Chapter 3: My Grandpa Is a Walking Natural Disaster

There are exactly three reasons a seventeen-year-old would be made leader of an eight-hundred-person martial clan.

1. Everyone else is dead.
   
   
2. Massive clerical error.
   
   
3. Grandpa is so terrifying no one dared say no.
   
   

Guess which one applied to me.

It started with a scroll.

I’d finally gathered enough emotional strength to return to the Shen Clan archives. My last visit had ended with me lying on the floor questioning my existence, while Aunt Mei politely pretended I was deep in cultivation and not just disassociating.

This time, I had a mission: figure out what kind of man my grandfather, Shen Wuji, actually was. People spoke of him with the kind of reverence normally reserved for ancient swords or volcanoes.

All I knew was that he was gone.

Missing.

And that I, for some unfathomable reason, was left in charge.

“Let’s see,” I muttered, scanning the wall. “Historical records. Biographies. Family logs…”

Ah.

“Biography of Shen Wuji: Mountain Crusher, Lightning Splitter, Scourge of Branch Families.”

That sounded promising.

And mildly threatening.

I pulled it off the shelf and sat cross-legged. The opening line did not disappoint.

“On the day of Shen Wuji’s birth, thunder struck Ironspine Peak, and the local hawks evacuated the mountain for a week.”

Wow.

That’s how I knew it was going to be good. No subtlety. No buildup. Just raw, unfiltered exaggeration.

I kept reading.

Apparently, Grandpa had once thrown a peak at a demonic sect because they interrupted his lunch.

Not “attacked.”

Not “defeated.”

Threw. A. Mountain.

Another entry said he punched a river into changing direction during a duel.

Who does that? Who just… punches geography?

And then there was the story of the branch family incident.

Ten years ago, while I was still napping comatose-style, certain branch elders apparently got ideas.

The Patriarch was gone. The heir (me) was asleep. And my parents—well, they’d already died under mysterious circumstances, which no one wanted to discuss yet.

So these lovely opportunists thought:

“Hey! Why not take the position of Patriarch ourselves?”

Which was cute.

Except then Grandpa came back.

He was gone for two months collecting some rare medicine to save me.

And when he returned?

Well.

Let’s just say the Branch Family of the Eastern Slope no longer exists.

Literally.

As in, the entire sub-sect was erased. Their homes turned into scenic rubble. Their elders? Gone. Their records? Vaporized.

The only thing left behind was a single stone tablet that reads:

“Ambition is good. Stupidity is fatal.” – Shen Wuji

I closed the scroll and stared blankly at the wall.

So to summarize: My grandfather is a walking natural disaster who makes war crimes look like misunderstandings.

And the reason I’m Patriarch?

Simple.

No one dared say no.

Not because they believed in me. Not because I had talent. Not because of prophecy or destiny.

Just because I share DNA with the world’s most aggressive mountain enthusiast.

Later that evening, I cornered Aunt Mei in the inner courtyard, where she was trimming herbs with the same grace people used to paint calligraphy.

“Aunt Mei,” I asked, “why didn’t anyone else become Patriarch while I was out?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she smiled in that “You’re asking questions that might get you killed” kind of way.

“Because no one else could,” she said simply.

“Because they weren’t worthy?” I offered.

“No. Because they weren’t suicidal.”

Oh.

That tracked.

“So Grandpa just… said I should be Patriarch, and that was that?”

She hesitated. “He didn’t just say it. He carved it into the ancestral stone.”

“The one in the temple?”

“The one that glows if anyone touches it without approval,” she said calmly. “Also the one that split in half when he declared it.”

I paused.

“Split in half?”

“He said it was dramatic flair.”

“Did the stone survive?”

“Barely. The calligraphy didn’t.”

Right.

So the reason I’m Patriarch of the Shen Clan?

Because my grandfather has the energy of a man who’d powerbomb a celestial beast for looking at him funny.

And everyone here is basically going along with it out of generational trauma.

I sat in the courtyard for a while after that, chewing on a rice cracker and my own existential crisis.

Let’s break it down:

• I’m a spy from Earth with zero cultivation.
  
  
• I have no system, no cheat, no qi manuals, and no clue what I’m doing.
  
  
• I’m leading eight hundred martial artists.
  
  
• Everyone assumes I’m competent because my grandfather once threatened a storm until it apologized.
  
  

Perfect.

Flawless.

What could possibly go wrong?

I sighed and looked up at the sky.

“Grandpa, wherever you are… thanks, I guess?”

The wind howled through the peaks like a distant laugh.

I wasn’t sure if it was comforting or a threat.

[End of Chapter 3]