Clan Building System: I'm not the Protagonist?!-Chapter 107- A hidden Sun.

Right there, curled up on the floor, her back resting lightly against the wooden frame, was Lin Zhaoyue, fast asleep.

Fang Yuan blinked.

"...You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Her breathing was soft, peaceful.

The corners of her lips even held the faintest trace of a smile, like she had found comfort just being near his door.

He sighed, rubbing his temple before crouching down.

With practiced care, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back, lifting her gently into his arms.

Despite her earlier mischiefs and madness, right now she seemed fragile, almost innocent.

He carried her to the bed and laid her down slowly, tucking the blanket over her shoulders with a light touch.

Then, standing over her for a quiet moment, he whispered, "Rest... you lunatic."

With another sigh, this one amused, he turned and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

There was work to do.

He needed to gather the family elders and implement everything he had written.

A proper merit system. A structure to support the clan’s long-term strength.

And more importantly, a shift in mindset.

No more children of the clan walking around like little masters, snapping their fingers at servants.

The Fang family did have attendants but the younger generation would no longer grow up pampered and idle.

They’d learn to contribute. To understand the weight of effort and responsibility.

The servants wouldn’t be replaced but the children would work alongside them, even if only for a few hours a week.

Not out of necessity, but out of principle.

It would build discipline and humility.

As if in perfect timing, the system chimed in his mind.

[Host, you have taken one more step closer to building a beautiful and strong clan.]

[New System Function Unlocked: Daily Quest Generator – Fang Clan Youth Division]

[Function Description: Random quests will be generated daily which the younger clan members can picked based on their strength.

Each task will vary in difficulty and impact. Danger levels will be clearly marked. Rewards will scale based on difficulty and completion.]

Fang Yuan’s brow lifted slightly, impressed.

"Well... that’s one less thing I’ll have to micromanage."

He smirked, taking his first steps down the vaulted corridor. For once, the path ahead didn’t feel like a battlefield.

It felt like a Foundation.

As they say, warm smiles are infectious.

He turned the corner where dawn’s honeyed light streamed through latticed windows, painting gold across the polished cedar floors.

Up ahead, Mistress Lan, head laundress of the inner halls shuffled toward the linen vaults, her arms piled high with neatly folded silks.

Her eyes were downturned, her steps heavy with decades of unnoticed toil.

"Good morning, Mistress Lan," Fang Yuan called, his voice warm as sun-warmed stone.

"Thank you for your care. The robes you restored last week, they gleamed like new."

She froze. The silks trembled in her arms. Slowly, she lifted her head. For a heartbeat, her worn face was blank—then it unfolded.

Wrinkles softened into wonder, and a disbelieving smile broke like sunrise over weathered hills. She stopped mid-step.

The silks wobbled in her arms.

A pause, like the earth holding its breath.

Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her face, creased by time and tireless work was unreadable at first. But then... it bloomed.

A trembling smile spread like the first thaw of spring. "C-Clan Head! You noticed? I—I’d polished the embroidery thrice, just in case..."

Fang Yuan inclined his head, eyes warm. "It showed."

He moved on. But Behind him, Mistress Lan stood a little straighter. Her shoulders no longer bowed beneath invisible weight.

When young Fei, the gardener’s boy, darted past with a pair of shears, she reached out and gently tapped his arm.

"Careful with those, lad! And chin up, the Clan Head’s making his rounds today!" 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Fei blinked, eyes wide, then puffed up proudly like a fledgling learning to soar.

Further ahead, Old Man Geng, the stoic archivist, was dusting scrolls in a shaft of golden light. Fang Yuan paused beside him.

"Master Geng. Your work on the treaty archives was really impeccable. I needed a record yesterday, and found it in seconds. You’ve turned history into something usable. Thank you."

The old man’s spectacles slipped down his nose. He pushed them back with trembling fingers. His mouth opened, but no words came at first.

At last, his voice emerged, worn but clear, like an old bell rung true.

"The Clan Head... honors this old servant. The records are all I have. Thank you."

His hands, usually stiff with age, now caressed the scrolls like sacred relics.

And so the morning flowed, warm and quiet like spring rain on parched earth.

A gardener pruning jasmine paused mid-snip as Fang Yuan praised the careful bloom of his work.

A guard at the moon gate straightened his spine the moment he was thanked for his steadfast watch.

A kitchen maid blushed down to her neck when Fang Yuan remarked how her ginger tea helped him think past midnight.

"Good morning, Clan Head!"

"May your day be blessed, Master Fang!"

"Thank you... for seeing us."

The voices came like rising birdsong, light, unexpected, full of grace.

Laughter flickered in corners where silence used to linger.

Light danced across the walls, and the air was filled with the scent of life, steamed buns, jasmine petals, morning ink.

Fang Yuan watched a young scribe trip over himself trying to bow, then scramble upright with a sheepish grin.

He saw Mistress Lan gently ruffle Fei’s hair, eyes misty with something long-forgotten.

He heard, actually heard Old Man Geng humming to himself as he organized scrolls.

Watching the world with a different mindset, he realized, is like polishing a stone no one knew held a sun inside.

His own smile deepened, not as strategy, but as reflex. This—this—was power reforged.

Not through control, but with connection.

Not through fear, but shared light.

A clan that moved, together, under a shared sky.

For the first time in years, the corridor no longer echoed with the grim rhythm of duty.

It sang, soft and golden with belonging.