The Ye Clan estate woke to a sky streaked with ash-gray clouds, the air heavy with the threat of rain. A faint tang of smoke drifted from the woods, curling around the courtyard like a serpent's breath. Ye Hua stirred a pot over the fire, her hands steady as she rationed the last of the hare into a watery broth. Ye Qing sharpened his spear nearby, the rasp of stone on metal a steady pulse, while Ye Jun and Ye Mei darted between chores, their small hands clutching twigs for the flames. Ye Chen sat cross-legged, etching a new pattern into a flat stone, his twisted leg forgotten in his focus. Ye Ling prowled the gate, her dagger flashing as she tested the stakes' edges.
Lin Feng stood atop the western wall, his silhouette a quiet blade against the gloom. The bandit scout's retreat had stirred the pot—the Ye Clan was a spark now, fragile but glowing. His muddy-brown eyes scanned the horizon, calm yet piercing. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul churned, the seal's fracture a molten rift leaking golden qi into his core. Each clash widened it—a river swelling against its banks, straining this mortal shell. He rolled his shoulders, the faint ache of yesterday's bruises a whisper he ignored. The power wasn't yet his full might, but it could shatter the weak—and the weak were circling.
Ye Ling vaulted up beside him, her braid whipping in the breeze. "You're brooding again," she said, her voice a sharp tease, dagger twirling in her grip. "What's out there now?"
"Smoke," he replied, nodding at the woods. "Trouble's brewing."
She squinted, her fingers stilling on the hilt. "Bandits?"
"Bolder ones," he said, sliding down the wall. "Get them ready."
The clan gathered in the courtyard, their movements crisp—a thread of steel weaving through their despair. Ye Qing planted his spear, Ye Chen tucked his stone into a pouch, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her eyes darting to the trees. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a quiet anchor.
"Bandits are back," he said, voice cutting the wind. "More this time—angry. We don't bend. We burn them out."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his jaw set. "How do we hold, Lin Feng?"
"Woods first," he said. "Traps to slow them. Gate next—stand firm. I'll break their front."
Ye Chen tilted his head, his mind a whirring gear. "You're always the spearhead. Why?"
"It works," Lin Feng said, his tone unyielding. "Move."
The clan scattered with purpose. Ye Ling vanished into the trees, rigging snares with a hunter's grace—twine laced with thorns, stakes angled to bite deep. Ye Chen knelt by the gate, his stick carving a lattice of wards into the earth, their faint hum a secret shield. Ye Qing and the kids hauled logs, stacking them into a crude choke point. Lin Feng worked alone, tracing a deeper array into a slab near the gate—a web of qi no mortal could fathom. The seal flared as he channeled power, its golden threads threading into the stone. His vision blurred, pain spiking through his temples, but he pressed on. This was a trap for the bold.
A cry snapped the air—Ye Jun, breathless, stumbling from the woods. "Men! Lots—coming fast! Big one with an axe!"
Lin Feng's blood surged, a hunter's thrill igniting. "How many?"
"Twenty, maybe!" Ye Jun gasped, clutching his side. "Huge guy—scary!"
The Black Claw. Lin Feng nodded, calm as steel. "Inside. Tell them to brace."
The ground trembled with boots as the clan rallied. Ye Qing gripped his spear, Ye Ling flanked him with her dagger, and Ye Chen braced behind a log, sling ready. Ye Hua herded the kids into the hall, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands.
Lin Feng stepped to the gate, alone. Shadows burst from the trees—a swarm of scarred faces, rusted blades, and feral grins. Their leader loomed, a mountain of muscle with a double-headed axe slung over his shoulder, its edge notched with old blood. Goru, his name growled through the ranks, his voice a bellow that shook the leaves. "Ye dogs! You think you can slap my boys and sleep easy? I'll grind this dump to ash!"
Ye Qing shouted back, spear steady. "Come try, you pig! We'll bury you!"
Goru's laugh was a thunderclap. "Bury me? With that old stick?" He waved a meaty hand, and the bandits charged—a wave of steel and snarls.
