The Ye Clan estate emerged from the dusk like a broken relic, its silhouette clawing at the violet sky. Stone walls, once proud with dragon carvings, sagged under years of neglect, their edges crumbling into the weeds. Twin watchtowers flanked a gate that groaned on rusted hinges, tilting as if ready to collapse. The air carried a sour whiff of decay—rotting wood and damp earth mingling in the stillness. Lin Feng's gaze swept over it, muddy-brown eyes masking the golden glint of Zhan Tian within. To the untrained, it was a ruin. To him, it was a canvas—raw, unclaimed, ripe for the forging.
Ye Qing limped at his side, his weathered face tight with embarrassment. "This is us," he muttered, leaning on Lin Feng's arm, his blood-crusted sleeve staining the drab tunic. "Not much, I know. Bandits hit us last harvest—took the grain, the coin, even the kids' blankets. We're hanging by threads." His voice cracked, a man baring his shame to a stranger who'd pulled him from death's jaws.
Lin Feng nodded, his expression blank but his mind a whirlwind. Weakness was a forge, and the Ye Clan was molten steel—pliable, desperate, waiting for a hammer. The Lin Clan had been a cage of fools; this was a spark he could shape. "You're breathing," he said, voice steady. "That's a start."
Ye Qing's lips twitched, a flicker of gratitude softening his despair. "Aye, thanks to you. Let's get inside—the wolves'll smell me soon."
The main hall greeted them with a cavernous chill, its roof gaping open to a drizzle that pattered on shattered tiles. A meager fire flickered in the center, casting jagged shadows over a handful of figures. Ye Hua, a frail woman with gray-streaked hair, knelt by the flames, stirring a pot of thin gruel. Ye Chen, a young man with a twisted leg, leaned on a stick, his sharp eyes narrowing at Lin Feng. Two scrawny kids—Ye Mei and Ye Jun—huddled close, their patched clothes barely clinging to their frames.
A girl leapt up, her tangled black hair swinging, a rusty dagger flashing in her hand. Ye Ling, sixteen and fierce, stepped toward them, her glare cutting through the gloom. "Who's this?" she snapped, fingers tightening on the hilt. "Another stray to starve with us?"
"Easy, Ling," Ye Qing rasped, easing onto a stool with a wince. "He saved me—pulled me from a ditch after the bandits left me bleeding. Calls himself a wanderer. We owe him."
Ye Ling's scowl deepened, her stance unyielding. "We don't need pity. We've got enough mouths already." She flicked her dagger, a warning glint in the firelight.
Ye Hua rose, brushing soot from her hands, her voice firm despite her weariness. "Ling, enough. He's welcome." She bowed stiffly to Lin Feng, her eyes wary but warm. "I'm Ye Hua, Qing's wife. Thank you, stranger. Your name?"
"Lin Feng," he said, dipping his head. The lie was a shield, smooth on his tongue. The Lin Clan was behind him; this name was a tool now. "I don't ask much—a corner to rest, some work. I'm no burden."
Ye Hua's tension eased, a faint smile breaking through. "Work's plenty. Food's scarce. Sit—warm yourself."
He took a spot by the fire, the heat seeping into his battered frame. The seal within pulsed, a quiet drumbeat—a fracture he could feel widening with each breath. Ye Qing recounted the bandit raid, his voice low— "Came at dawn, ten of 'em, took everything but our bones." Ye Hua sighed, lamenting their lost stores. Ye Ling muttered about slitting throats, her dagger scraping a stone. Ye Chen watched Lin Feng, his gaze a scalpel, peeling back layers.
"We're cursed," Ye Chen said abruptly, his tone flat but piercing. "Three raids in a month. Iron Fang Sect won't lift a finger—say we're not worth the dirt we stand on. Bandits know it. We're carrion."
Lin Feng met his stare, noting the flicker of cunning beneath the despair. "Curses break," he said. "Takes action, not words."
Ye Chen snorted, a spark of defiance flaring. "What, you'll chase 'em off? You look like you'd snap in a breeze."
"Chen!" Ye Hua snapped, but Lin Feng raised a hand, calm as stone.
"He's got a point," he said. "I'm no knight. But I've faced worse than bandits—and walked away."
