Sean, Unrelated to Love and Romance (Part Three)

Sean Xuan grew up in Skyvault Palace. Before Irene Lu married into Skyvault, he was the Young Palace Lord, living in luxury, never worrying about daily life—and never understanding what life really was.

After Irene Lu married in, although she would secretly torment and mistreat Sean, and even scheme against him in the dark, she never dared to openly neglect him. She had to avoid letting Sean’s father or the palace elders see through her, lest she end up branded a poisonous woman.

Irene Lu was always skilled at putting on a show. If she hadn’t been, she could never have secured her footing in Skyvault Palace so quickly…

Before leaving Skyvault, Sean thought his greatest hardship was that his father didn’t believe him, that his father listened to that wicked woman, and the distance between father and son only grew—until, finally, his father completely abandoned him to fend for himself…

But after leaving Skyvault and struggling to survive alone, Sean realized that when it comes to survival, any other suffering pales in comparison.

He left Skyvault as a half-grown boy. Even though he brought some gold and silver with him, it was like a three-year-old carrying treasure through a busy market—an invitation to be robbed.

Everything he brought was stolen on the very first day. At the time, Sean was furious, but later he understood he should be grateful—not everyone he met was truly vicious. Those people only took his things and didn’t kill him; that alone was a blessing.

With no money and no survival skills, he couldn’t support himself. Yet the pride of a Young Palace Lord kept him from bowing his head and begging for life like a common beggar…

Six months—he drifted outside for half a year. Every day was pure torment. The first thing he did upon opening his eyes was search for food, thinking only about how to survive in this world.

As for his father? Or that stepmother?

After the first few days, Sean barely had time to think about his father or stepmother. Compared to staying alive, nothing else mattered.

Every day was a struggle. Only when he was about to break down did he think of his mother, or Aunt Mo.

In winter, dressed in a coat and shoes that were too small and worn out, Sean wondered if he should find something to eat, and maybe ask the woman in the ruined temple to weave him a pair of straw sandals.

The things he brought from Skyvault Palace were all of good quality, but even the best clothes can't withstand constant wear, especially when he's growing fast. His clothes and shoes had long since become too small.

Life had been bitter these past six months, but Sean had matured a lot. He was no longer the naive Young Palace Lord who knew nothing, nor the childish boy who thought he couldn't survive Skyvault Palace without his father.

Sean gradually adapted to life outside. Using his basic martial arts skills, he gathered the local street urchins, and together they caught birds, fished, and dug wild vegetables. An old beggar would sell the catch for buns and steamed bread.

At first, they earned less than by begging, but as their hunting and fishing skills improved, they could feed themselves and even had a little extra. They could afford coarse cloth for clean clothes.

Sean's clothes had long since become too small, but unlike other street children, he kept them spotlessly clean, refusing to be dirty even if they were ragged.

Even if he was no longer Young Palace Lord of Skyvault, he was not truly a street beggar. His world lay elsewhere.

Sean had already mapped out his future—he would make a name for himself and return to Skyvault Palace by his own strength. But plans can never keep up with fate. He met his master...

Sean's master recognized his true identity and brought him back to the sect, teaching him martial arts, literacy, and how to conduct himself.

His master also sent word to Skyvault Palace that Sean was alive.

He did all this not for himself, but for Sean.

Sean's father had long regarded him as dead. When his half-brother—the son of his father and Irene Lu—turned one, his father threw a grand banquet and publicly declared that child as Skyvault's new Young Palace Lord.

But on that very day, Sean's master brought him back, and his return was a slap in his father's face. The master confronted his father: "If the child in your arms is Young Palace Lord, then what is Sean?"

What am I, then?

Sean still remembers his father's face—flushed, ashamed, and twisted with emotion. How could he describe it?

In that moment, he felt an intense, unprecedented satisfaction.

His stepmother, Irene Lu, looked as if she had seen a ghost. "You—you aren't dead?" she stammered.

What did I say to her then?

I remember it clearly. At that moment, I told her, "Madam, forgive me for disappointing you—I failed to die at the bottom of the cliff as you wished. Are you very disappointed?"

"Wh-what? I don't understand what you're saying," she replied, feigning confusion.

She started pretending to be clueless again, but this wasn't her husband's backyard. Here, among martial heroes, no one would pay attention to her act.

As for me—after half a year on the streets, I've become much more worldly. If I were my old self, I would have pressed the issue endlessly, turning reason into nonsense. But now?

I've learned when to stop and take the win.

I've learned not to give my opponents a chance to speak.

So I dropped the subject, saluted my father, and asked, "Father, if my younger brother is Young Palace Lord, then what am I? Have you disowned me? If so, I won't argue—I respect your decision. I'll take my mother's bones and leave, following her family name."

A retreat as an advance? Threatening my own father?

No one present could publicly find fault with me, no matter what they thought. But my father...

My father prided himself as a great hero—how could he openly disown his own son, or let his wife's remains be taken away? His face twisted as he tried to explain: "How—how could that be? I thought something had happened to you, so I..."

"Is that so?" I lowered my eyes, sadness on my face, and said in a quiet but clear voice, "Master told me you never searched for me. Without confirming if I was alive or dead, you built a clothes-and-hat cenotaph for me."

Father, I lay broken at the bottom of that cliff for three days—hurting, afraid, cold, and hungry—all the while hoping you would come save me. If not for my master finding me, I might have... I might have...

I never finished that sentence, but everyone present understood exactly what I meant.

Martial artists aren't like those noble clans who refuse to interfere in family matters. Here, loyalty and righteousness count for more.

As soon as they heard my words, several elders slammed the table and rose in outrage, openly rebuking my father for being unworthy of a son's respect.

My father was left speechless, and Irene Lu wanted to defend him—but would I give her the chance?

After surviving so long on the streets, how could I not have learned a few tricks?

Before either of them could speak, I cut in again: "I know Madam had a baby brother at that time, and Father was too busy to look for me. Father, I don't blame you."

It's true—I don't blame my father at all. Even though his blood runs in my veins, I feel no affection for him, nor do I expect anything from him.

From then on, we were like strangers—wary, calculating, each guarding our own interests. And honestly, I was fine with that.

From that day forward, father and son became like strangers—both guarded, both calculating. And honestly, I didn't mind at all.

For me, this clean break was acceptable. It meant freedom.