Chapter 13: The Patriarch Has a Plan — And Everyone Is Terrified

It began with a chair.

A very high chair.

The kind reserved for Patriarchs, emperors, and overly self-important decorative ducks.

I sat in it.

I adjusted my sleeves.

I took a deep breath and calmly declared:

“This clan is a disaster.”

Elder Zhang, sipping tea across the hall, choked violently.

We were seated in the Shen Clan’s inner hall, traditionally used for declarations, weddings, and occasionally chasing squirrels that stole cultivation pills.

Today, I had summoned the Elder Council, a few branch heads, and several unwilling department supervisors.

They thought I would give a ceremonial speech.

What they got was:

“We’re restructuring everything. Immediately.”

Silence.

Aunt Mei paused mid-pour with the teapot.

A branch elder blinked like I’d just spoken in demon-tongue.

Even the rabbits outside the window froze.

I stood up slowly, walking like a CEO about to fire half the board.

“Let me start with the basics. Our clan is secluded, underfunded, mismanaged, and structurally incoherent. We’re not on the top ten clan lists. We’re not even on the bottom ten. Our entire economy revolves around selling herbs and me taking medicine.”

More blinking.

Elder Mo finally cleared his throat.

“Patriarch… with respect… this is how we have always done things.”

“And that’s why we’re still poor.”

Boom. First shot fired.

I turned to a blank scroll pinned to the wall.

Snatched a brush.

And began to write in massive, decisive characters:

CLAN REFORM: DAY ONE.

Below it, I began scribbling in a furious list while everyone watched, horrified.

• Financial Audit
  
  
• Department Review
  
  
• Martial Resource Inventory
  
  
• Disciplinary Structure
  
  
• Accountability Chart
  
  
• Clan Income vs. Medicine Budget Graph (Spoiler: Depressing)
  
  

“Patriarch,” Elder Ping whispered, “What… is this system?”

“It’s called basic administration. I used to run spy networks bigger than this clan with half the budget and twice the assassinations.”

They stared at me like I’d said I once dated a dragon.

Maybe I had. Hard to say.

I turned toward the inner courtyard.

Disciples were lounging under trees, playing dice with spirit stones.

“We’re implementing scheduled training shifts. Structured learning. Rotating combat drills. Also: a bathing schedule. I passed one of the outer disciples last night and nearly fainted from spiritual odor.”

Elder Zhang’s eye twitched.

“But—surely we must uphold traditional customs—”

“Your customs include three-hour lunch breaks, twenty-seven sect holidays a month, and a ‘No Shouting on Tuesdays’ rule.”

A disciple raised his hand nervously. “Actually that one helps with—”

“Silence. There will now be shouting. Especially on Tuesdays.”

The coup was quiet, efficient, and slightly traumatic.

I drafted new reporting lines, appointed interim department heads, and created something no one had ever seen before in the Shen Clan’s history:

A flowchart.

They stared at it like it was a divine artifact.

One of the branch heads wept softly.

“I… I don’t know what any of this means.”

“You will,” I said grimly. “There’s training tomorrow.”

“Training for what?”

“Meetings.”

The most controversial change?

I consolidated all unnecessary spending under one simple rule:

No one is allowed to buy golden chamber pots.

Apparently, that saved the clan seventy-two gold a year.

Seventy. Two.

Gold.

By the time the sun set, half the elders were shell-shocked, one was secretly impressed, and two disciples tried to escape but were brought back by Aunt Mei with a broom.

I collapsed into my chair and sipped tea.

Not cabbage tea. Real tea.

“It’s a start,” I muttered.

“We’re not strong yet. But we’ll get there.”

“And when the rest of the world starts sniffing around our mountain, they’ll find something far more dangerous than power.”

“They’ll find structure.”

[End of Chapter 13]