The hall stilled, curiosity edging out suspicion. Ye Qing leaned in, his gruff voice softer. "You've got a tale, Lin Feng. Share it?"
"Not much to tell," he lied, smooth as silk. "Left a bad place. Picked up a few skills. If you'll have me, I'll lend a hand."
Ye Qing glanced at Ye Hua, then nodded. "Stay. We're too broken to turn away help."
Night draped the estate, the drizzle a steady tap overhead. Lin Feng lay on a straw mat, the Ye Clan's ragged breaths filling the dark. He didn't sleep. His mind turned inward, tracing the seal's jagged edge. The fracture had grown since the Lin Clan—a sliver of qi trickling free, a whisper of his past might. He guided it through his veins, slow and precise, threading strength into this fragile shell. It wasn't much—not yet—but it was a seed.
A rustle broke his focus. Ye Ling stood over him, her dagger glinting in the faint firelight. "Up," she hissed, kicking his ribs—not hard, but sharp. "You're working if you're staying. Traps need checking. Move."
He rose without a word, following her into the misty woods. The traps—twine snares and bent sticks—were pitiful, most empty save one clutching a bony rabbit. Ye Ling cursed, slamming her fist into a tree. "Barely feeds the little ones. We're dying out here."
Lin Feng crouched by a snare, fingers brushing its crude design. "You're hunting wrong," he said. "Too open. Predators smell the panic." He snapped a twig, tightening the loop with a deft twist. "Angle it low, bury the bait. They'll bite."
She glared, her dagger twitching. "What, you're a trapmaster now?"
"No," he said, standing. "I know how things hunt. Try it."
Ye Ling huffed, but her hands moved, mimicking his tweak with grudging focus. "Better work, or I'll skin you instead."
By noon, the snare held a plump hare—enough for a meal. Ye Ling stared, her scowl softening to surprise. "Dumb luck," she muttered, but she reset the others under his watch, her movements sharper now.
Back at the estate, Ye Hua cooked the hare, the scent coaxing faint grins from Ye Mei and Ye Jun. Ye Qing clapped Lin Feng's shoulder, his grip firm. "You're a spark, lad. Small, but it's something."
"Small's where it begins," Lin Feng said, his tone even. Inside, he calculated—food was a bandage, not a cure. The Ye Clan needed walls, steel, a will to bite back. Bandits were the least of it; the Iron Fang Sect loomed, a shadow on the hills. He'd faced gods and won—this was child's play, if he could wield it right.
A shout shattered the calm. Ye Ling bolted from the gate, her face pale, dagger drawn. "Bandits! Ten—maybe more—coming fast!"
Lin Feng's blood surged—not fear, but hunger. He followed Ye Qing to the courtyard, where Ye Chen handed out sticks and a dented hoe, his jaw clenched. "They'll strip us bare," he said, voice tight. "We're done."
"We fight," Ye Qing growled, hefting his spear, its tip dulled but steady.
Lin Feng stepped forward, calm as a blade's edge. "Give me a moment."
Ye Ling whirled, eyes blazing. "A moment? They'll gut us!"
"Trust me," he said, already moving. He darted to the gate, snatching stones from the rubble. His qi flared—a spark, quick and hidden—etching runes into their surfaces, a child's echo of arrays that once trapped immortals. He scattered them along the path, a murmured word igniting the air with a faint hum.
Hooves thudded closer—ten bandits, grimy and scarred, blades gleaming in the dusk. Their leader, a hulking figure with a notched axe, grinned through broken teeth. "Open up, pigs! We're starving!"
Three charged, axes raised—and froze, crashing down as the runes drained their legs. The leader bellowed, confusion twisting his face, but Lin Feng stepped out, frail yet unyielding. "Leave," he said, voice a quiet storm. "Or fall."
The brute laughed, swinging his axe. Lin Feng sidestepped, tripping him with a flick of his foot. The man hit the dirt, and Ye Ling pounced, dagger flashing at his throat. "Stay down," she snarled. The rest scattered, dragging their stunned kin into the trees.
Ye Qing stared, awe breaking his grizzled mask. "How…?"
"Luck," Lin Feng said, turning away, a faint smirk tugging his lips. The seal thrummed, its fracture a jagged promise. As the Ye Clan cheered, a figure lingered in the woods—a lone bandit, eyes wide, slipping away with a tale to tell.