The Ye Clan courtyard buzzed with fragile life as dawn clawed through the mist, painting the cracked stones in pale gold. The fire spat embers into the chill, fed by scraps Ye Jun had scavenged from the gate's ruin. Ye Hua knelt beside it, her thin hands coaxing a pot of rabbit stew to simmer, the scent a fleeting balm against the estate's decay. Ye Qing paced the perimeter, his spear tapping a restless rhythm, while Ye Chen sat hunched over a slab of bark, his stick scratching lines that shimmered faintly in the light. Ye Ling darted between stakes, testing their edges with a flick of her dagger, her braid swinging like a pendulum.
Lin Feng leaned against the western wall, its rough surface cool against his back. The bandit rout had left a mark—the Ye Clan stirred now, a ember flickering to life. His muddy-brown eyes traced the woods, calm but piercing. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul thrummed, the seal's fracture a molten seam spilling golden qi into his veins. Each breath widened it, a slow bleed of power tempering this frail shell. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strength coil beneath the skin—not yet the might to topple heavens, but enough to crush the worms crawling back.
Ye Chen hobbled over, his stick clicking against the tiles, his gaze a hawk's—sharp and unyielding. "You're too still," he said, voice low, cutting through the morning hum. "That wasn't chance yesterday. Those bandits dropped like their strings were cut."
Lin Feng tilted his head, meeting the cripple's stare. "They tripped," he said, tone flat. "Panic makes men clumsy."
Ye Chen's lips twitched, skepticism etching his features. "Rocks don't trip armed riders. I saw it—the air shifted. You did something."
Zhan Tian held his gaze, a flicker of respect sparking within. The boy's mind was a blade, dulled by fate but keen beneath. "Think what you like," he said. "They're gone. That's what counts."
Ye Chen opened his mouth, but Ye Qing's gruff shout sliced through. "Lin Feng! You've earned your place—don't just stand there. What else you got?"
Lin Feng pushed off the wall, his steps deliberate. "Fix what's broken," he said. "Walls, traps—whatever holds this place together. I'm no warrior, but I don't sit idle."
Ye Ling spun her dagger, a smirk curling her lips. "Not a warrior? You spooked ten bandits with a handful of pebbles. Let's see if you're all hot air."
"Test me, then," he replied, his voice steady, eyes glinting with a shadow of challenge. She grinned—a predator's flash—and beckoned him to the western wall, its stones a crumbled heap barely waist-high.
"Bandits waltz through here every raid," she said, kicking a loose rock. "Make it stand, oh great wanderer."
He crouched, fingers brushing the jagged edges. The masonry was old, its bones solid beneath the rot. With qi, he could turn it into a fortress—later. For now, a trick would do. He traced a faint line along a slab, threading a wisp of qi into a crude rune—simple, invisible to mortal eyes. "Help me lift," he said, hefting a stone. Ye Ling hesitated, then joined, her wiry strength surprising as they stacked the pile chest-high by midday.
She slammed her boot against it—solid, unyielding. Her brow arched, grudging respect seeping through. "Not bad. Maybe you're worth the stew."
"Step by step," he said, brushing dust from his hands. Inside, he measured—the rune would hold for weeks, a quiet anchor. The Ye Clan needed more than walls, though. They needed teeth.
Afternoon found him in the woods with Ye Chen, foraging under a guise of scavenging. The cripple pointed out wild ginseng and bitterroot, his memory a map of the land's secrets. Lin Feng pocketed the herbs, their faint qi a whisper of potential—crude pills to mend this broken lot, maybe spark a ember in the strong ones. "You know these woods," he said, breaking a root free.
"Had to," Ye Chen replied, his tone edged. "You know plants more than a drifter should."
"Learned on the road," Lin Feng said, deflecting with a shrug. "You've got the land's pulse. That's rarer."
Ye Chen's eyes flickered, a spark of pride piercing his gloom. "Maybe. Doesn't stop the raids."
A twig snapped—sharp, deliberate. Lin Feng's head turned, qi sharpening his senses. A figure darted through the trees—grimy, lean, a bandit scout clutching a short blade. Ye Chen froze, but Lin Feng moved, silent as a wraith. He closed the gap in three strides, palming a stone mid-step. A flick of his wrist sent it cracking into the scout's ankle—the man yelped, tumbling into the brush.
