Clan Building System: I'm not the Protagonist?!-Chapter 34: Gathering.

Under the soft lantern light of his courtyard, Fang Yuan retrieved a lacquered wooden case from beneath the inner drawer of his desk.

He slid it across the table to his uncle with quiet ease.

"Here," Fang Yuan said, opening the lid to reveal seven formation flags, that shimmered faintly under moonlight. "Top-grade black, just as I said."

Fang Chen leaned forward slightly, inspecting one of the flags with narrowed eyes. He didn’t touch it, just studied it for a moment, then nodded once, his expression unreadable.

Fang Yuan then pulled out a scroll from his inner sleeve and unrolled it flat on the table.

A hand-drawn diagram of the eastern ravine’s Spirit Mine filled its surface—precise lines marking the natural leylines, spirit veins, and the concealed Spirit Pond at its heart.

He tapped several points marked in red.

"These are the placements. Follow the compass points—north, northeast, east, and so on.

Anchor the seventh one in the pond’s center stone. Once the formation completes, it should double the spiritual density of that cavern."

Fang Chen absorbed the instructions in a single glance. "Understood."

He took both the case and the scroll and rose from his seat. There was no ceremony, no excess words between them; only familiarity, trust, and clarity of purpose.

"I’ll handle it before sunrise," he said simply, then offered a parting nod. "Rest while you can."

Fang Yuan inclined his head. "I leave it to you."

Without another word, Fang Chen disappeared into the night, his robes whispering softly with every measured step as he vanished into the distant shadows.

The courtyard returned to silence.

Fang Yuan stood alone now, the soft breeze teasing the edges of his sleeves.

He looked around at his study, the shelves neatly aligned, every report dealt with, every petition filed.

His desk, so often covered in scrolls, was empty now, save for the still-warm teacups.

For once... there was nothing left to do.

He let out a soft breath, stepped away from the table, and walked out onto the moonlit tiles of his private training platform.

The air smelled of jasmine and night dew, cool and refreshing.

Folding his legs beneath him, he sat down cross-legged beneath the swaying bamboo, and slowly closed his eyes.

The moment his breathing stilled, a wave of warmth surged through his meridians.

It started at his dantian, a gentle coil of spiritual energy like a glowing ember and began to spread outward.

Slow and rhythmic.... Like the first ripples of water touching still shores.

Then came the cool icy strands of night-spirit qi drawn from the ambient mist around the manor.

They threaded through him like silk, balancing the heat with clarity, with calm.

Warm and cool.

Breath and silence.

His body, suspended between heaven and earth, gradually faded from awareness.

And in that serene night, beneath the waning moon, Fang Yuan entered quiet cultivation—no distractions, no burdens.

Only the silent heartbeat of the world pulsing gently through his soul.

The wind stirred the bamboo.

The stars watched quietly overhead.

And Fang Yuan, seated in silent cultivation, sank deeper into stillness, his breath slow, his pulse calm, his soul attuned to the quiet rhythm of the night.

Time passed without urgency.

Above, the constellations began their slow retreat, fading one by one as the horizon blushed with the first light of dawn.

Then, like a whisper turning to a voice, morning arrived as the sun rose.

A golden hush spilled over the Fang estate, soft and warm.

It stretched across the slate roofs and pale stone courtyards, chasing away the last shadows of night.

A low bell chimed once, deep and solemn, echoing through the halls.

By the third chime, every member of the Fang Clan, young and old had gathered beneath the great ceremonial canopy in the central courtyard.

Elders in long robes stood in quiet ranks along the stone steps, their faces solemn.

The younger generation formed a loose semi-circle below, standing straighter than usual, eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity, nervousness, and awe.

At the head of the gathering, Fang Yuan stood with hands behind his back, having just finished cultivating, his dark robes fluttering lightly in the morning breeze.

His presence alone quieted the last of the murmurs. The only one missing was Elder Chen.

Fang Yuan glanced once toward the east, toward the hidden ravine where the Spirit Pond lay sealed.

He’s probably still setting the formation, he thought. Good.

He stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying across the entire courtyard without effort.

"Today," Fang Yuan began, "I have gathered all of you here not for punishment, nor for ceremony, but for a promise."

A ripple of surprise ran through the crowd.

"A promise that the Fang Clan... will rise."

There was no dramatic flare to his tone, just quiet conviction. And yet, it struck harder than any shout.

Many of the younger disciples glanced at one another, puzzled.

Fang Yuan seemed to sense their uncertainty.

He gave a faint smile, then raised a small, jade bottle with one hande and opened it for all to see.

Inside, resting atop lined velvet, were four pills—glowing faintly, like captured moonlight within porcelain shells.

The elders leaned forward slightly, brows lifting in curiousity.

"These," Fang Yuan said, "are Bone Marrow Tempering Pills. They are very rare and even more difficult to produce.

Each one, when used correctly, will strengthen your foundation, cleansing impurities from your meridians, improving your spiritual root quality... and increasing your chances of breaking through bottlenecks in the future."

The younger generation erupted. Not in loud cheering, but gasps and wide-eyed disbelief.

"Is that even possible...?"

"My root grade is too low... would that... could it actually help me?"

Fang Yuan raised one hand, and the murmurs quieted.

"This is only the first batch," he continued. "In time, I will acquire more. But these current pills will go to those who’ve trained the hardest, proven their discipline, and shown steady improvement, even without resources."

He let the words hang for a moment, letting every young disciple digest them.

"To those who think of the clan first. Who push forward not because of pride... but responsibility."

Excitement lit their faces. Some looked hopeful. Others stood straighter, as if silently pleading, Let it be me.

Even the usually reserved Fang Mei blinked, clearly startled by the generosity.

Fang Yuan closed the box and set it carefully onto the central table, locking his gaze on the rows of wide-eyed youths before him.

"We will rise together," he said simply. "But only if we earn it."

Then he turned away, walking slowly back toward the elder dais, cloak trailing behind him.

Bone Marrow Pills, Fang Yuan thought inwardly as the hopeful energy buzzed behind him. The System has them in bulk.

He had ten bottles in total—sixty pills, minus the two already given to Tian and Mei. It was more than enough, for now.

From the elder dais, Fang Yuan cast one last glance toward the eastern ravine, where the formation now quietly pulsed beneath the earth.

The Fang Clan’s future would not rise from will alone but from roots buried deep and fed well.

"Our family will stand at the top in the upcoming Coldwind City Championship. Surprise the other four families a little."

New novel 𝓬hapters are published on fre ew𝒆bnovel.com