Chuyan approached him slowly, her expression radiating pure, unadulterated compassion. She knelt beside the weeping Patriarch. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice a balm. “It’s okay to feel that hurt. Your feelings are valid.” Shen Jue looked up at her, his face blotchy and tear-streaked. His eyes, usually sharp with scorn, now held a desperate plea. He grabbed her hand, clutching it with unexpected strength. “You… you understand! You truly understand! Please, young master, please be my life coach! Teach me your ways! My techniques are hollow! My power, meaningless!” The crowd was in an uproar, a cacophony of gasps, shouts, and horrified whispers. Kou Nanshan, however, merely clicked his pen on his clipboard. “Excellent breakthrough,” he muttered, making a note. “Radical empathy, applied to parental abandonment issues. Remarkable efficacy.” Before Shen Jue could press his plea further, a chilling shift occurred. The colossal entrance doors burst open with a resounding *CRACK*. A phalanx of enforcers, clad in gleaming obsidian armor emblazoned with the symbol of a balanced scale, swarmed into the arena. Their movements were swift, precise, and utterly ruthless. Each warrior radiated an aura of cold, undeniable authority. “By decree of the Heavenly Tribunals!” one of them boomed, his voice resonating with spiritual power. He pointed a gauntleted hand directly at Suo Chuyan. “Suo Chuyan, you are hereby apprehended for the deployment of a Forbidden Mind-Shattering Demonic Art! You are to be taken into custody immediately!” The elite Heavenly Tribunal guards closed in, their spiritual chains shimmering, ready to bind the ‘Weeping Demoness.’

The Patriarch's Daddy Issues