Lin Feng loomed over him, frail but towering. "Scream, and you don't leave," he said, voice a low growl. The scout's eyes widened, darting to Ye Chen, then back. He scrambled up, limping into the shadows, leaving a trail of snapped twigs.
Ye Chen exhaled, his stick trembling slightly. "That was—"
"Quick," Lin Feng cut in, turning back. "They're watching. Means they're scared."
Dusk draped the estate in gray, the air thick with unease. Ye Ling sprinted from the gate, her dagger flashing, voice tight. "Riders! Lin Clan colors—three of 'em!"
Lin Feng's pulse quickened—not dread, but a hunter's thrill. The Lin Clan, already sniffing his trail? He followed Ye Qing to the gate, where three figures dismounted—Lin Hao at the helm, his silk robes a garish red, flanked by two guards in faded crimson, swords at their hips. His sneer cut through the gloom, a blade of scorn honed sharp.
"Well, well," Lin Hao called, loud and mocking. "The trash found a new gutter to stink up. Ye Clan? Perfect for a cur like you, Lin Feng."
Ye Qing bristled, spear leveled. "He's our guest. State your business or crawl back."
Lin Hao laughed, a harsh bark. "Business? I'm here to see how low my sister's reject can fall. Divorced and groveling with beggars—pathetic." His guards snickered, hands twitching toward their blades.
Lin Feng stepped from the shadows, his frame slight but unbowed. "You've seen," he said, voice cool as ice. "Go home, Lin Hao. This dirt's too good for your boots."
Lin Hao's grin twisted, venom pooling in his eyes. "Oh, I think it's worth dirtying. Iron Fang's newest disciple deserves a laugh—maybe I'll torch this dump, teach you rats your place." He snapped his fingers, and a guard lunged, sword flashing toward Lin Feng's chest.
Ye Ling moved—dagger arcing—but Lin Feng was faster. He sidestepped, his hand brushing the guard's wrist—a subtle nudge of qi sending the blade skittering into the dirt. The guard stumbled, shock widening his eyes, and Lin Feng kicked his shin—hard. The man crumpled, clutching his leg with a groan.
Lin Hao's jaw dropped, then snapped shut. "You—!" He charged, fist swinging, a faint ripple of qi sparking—child's play to a god. Lin Feng caught the punch, twisting until Lin Hao yelped, dropping to one knee with a thud. "Still sloppy," he said, voice a quiet taunt. "Sect's teaching you nothing?"
The second guard roared, blade raised, but Ye Qing intercepted, spear jabbing the man's thigh. Blood sprayed, and the guard fell, cursing. Ye Ling laughed, sharp and wild, her dagger spinning. "Silk-boy's got no spine!"
Lin Hao scrambled up, face crimson, mud streaking his robes. "This isn't over, you filth! The Lin Clan will hear—your little rats are dead!" He shoved past his limping guards, mounting his horse with a snarl. "You'll beg for mercy!" The trio galloped off, dust swirling in their wake.
Ye Qing thumped Lin Feng's shoulder, a grin splitting his grizzled face. "You've got fire, lad! Sent 'em packing like dogs!"
Ye Ling smirked, wiping her dagger on her sleeve. "He pissed himself—worth every second. You're hiding tricks, though."
"Think what you want," Lin Feng said, turning to the fire. Inside, he savored it—Lin Hao's rage was a ember he'd fan to ash. The Ye Clan cheered, but Ye Chen watched, his gaze a quiet blade.
Night settled, heavy and cold. Lin Feng sat by the wall, tracing the rune's faint glow. The seal stirred, its fracture a jagged pulse—Lin Hao's weak qi had nudged it wider. He guided the trickle through his frame, pain threading strength into his bones—a mortal cage forging into steel.
Ye Chen limped over, his shadow flickering. "That wasn't luck," he said, voice firm. "You toyed with him."
Lin Feng glanced up, calm as stone. "He's a fool. Fools fall easy."
Ye Chen's eyes narrowed, then softened—a spark of trust igniting. "Keep it up. We need that."
The woods rustled beyond the gate—a low growl, too deep for a man. Lin Feng's head turned, qi sharpening his ears. Something watched, something hungry, its eyes glinting in the dark.