《Divine Usurper: Reborn from the Ashes》

Chapter 9 The Ancestral Ceremony

Bang! Striking the guard’s arm, Qin Mufeng was flung backward again, propelled as if by an unseen force. The impact felt like slamming into a pillar of fire—a scorching burst of energy surged from the man’s arm, and under its overwhelming power, Qin Mufeng’s body had no chance to resist, catapulting him away.

Unbeknownst to Qin Mufeng, the guard had held back in that instant, tempering the fiery battle aura in his arm by half. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been a mere toss—Qin Mufeng might not have survived it.

Crashing to the ground, he felt as if his body had shattered. Every bone screamed with unbearable pain. He tried to stand, but his arms refused to obey. Xiaoyu, frozen in shock, snapped out of it and rushed to his side, attempting to help him up.

The two warriors flinched when Qin Mufeng collided with them. Though he was an unfavored cripple they disdained, he was still the Qin family’s eldest young master. If he’d been seriously hurt, they couldn’t bear the consequences. Seeing him relatively unharmed, their tense hearts eased.

“Yinghuan, I beg you—don’t make Feng’er join the ancestral ceremony! You know his meridians have been blocked since birth; he can’t cultivate martial skills. Forcing him into the ceremony is as good as killing him!” From inside the hall, the madam’s pleading voice rang out as Qin Mufeng struggled to rise.

Her desperate cry brushed against his icy heart like a gentle touch, flooding it with a rush of blood-warmth. In these ten-odd days, Qin Mufeng—who’d never known a mother’s love—had subconsciously embraced this fragile woman as his own.

“No, I can’t agree to that, Jiangyue. You know the Qin family’s rules: every male at ten years old must attend the ancestral ceremony. It’s tradition. As the family head, I can’t break it.” A stern male voice cut through from the hall, each word like a steel spear—firm and unyielding. This was unmistakably Qin Yinghuan, the current head of the Qin family.

“Yinghuan, I’m begging you—I’ll kneel if I have to! Please spare Feng’er!” The plea rose again, laced with gut-wrenching, helpless sobs.

Jiangyue. Qin Mufeng had just learned the name of this woman who doted on him so fiercely. Though he couldn’t see her, he could imagine the indignity she endured now. Fury surged within him, drowning out the pain, the exhaustion—everything. His sole mission became clear: he couldn’t let this mother suffer for him any longer!

With that thought, he forced his small frame upright, straining to appear taller, stronger. His delicate face hardened with resolve as he dragged himself forward another step. The two guards—elite clansmen hardened by countless battles—faltered, their expressions shifting at the sight of his unyielding determination.

As they reached to stop him again, a sultry female voice slithered from the hall: “Sister Jiangyue, don’t trouble Yinghuan anymore. All boys at ten must join the ancestral ceremony—it’s clan law. If we make an exception for Mufeng, how will Yinghuan maintain authority?”

Jiangyue, mid-plea, snapped at the provocation. “Liss, we both know your game! With my father’s fate unknown, and Feng’er as the eldest son, your boy can’t claim the family headship unless Feng’er’s out of the way. You caused his injury, didn’t you? How else could he have been knocked out so suddenly?”

Liss, the soft-spoken woman, didn’t argue back. Instead, she turned to Qin Yinghuan: “Yinghuan, Sister Jiangyue’s slandering me—you must back me up! I get that she’s distraught since Uncle Jiang vanished into the Beast Forest hunting a dragon-snake fruit for Mufeng, but she can’t just spout nonsense.”

Hearing that syrupy voice, Qin Mufeng knew his mother, Jiangyue, was no match for this woman. He had to act—nominal mother or not, he wouldn’t let her be bullied further! Gritting his teeth, he shuffled forward again, facing the guards head-on.

The two men, watching his approach, hesitated, their outstretched hands slowly lowering. Having knocked him down, they knew his condition well. Ignoring them, Qin Mufeng took another pained step, reaching the closed doors. Through the c***k, the scene inside came into view.

“Enough—stop this now. Jiangyue, the Great Elder decided Mufeng’s participation in the ceremony; your words won’t change that. From now on, no one speaks a word that harms family unity! This time, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.” Qin Yinghuan’s voice carried an ironclad dominance.

In the past, Jiangyue might have yielded, but now, a mother’s instinct overrode all else. When it came to protecting her child, her strength defied the odds.

“No! I don’t care who decided it—Feng’er isn’t joining the ceremony! He’s never trained in martial arts. Forcing him into it is a death sentence! Yinghuan, he’s your son—you know he’s gentle by nature, and with his blocked meridians, he can’t cultivate battle aura. Making him lift a hundred-pound stone and stand for ten hours will kill him! Please, talk to the Great Elder—I can’t lose Feng’er!”

Sobbing, Jiangyue clutched Qin Yinghuan’s hand, pleading desperately. Beside her, Xiaoya struggled to support her near-collapsing frame, at a loss for what to do.

“No means no! Xiaoya, take Madam back to rest,” Qin Yinghuan snapped, his patience fraying as he issued the cold command.

Unwilling to give up, Jiangyue opened her mouth to beg again—just as the council hall’s doors swung open. A small figure, bathed in sunlight like a golden statue, stepped slowly inside.