Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Not Enough, Not Enough!
After the Divine Voice spoke that blessing, Lu Shao Heng had felt as if something was added inside her body.
At first it was only relief—hunger dulled, exhaustion eased. But now her whole body burned, and the discomfort steadily grew, as if that foreign addition had awakened something that had been sleeping in her blood.
Her body became a battlefield.
She felt her pulse accelerate. Dull pain struck through bone and tendon without pattern. She even heard faint crackling sounds—sharp, private—like something inside her was being forced into a new shape.
Even when her emotions didn’t stir, heat rose in her and refused to be ignored.
Lu Shao Heng gritted her teeth and stayed seated, hands braced on her knees. She didn’t call for help.
Her instincts had always been frighteningly accurate—like the first time she’d looked into Jiang Yun Jiang’s eyes and known, instantly, that something wasn’t right.
And the same instinct told her now: whatever this was, no second person could know.
So she endured it alone, refusing to draw the attention of the elders on the spirit ships hidden in mist.
The sun slid across the sky. The crowd’s noise thinned and swelled and thinned again. Time moved like a river, indifferent to her pain.
When the turmoil finally calmed, when the burning eased and the ache stopped, the light had already shifted. Dusk spread over the horizon, red clouds blazing like fire.
An old man’s voice carried down from above.
“The testing is complete. Nine people have aptitude.”
Lu Shao Heng opened her eyes.
“You have half an hour to say goodbye to friends and family, then board the spirit ship and return to the sect.”
Friends and family?
What friends and family did she have?
“Heng Er!”
A woman’s soft cry fell into her ears, and Lu Shao Heng’s pupils tightened.
She turned—and there they were, beside a luxurious carriage.
The Marquis of Pacifying the South and the manor’s Madam. Her birth parents.
Lu Yuan and Jiang Yun.
Beside them stood Lu Shao Jing, impatience written across his face; Lu Shao Jia, eyes dark and tight; and Jiang Yun Jiang, smiling as if nothing in the world could touch her.
This has to end, Lu Shao Heng told herself.
No. She shouldn’t even be called Lu Shao Heng anymore.
That day—in a blaze of anger—Lu Yuan had summoned several clan elders, crushed every objection, and struck her name from the family register.
He had taken back her surname.
Lu Shao Heng drew a breath and walked toward them.
Before she reached them, Jiang Yun let out a wail, as though someone had cut her open. “Heng Er—are you really going to abandon your mother and go cultivate?”
Lu Yuan’s brows drew together, sharp as blades. He snorted coldly. “You unfilial, rebellious thing!”
Lu Shao Heng lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on.
“37 days,” she said. Her voice was steady, each word clear. “I’ve been driven out of the manor for 37 days.”
“When I was thrown out, I had nothing but a set of plain clothes.”
She didn’t look away.
“After that, the manor blocked me. No matter what job I tried to find to keep myself alive, someone interfered. You pushed me until I was so hungry I had to fight street dogs for scraps, and snatch leftovers from restaurant kitchens.”
Her mouth twisted, but there was no humor in it.
“You removed me from the family register and took back my surname.”
Her gaze swept them—parents, brothers, the smiling orphan they’d brought home.
“And I’m still supposed to stand here and act like the perfect devoted daughter?”
Jiang Yun shuddered. Tears overflowed at once. She went limp as though her bones had vanished, and Lu Yuan had to catch her.
Lu Yuan’s face changed, shock flashing through the rigid authority. He took half a step back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the obvious guilt on Lu Shao Jia’s face.
How could he not understand?
His breath shortened. But he still forced his expression stiff.
“The Marquis of Pacifying the South Manor raised you,” he said, voice heavy with accusation. “We treated you like a precious jewel for more than 10 years. We only let you suffer a little over a month to teach you a lesson—and you forget our kindness just like that?”
Lu Shao Heng laughed, and the sound was sharp enough to cut.
The recruitment was over, but the grounds were still crowded. People lingered, eyes bright with curiosity and fear. Lu Shao Heng raised her voice, letting it carry.
“Your eldest son, Lu Shao Jia—famous across Bian Capital for talent. When has he ever shone at a salon with poems or policy essays that weren’t written because you begged me to ghostwrite them?”
She didn’t pause.
“And Lu Shao Jing—what martial genius? Every bit of his skill came from me staying up countless nights, reading manuals cover to cover, then teaching him hand to hand!”
Gasps rippled through the surrounding crowd.
Lu Shao Heng’s eyes were cold. “From the age of seven, I managed the manor’s internal affairs for Madam. Otherwise, with her head so empty you could hear water slosh when she shook it, the manor would have collapsed long ago.”
Jiang Yun’s face went white.
Lu Shao Heng didn’t stop.
“If the Marquis of Pacifying the South wants to talk about parental kindness, then you see all of this as a transaction.”
Her voice rang hard.
