The sound of genuine laughter violated the morning air like nails on glass. Zǔ Zhòu paused in his "desperate" training routine, identifying the source of auditory offense. Liu Hao—second cousin, Foundation Establishment First Stage, chronically cheerful—stood among a cluster of relatives, radiating joy like a disease.
"—and her father finally agreed! Spring wedding, can you imagine? Me, married to the most beautiful woman in three provinces!" Liu Hao's face glowed with disgusting sincerity. "I'm the luckiest man alive!"
Zǔ Zhòu felt his teeth grinding. Not from jealousy—he was incapable of such petty emotion. This was aesthetic revulsion, like seeing a perfectly good torture chamber decorated with flowers. Happiness, genuine happiness, was an insult to the fundamental nature of existence.
"Congratulations, Cousin Hao," someone said. "The Chen family's third daughter is indeed fortunate."
"No, I'm the fortunate one! Have you seen her smile? Heard her laugh? She makes every day brighter just by existing!"
Each word was another needle under Zǔ Zhòu's skin. The sheer authenticity of Liu Hao's joy created ripples of wrongness in the air. How dare he be so genuinely, thoroughly, disgustingly happy?
"Even Cousin Wei trains harder than you," Liu Hao continued, noticing Zǔ Zhòu. "Look at him! Drenched in sweat while you celebrate. Though..."—he laughed, not meanly but with genuine amusement—"all that desperate effort for what? Third place at best? Wei'er, you're trying too hard! Cultivation should bring joy, not suffering!"
The group chuckled. Not mockery, just shared amusement at life's ironies. Liu Hao wasn't even trying to be cruel—worse, he was trying to be encouraging in his boundlessly optimistic way.
"Thank you for the advice, Cousin," Zǔ Zhòu replied, forcing a smile that felt like swallowing glass. "Your happiness is... inspiring."
"See? That's the spirit! Find what makes you happy, Wei'er. Power means nothing without joy to share it with!"
Liu Hao clapped his shoulder with brotherly affection before returning to his celebration. The touch burned like acid—not from any spiritual attack, but from the sheer positive emotional energy radiating from him. The man was a walking violation of universal truth. Existence was suffering, yet here he stood, proving otherwise through every breath.
"Therapeutic necessity," Zǔ Zhòu murmured, watching Liu Hao demonstrate sword forms with unnecessary flourishes, each movement expressing his inner joy. "Such pure happiness requires... adjustment."
He completed his public training, letting observers see him push harder after Liu Hao's comments. The narrative wrote itself—young master stung by cousin's words, training with renewed desperation. No one would question an evening visit to "apologize" for taking the joke poorly.
That night, Zǔ Zhòu knocked on Liu Hao's door carrying a jar of expensive wine. "Cousin? Might we speak?"
"Wei'er!" Liu Hao opened the door with that insufferable smile. "Come in, come in! I hope I didn't offend earlier. Sometimes my joy makes me thoughtless—"
"No, I came to apologize. And congratulate properly." He offered the wine. "For your engagement. You were right—I've been too focused on competition, forgetting what truly matters."
Liu Hao's face lit up even brighter, if such horror were possible. "You understand! Oh, Wei'er, when you find love, you'll see. It makes every hardship worthwhile!"
They sat in Liu Hao's study, decorated with paintings his fiancée had gifted him. Each piece radiated warmth and affection, turning the room into a shrine to happiness. Zǔ Zhòu poured wine while calculating pressure points—both physical and emotional.
"Tell me about her," he suggested. "How did you know she was the one?"
Liu Hao needed no encouragement. Words poured out like honey mixed with sunshine—their first meeting, her laugh, the way morning light caught her hair. Each detail was preserved in perfect, loving memory. He spoke of small kindnesses, shared jokes, quiet moments that built into overwhelming joy.
"She makes me want to be better," Liu Hao concluded. "Not for power or recognition, but because she deserves the best version of me."
"Beautiful," Zǔ Zhòu agreed, refilling his cup. "Such perfect happiness. Tell me—do you ever fear losing it?"
The first needle, inserted with surgical precision.
"I... what?" Liu Hao blinked. "Fear? No, why would I?"
