Chapter Twenty-Five: The Dust Settles, She Gazes into the Distance

That night atop the Tianlong Tower became a whispered legend in the upper echelons of Haishi society. No one dared to speak openly about what truly transpired. All that was known was that the banquet ended in disarray, several members of the evaluation committee submitted their reports overnight, and, citing “ill health,” withdrew from the project review.

As for Zhao Tianlong, once a formidable force in Haishi’s business world, he vanished without a trace overnight.

Three days later, Tianlong Group’s stocks collapsed. Scandals broke out within the company one after another, and, under the combined pressure of rivals and official investigators, the conglomerate was swiftly dismembered and swallowed up. Thus, a commercial empire dissolved into nothingness.

All of this unfolded in utter silence, yet with overwhelming force.

The Lin family emerged as the greatest victor in this storm. Without lifting a sword, they secured the coveted energy project, securing their position as industry leaders for the next decade.

Upon hearing this news from his sickbed, old Mr. Lin Zhenan fell into a long silence. At last, he only instructed that a generous gift be sent to “Anhetang”—not money, nor property, but the finest set of golden acupuncture needles and the purest moxa available on the market. He understood that, for that gentleman, these were the most useful things.

As for Lin Qinghan, she locked herself in her study for two whole days.

She replayed every detail of that night over and over in her mind: the man who walked out of the moonlight holding his daughter’s hand, as if treading upon the Milky Way itself. His calm gaze, his unhurried words, and that unfathomable gesture that shattered all of Zhao Tianlong’s pride.

At last, she understood completely.

The distance between her and Jiang Xiuyuan was not a matter of family background, personality, or fate, but a chasm between worlds. She was like a bird gazing up at the sky, while he was the sky itself. A bird might yearn for the vastness of the heavens, but can never soar alongside them.

Upon realizing this, the passionate, possessive love in her heart gradually settled and transformed into something purer, more distant—a sense of reverence and silent protection.

She made a decision.

A week later, she returned to the entrance of “Anhetang.” This time, she didn’t go inside. She simply stood quietly at the street corner, watching as the man emerged from the alleyway, holding his daughter’s hand. Sunlight bathed them in warmth and serenity, as if all the chaos of the world was kept at bay.

He was still the same humble Dr. Jiang in his plain linen clothes, the gentle father who would carefully straighten his daughter’s collar. Sensing her gaze, he looked in her direction, his eyes as calm as ever, though there seemed to be a trace of gentle warmth that was almost imperceptible. He nodded slightly in greeting.

Lin Qinghan responded with a smile from afar—a smile of acceptance, genuine and serene.

Then she turned, got into her car, and drove away in the opposite direction. She had the Lin Group’s aftermath to manage, her own ambitions to realize. She understood now that the best way to protect him was to safeguard the peace of this world he lived in, so that he and his daughter could always bask in that gentle sunlight.

Some love needs no words, nor closeness. To watch from afar, to guard silently, is a lifetime’s devotion.

And I, watching that red sports car disappear into the distance, understood as well. This clever woman had finally found the distance that suited us best.

Withdrawing my gaze, I smiled down at Yiyi. “Come on, Yiyi. Teacher Zhang is coming for a home visit today. We’d better hurry home and put all your certificates up on the wall for her to see.”

“Okay, okay!” Yiyi jumped with joy.

The fall of Tianlong Group and the rise of the Lin family, to me, were like brushing away a speck of dust that nearly blew into my eye.

When the storm passed, life returned to its truest form. After all that had happened, I resolved to oversee Yiyi’s cultivation—not for any other reason, but for her own protection.

Our life, unchanged in its essence, now gained new meaning.

By day, we remained an ordinary father and daughter. I was Dr. Jiang at “Anhetang,” treating patients; she was Jiang Yiyi, the schoolgirl with her backpack.

But come nightfall, the backyard became our “dojo.”

I didn’t rush to teach her powerful magical techniques. Instead, I had her begin anew with the “Everlasting Spring Manual.”

“Yiyi, cultivation isn’t for fighting or showing off,” I told her, pointing to the old pagoda tree in the yard. “Look at this tree. It took hundreds of years for it to grow from a tiny seed into this towering giant. Every day, it just stands here quietly, absorbing sunlight and rain, sinking its roots deep into the earth. Cultivation is like this tree—a process of accumulation and patience. You can’t rush it.”

I taught her to use her spirit to sense the flow of the wind, to listen to the footsteps of ants, to feel the growth of a single blade of grass.

In meditation, I instructed her to observe her own thoughts, to see how they arise and fade away, like clouds drifting across the sky, ever-changing and impermanent.

Such practice, for most children, would be unbearably dull.

But Yiyi delighted in it. After all, she’d spent over two thousand years in the Immortal Palace like this. The thought brought a pang to my heart.

She was innately clever and trusted me completely. More importantly, the “seed of the Dao” within her gave her a natural affinity for all things.

She soon displayed remarkable talent.

One day, she pointed to a pot of orchids in the corner and said to me, mysteriously, “Daddy, the little orchid told me it’s thirsty.”

I checked, and sure enough, the soil was dry.

Another time, an injured sparrow fell into the courtyard. Yiyi rushed over and, imitating me, covered the wound with her own faint, newly cultivated “vital energy.” In moments, the sparrow miraculously fluttered its wings and flew off again.

Yiyi jumped and cheered for her first successful “rescue.”

Watching her, my heart brimmed with relief. My greatest fear was that she’d be seduced by power, but now it was clear the lessons she drew from cultivation were those of compassion and the joy of harmony with all beings.

Her heart was as pure as an uncut piece of jade.

Of course, cultivation brought a few little “adventures” to her school life as well.

During a math test, a tricky word problem stumped the whole class. Yiyi closed her eyes and, as I’d taught her, used the “Spirit Refinement” technique to focus her mind. Her thoughts became crystal clear; the chaotic numbers and logic instantly arranged themselves in her mind.

While her classmates scratched their heads in frustration, she easily wrote down the correct answer first.

Her math teacher was amazed, praising her as a genius. Only I knew it was simply the effect of minor success in “Spirit Refinement”—a dimensional reduction in mortal intelligence.

Watching Yiyi live each day with such simple, wondrous happiness filled me with contentment.