“Then shouldn’t the credit of me raising your two sons and managing the manor count for something too?”
Even if it didn’t count—fine. She’d be shameless about it.
She had raised her voice on purpose. Doubt and mockery turned like knives, slicing toward Lu Shao Jia and Lu Shao Jing.
Lu Shao Jia cared most about reputation. His ears burned red with anger. With the test over and his future secured, he no longer restrained himself. He roared, “Nonsense!”
Lu Shao Heng’s gaze flicked to him, disgust plain. “Why are you barking like a dog?”
Lu Shao Jia’s face twisted.
Lu Shao Heng’s smile was cruel. “Your classmates discussed poems and essays with you for years. I don’t believe they never noticed.”
She took one step forward, fearless. “If you have any skill, write a poem right now. Let everyone see whether you truly have talent.”
“And if you can’t,” she added, voice sharpening, “don’t pretend it’s because you simply don’t feel like it.”
She hit the mark.
Lu Shao Jia’s mind went blank. His throat tightened. Not a single word came out.
Lu Shao Jing clenched his fists. If Jiang Yun Jiang hadn’t grabbed his sleeve, he would have surged forward.
Jiang Yun wiped her tears with a handkerchief, forcing her voice to sound gentle, as though pity was all she felt. “Heng Er, that day you went too far with Yun Jiang. The marquis and I only wanted you to correct yourself.”
“But now that you’re going to cultivate…” Her voice wavered, and she didn’t finish the sentence.
Cultivators lived long lives. Years of cultivation could pass in a blink. Every 20 years, sects took away disciples, but those who returned home were few.
Even Lu Yuan’s expression softened, as if softness could erase the last month.
“Shao Heng,” he said, and the use of her name sounded like generosity, “it was my fault for not seeing clearly. You suffered for more than a month. I only wanted to teach you a lesson.”
He drew in a breath, as if he believed his own words.
“Think about the past 10-plus years. Wasn’t every treasure in the manor given to you first? Haven’t your mother and I always favored you?”
His gaze pressed down like a weight.
“Isn’t that enough?”
Lu Shao Heng answered without the slightest pause, firm as iron.
“Not enough.”
She stared at Lu Yuan and Jiang Yun.
“I understand you,” she said, voice steady in a way that made the air colder. “You’re saying you can’t bear to let me go, so you want me to give up cultivation.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Then let me ask you—have you said these words to Lu Shao Jia and Lu Shao Jing? Or even to Jiang Yun Jiang?”
For a brief moment, their faces stiffened.
Then their eyes began to dart away.
The answer was obvious.
Lu Shao Heng turned to Jiang Yun and went straight for the throat.
“Madam, you have two sons and one daughter. When your two sons go off to cultivate and vanish, you won’t bear to obstruct them.”
Her voice was calm, and that calm made it sharper.
“But the manor still has concubine-born sons.”
Jiang Yun flinched.
“You need allies,” Lu Shao Heng said. “So you finally remembered me.”
For those 37 days, she had once hoped—stupidly—that her parents would come find her, soften, say something human.
Now that hope stood in front of her, wrapped in silk and self-interest, and it tasted bitterly absurd.
Kindness that wasn’t pure. Cruelty that wasn’t complete. Sweet warmth hiding the bitter tang of calculation.
What she had been offered was this kind of “not enough love.”
Like wax binding her hands and feet—soft, sticky, suffocating—forcing her to struggle inside it like a trapped insect.
But why should she?
She refused.
Lu Shao Heng’s face returned to calm, but beneath it something raw strained against the surface, ready to break through.
The atmosphere turned heavy, like the air before a summer storm—thick, sticky, pressing into every gap between breaths.
“You ask if it’s enough,” she said, and now her voice rose, ringing out. “How could it be?”
“Even if my talent is a hundred, a thousand times better than Lu Shao Jia and Lu Shao Jing’s, you still put them first. You give them fine horses, weapons, skills, a future.”
Her eyes glittered like ice.
“Favor me?”
She let the word hang, then cut it open.
“Yes. You gave me fine food, beautiful clothes, jewels. How wonderful.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“A love so shallow and fragile it can be taken back at any time.”
Her voice tightened. “It’s not that I never asked you for power.”
She looked straight at Lu Yuan.
“You refused to give it.”
“So how do you dare stand here,” she said, each word hard, “and ask if it’s enough?”
She stepped closer, close enough that they could see the dirt on her skin and the steady fury in her eyes.
“Then I’ll tell you one last time.”
“Not enough.”
Her voice cracked like a whip.
“Not even close.”
In Lu Shao Heng’s eyes, blood ties were never an excuse to forgive. They were fuel poured onto anger, making it burn hotter.
From the beginning, after being driven out of the manor, the ones she hated most were not Jiang Yun Jiang or that fiancé in name only.
What were they, really?
The ones she hated most were her parents.
And her brothers.