Clan Building System: I'm not the Protagonist?!-Chapter 43: Fire [2]

Fang Jingyi didn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, she leapt straight out the window.

The breeze caught her as she hovered mid-air, robes fluttering around her like petals in the wind.

Though only mid-stage Qi Transformation, she held herself aloft for just a moment, long enough to cast a sharp glance toward the growing fire below.

Then she dropped cleanly to the courtyard with a firm thud, landing with the grace of someone far too used to dramatic entrances.

The ground cracked faintly beneath her heels.

Dust puffed around her slippers as she straightened, sweeping her hair back with a sigh.

Without a word, she strode toward the rising flames, the glow dancing in her sharp eyes as servants scrambled around her in panic.

"Make way!" one of them cried.

Another screamed, "Lady Jingyi’s here!"

"Thank the heavens!"

"Wait—does this mean we’re not getting punished?!"

"No, you fool! But she’s the most reasonable one!"

Fang Jingyi ignored the chaos, lifting her sleeve to shield her face as she pressed forward into the smoke.

Fang Jingyi stepped closer to the blaze, eyes narrowed against the swirling smoke.

The servants were doing their best, buckets sloshing, sleeves soaked, panic painted on every face but the fire had already eaten through the outer beams of the old warehouse, and the embers danced like hungry spirits in the night.

"Step aside," she said lightly.

The servants parted instantly, as if the wind itself obeyed her voice.

Some stumbled over each other to make way, barely managing a breathless, "Yes, Lady Jingyi!"

She lifted her right hand.

Spiritual energy surged up her arm, warm and radiant.

The air around her shimmered with golden light as she drew a slow breath, two fingers raised like a conductor preparing a final note.

"—Misty Radiance: Rainfall Silk."

The air cracked.

And then, water.

Not from a well or a bucket, but from the very qi in the air, condensing in shimmering threads of silver mist, weaving themselves into a curtain of rain that gently but thoroughly fell upon the blaze.

Hissing and steam erupted in every direction as the fire choked and spluttered.

In seconds, the flames shrank back, doused beneath the glow of her qi technique.

When it was done, all that remained was the scent of wet ash, a few smoking timbers, and a stunned silence.

She exhaled slowly, the mist dissolving back into the night.

The servants stared.

Then someone muttered, "She’s so cool..."

Fang Jingyi turned toward them with a smug little smile, brushing soot off her shoulder with all the poise of someone adjusting an accessory.

"Well, that was refreshing," she said cheerfully. "Now. Which one of you set it on fire?"

A dozen servants immediately dropped to their knees.

"IT WASN’T ME!"

"WE WERE JUST MOVING THE FIREWOOD—"

"PLEASE TRUST US, IT WASN’T US—"

She blinked innocently, hands behind her back.

"Oh? So you’re saying it happened all on its own?" She stepped forward, voice smooth. "How magical."

Fang Jingyi only sighed dramatically and looked up at the moon. "Honestly. The amount of trouble I save this family... someone should marry me already."

Then she turned back toward the pavilion, hair swaying, shoes tapping confidently on the wet stone.

"Now... I’d better go tell little Yuan the warehouse didn’t entirely collapse."

She paused at the edge of the garden path and added with a grin, "...Only half of it did."

Fang Jingyi strolled through the quiet halls of the main pavilion, her steps light now that the fire had been dealt with.

The soft glow of lantern light spilled from under the door of Fang Yuan’s office.

Still working?

She pushed the door open without knocking, of course.

Inside, the room was gently lit by the steady burn of spirit candles.

The scent of ink, old paper, and mountain pine filled the air.

Scrolls lay piled on the desk, neatly arranged in the way only someone obsessive about order would maintain.

And behind the desk, seated like an emperor who lost a war with sleep, was Fang Yuan.

Head tilted slightly, arms folded over a stack of reports, he was dozing, peacefully, for once.

His breath was slow and steady, long lashes casting faint shadows on his cheekbones.

Even the line between his brows, normally creased from all that brooding, had relaxed.

Jingyi leaned in, elbows resting on the desk as she peered closer.

She reached out and gently poked his cheek with a single finger.

"So soft..." she whispered with a sly grin.

Then, in a quieter breath, half to herself:

"...You look so cute when you’re sleeping, you know that?"

She stepped back, hands on her hips.

A beat passed, and then she tilted her head, muttering, almost like she had said it a hundred times before:

"I still can’t believe you’re gay, my dear nephew."

Her voice was teasing, but not unkind.

"I’ve tried so hard to make a man out of you... but nope. You’re as cold as a block of ice.." She huffed, crossing her arms. "What a waste of such a handsome face."

She looked back at him again, softened.

"Still... you work too hard," she murmured.

Then, reaching out, she carefully draped the light cloak hanging over the back of his chair around his shoulders.

Her fingers lingered for a moment, gentle, almost hesitant.

And just as she turned to leave, her gaze landed on a folded letter resting near his hand.

The seal caught her eye first. Delicate red wax, pressed with a familiar sigil.

"From the Gu family...?" she murmured, brow knitting.

She picked it up with two fingers, tilting it toward the light.

The wax had already been broken, Fang Yuan must’ve read it earlier.

Still, her curiosity tugged.

She unfolded it slowly.

Her eyes moved line by line, the flicker of the spirit lamp dancing across her face.

The playful glint faded from her expression, replaced by something quieter, somber, thoughtful.

By the time she reached the end, her lips had drawn into a thin line.

She folded the letter again, slower this time.

Then, carefully, she placed it back where she found it, precisely as it had been.

Her fingers brushed the edge once, lightly.

And she stood there in the silence, the soft rustle of paper the only sound in the room.

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