"Forgive me. It's just... happiness seems so fragile. A training accident, an illness, a misunderstanding. So many ways for joy to shatter."
"But that's what makes it precious!" Liu Hao rallied. "Knowing life is uncertain makes every moment sweeter!"
"Of course. Though I heard the Chen family has debts. Nothing serious, but in this economy..."
Second needle. Watch the doubt flicker.
"Debts? No, her father said—" Liu Hao paused. "What kind of debts?"
"Probably nothing. Market speculation. Though the Wang family did withdraw their loans last month. Still, I'm sure it's fine. Your love conquers such material concerns."
Zǔ Zhòu sipped wine while Liu Hao's perfect joy developed its first hairline crack. The cousin tried to maintain his smile, but uncertainty had taken root.
"Speaking of health," Zǔ Zhòu continued conversationally, "you've been cultivating hard for the wedding. No concerning symptoms? Grandfather Liu mentioned our bloodline sometimes develops... complications around your age."
"Complications?" The word emerged strained.
"Hereditary qi deviation. Affects the heart meridians specifically. But you feel fine, so clearly it missed you! Though it does sometimes lay dormant until moments of peak emotion. Wedding nights, for instance."
Third needle. Fourth. Fifth. Each carefully placed to transform specific joys into specific fears. Financial uncertainty to poison security. Health doubts to corrupt physical confidence. Bloodline concerns to taint intimacy.
"I should go," Zǔ Zhòu stood. "Thank you for your wisdom earlier. You're right—power without joy is meaningless. Cherish what you have."
He touched Liu Hao's shoulder, pressing seventeen precise points in sequence. Not enough to cause immediate damage, but sufficient to create subtle meridian inflammation. Over the coming days, normal cultivation would feel wrong. Qi would flow irregularly. Minor pains would manifest during emotional peaks.
"Wei'er?" Liu Hao's voice had lost its boundless confidence. "These things you mentioned..."
"Forget them! Your happiness is too strong for such concerns. Though..." He paused at the door. "If you do notice anything unusual, I've been studying medical texts. The temporal manual includes healing applications. I'd be honored to help family."
Plant the dependency. Make the victim grateful for their torturer's attention.
He left Liu Hao sitting among his fiancée's paintings, perfect joy now riddled with perfectly placed doubts. By morning, the cousin would notice his meridians' inflammation. Within three days, every moment of happiness would carry undercurrents of anxiety. By week's end, he'd beg for help from the very person who'd poisoned his joy.
"Therapeutic necessity," Zǔ Zhòu repeated to his anchor servant later. "I needed to test precise calibration of suffering. Too much breaks them quickly—no sustainability. Too little and they recover. Liu Hao will demonstrate optimal despair cultivation."
"His joy was indeed offensive," the servant agreed.
"Aesthetically unbearable. Like finding a flower growing in a graveyard—an insult to the fundamental nature of things." He made notes on the pressure point combinations. "But now he'll transform from joy's avatar to anxiety's prophet. Still functional, still engaged to marry, but every happiness will carry fear's shadow."
"The observers seemed particularly engaged during the corruption sequence."
"Because it was artistry. Any fool can break happiness through brute force. But to hollow it out from within, leaving the shell intact while the core rots? That requires sophistication."
He spent the remaining night documenting the technique. Seventeen pressure points creating inflammation that worsened with positive emotions. Psychological seeds that transformed strength into weakness. The perfect conversion of joy into sustainable suffering.
By morning, Liu Hao would wake to find his cultivation subtly wrong. He'd attribute it to wedding stress, push harder, make it worse. Within days, he'd seek help from his caring cousin who'd warned him just in time.
And Zǔ Zhòu would "save" him, earning gratitude while secretly calibrating the perfect balance of hope and despair.
"Next phase?" his servant inquired.
"We let him marinade in mounting anxiety. Three days before intervention—enough for desperation, not enough for total breakdown. He must remain functional to serve as long-term experiment."
The Happy Brother would learn that joy was just suffering that hadn't recognized itself yet.
And Zǔ Zhòu would ensure that recognition came slowly, sustainably, and with exquisite precision.