Ethan Foster, who was in Fenghua Palace, had no idea what his imperial father was considering. These days, he asked Emily Clark every day to explain the various affairs and people in the palace to him, hoping to gain guidance for the future. The former Ethan Foster, having been bedridden for years, never had a teacher to instruct him daily; only once, on a whim, did the emperor send a few young Hanlin scholars to occasionally explain some classics and histories. But the current Ethan Foster, though he had only been adapting here for a mere half a month, had already shed all the initial confusion from his transition. His face now clearly bore the shadow of the emperor in his youth, and the faint determination and gloom between his brows made all the palace servants dare not disobey him. Relying on his status as a prince, he sent people to borrow all kinds of historical books from the library, hoping to find the path he should take in the future. Unfortunately, he was only a thirteen-year-old boy, and without a dedicated teacher, he simply could not comprehend these books filled with the rise and fall of dynasties and intricate schemes. Still, he persisted in searching, and so the days passed by one after another.

In front of a simple thatched hut in Luoying Mountain, Samuel Clark looked at the invitation in his hand, his brows furrowed into a deep knot. Ever since he had treated the gravely ill emperor years ago, he had deliberately kept his distance from the court, but in the end, he still could not avoid this ordeal. He let out a long sigh toward the sky, gazing at his beloved disciples, his heart filled with indescribable desolation, yet mixed with a hint of anticipation. The scene from not long ago had already stirred his Daoist heart; since that was the case, perhaps it was worth a try.

“Master, what is troubling you so much?” Henry Smith looked at his master’s unsettled expression, unable to hide his concern. As a cultivator, how could one be troubled by worldly affairs?

“It seems the Great Dao is not fated for me.” A rare trace of confusion appeared in Samuel Clark’s eyes. “Henry Smith, remember this: although cultivators are not bound by worldly constraints, there are many things we must do, even if it means giving up the Great Dao that is already within reach.” His expression was unusually solemn.

“Master, I don’t understand,” Henry Smith asked in puzzlement. “Isn’t the Golden Core Dao more important to us than worldly matters? Then what is it that we cultivators truly pursue?”

Looking affectionately at this fifteen- or sixteen-year-old youth, Samuel Clark said thoughtfully, “In the end, we are still people of this mortal world! Do you remember the senior uncle I once told you about?”

“You said he was a rare genius in the past hundred years.” Henry Smith blinked, full of curiosity. His master rarely mentioned that senior uncle.

“His end was actually extremely tragic.” Samuel Clark recalled that scene again: so many elders of the sect, facing a grievously wounded favored disciple, yet completely at a loss—he could still see it vividly. “For the sake of the common people, he resolutely chose to reveal the secrets of heaven. Not only was he punished by the heavens, but even the beneficiary himself refused to let him go. Although we did our utmost to save his life, in the end, he still left this world alone.”

Although already a cultivator, Henry Smith was, after all, still a hot-blooded youth. His face filled with anger as he asked, “Even if the heavens would not spare senior uncle, why would the beneficiary harm him as well? Is repaying kindness with enmity truly so unavoidable?”

“Child, because that person possessed too much power and status, it was destined that he could not allow anyone who had influenced his most important decisions to remain in this world.” Samuel Clark’s tone grew heavy. “Although we are cultivators and possess powers beyond ordinary people, the path of cultivation means we cannot oppose those called the sons of heaven. We still cannot escape the summons of one kind of person—that is, the secular king. All the more so since he possesses…” At this, Samuel Clark’s expression became somewhat uncertain, even tinged with a trace of fear.

Henry Smith finally realized, “Master, have you also been summoned by the emperor? Do you intend to repeat senior uncle’s tragic fate?” In his anxiety, he grabbed his master’s hand, pleading repeatedly, “Master, would you really abandon us, your disciples, just for the order of that foolish emperor?”

“Don’t speak nonsense!” Samuel Clark shouted, startling even the young disciples playing nearby. What had senior brother said wrong, to make master so angry? “Have you forgotten how your parents died? If a foolish emperor appears in the court, how many common people will suffer?”

That sentence instantly pierced the deepest wound in Henry Smith’s heart, and tears welled up in his eyes. “Master, I have already lost my parents. Must you make me and my junior brothers and sisters lose you, our only remaining family, as well?”