Lin Feng raised a hand. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then stepped into the fray. His qi flared—a river breaking free, the seal's fracture pulsing gold. He tossed a handful of runed stones, scattering them in a loose arc. The air shivered, and the first five bandits stumbled, legs buckling as the wards sapped their strength. They hit the dirt, groaning, blades skittering away.
Goru roared through, axe swinging—a blur of death aimed at Lin Feng's skull. He shifted, the blade grazing his shoulder, tearing cloth but missing flesh. His hand darted out, tapping Goru's wrist—a wisp of qi throwing the strike wide. The axe buried itself in the mud, and Goru lurched, shock flashing across his brutish face.
"Slow," Lin Feng said, stepping back. "Big doesn't win fights."
Goru yanked his axe free, bellowing. "I'll split you, runt!" He swung again, wide and wild. Lin Feng danced through it, palming a stone. A flick sent it cracking into Goru's knee—a sharp snap—and the giant staggered, cursing through gritted teeth.
The bandits pressed, a tide of blades hammering the gate. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger slashing a throat before she ducked back, blood streaking her arm. Ye Chen's sling whistled, a stone smashing a bandit's nose with a wet crunch. Ye Qing roared, spear piercing a gut, his old frame trembling with fury. But the numbers surged—ten still stood, hacking at the logs.
Lin Feng saw the strain—Ye Jun peeked from the hall, clutching a rock. "Now, kid!" he called. Ye Jun hurled it, small but true, clipping a bandit's ear. The man yelped, distracted, and Ye Ling pounced, her dagger sinking into his side.
Goru charged again, axe high, qi rippling faintly—a crude spark of cultivation. Lin Feng met it, qi surging—a torrent now, the seal screaming as it split wider. He ducked, slamming a palm into Goru's chest. A dull crack—ribs giving way—and Goru crumpled, gasping in the dirt.
The remaining bandits froze, then bolted, dragging their wounded into the trees. Ye Ling whooped, Ye Qing laughed—a raw, wild sound—and Ye Chen's sling fell slack, his eyes wide. Lin Feng stepped back, the golden qi fading into his depths, his breath steady despite the fire in his veins.
Goru coughed, blood flecking his lips, glaring up. "You're dead, freak. Black Claw won't forget!"
"Tell them," Lin Feng said, looming over him. "Tell them I'm waiting." Goru crawled off, a broken heap, his axe abandoned in the mud.
Ye Qing clapped Lin Feng's shoulder, grinning through the sweat. "You're a storm, lad! Sent 'em running twice!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her grin fierce. "That ox didn't know what hit him. You're a monster—and I mean that good."
Ye Chen limped forward, his gaze a quiet blade. "That wasn't luck. You broke him like twigs."
Lin Feng shrugged, brushing dirt from his hands. "He was loud. Loud falls hard."
That night, the clan feasted on bandit spoils—strips of dried meat, a loaf of stale bread, a dented jug of sour wine. Ye Hua pressed a bowl into Lin Feng's hands, her eyes glistening. "You're our shield," she said, voice soft. "We'd be bones without you."
"Shields hold," he said, sipping the broth. "We'll need more soon."
Ye Ling sat close, her tone low. "You glowed—faint, but I saw it. What's that about?"
He met her stare, steady as rock. "Keep fighting with me. You'll find out."
She smirked. "Deal, storm."
Later, alone in the woods, Lin Feng knelt by a gnarled tree, its roots a cradle. He crushed ginseng and bitterroot into a paste, swallowing it raw. The qi was faint—a candle to his past bonfires—but it stirred his core. He guided it, slow and deliberate, pain lancing through as it forged his frame. The seal's fracture widened, golden light bleeding into his soul—a step closer to the god he'd been.
A rustle—Ye Ling, crouched in the shadows, her dagger glinting. "Caught you," she said, voice hushed. "That glow's no trick. Who are you?"
He stood, the light fading. "Lin Feng," he said, walking past. "That's enough for now."
She followed, silent but sharp. As they neared the estate, a low growl rumbled from the trees—deep, feral, not human. Lin Feng paused, qi sharpening his senses. Eyes gleamed in the dark, too many to count, closing in.