Rain lashed the Ye Clan estate, a relentless curtain that turned the courtyard into a mire of mud and defiance. Thunder rumbled, a low growl echoing the beasts that had retreated into the night. Ye Hua crouched by the fire, her hands trembling as she shielded the last embers from the downpour, coaxing a thin broth from scavenged roots. Ye Qing stood at the gate, his spear a steadfast companion, rain streaking his grizzled face as he drilled Ye Jun and Ye Mei with sticks— "Harder, damn it!" Ye Chen knelt near the western wall, etching a ward into a soaked stone, his twisted leg slick with mud but his focus unbroken. Ye Ling darted along the barricade, her dagger a silver flash, her braid plastered to her back.
Lin Feng perched atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark blade against the storm. Jin Tao's rout had hardened the Ye Clan's spine, a ember blazing into a fledgling fire. His muddy-brown eyes pierced the rain, calm yet relentless. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul surged, the seal's fracture a molten chasm spilling golden qi into his veins. Each fight ripped it wider—a tempest pressing against its cage, tempering this frail shell into steel. He tilted his head, water dripping from his hood, the power coiling beneath his skin—not yet the god's fury of old, but a storm to drown the proud.
Ye Qing climbed up, his spear tapping the slick stone, his voice rough. "That figure last night," he said, squinting into the haze. "Iron Fang?"
"Stronger than Jin Tao," Lin Feng replied, sliding down. "They're done testing."
Ye Qing's jaw tightened, rain pooling in his beard. "We're tougher now—your doing. What's the move?"
"Fortify," Lin Feng said. "Woods to slow them, walls to hold. I'll break their teeth."
Ye Ling overheard, vaulting up with a smirk, her dagger dripping. "Good. I want blood, not growls."
"Blood's coming," he said, meeting her fire with ice. "Get them ready."
The clan rallied in the courtyard, their movements a blade honed by necessity. Ye Qing gripped his spear, Ye Chen pocketed his stone, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands clenched white. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame in the storm.
"Iron Fang's here," he said, voice slicing the wind. "Not lackeys—an enforcer. They want us crushed. We don't bow. We bury them."
Ye Qing's eyes blazed, his voice a growl. "What's the plan, Lin Feng?"
"Traps first," he said. "Gate second. I'll take the front—hold the rest."
Ye Chen's sharp gaze cut through the rain, his tone probing. "Always you. Why?"
"It wins," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan surged into action. Ye Ling vanished into the woods, rigging snares with a predator's grace—barbed twine and stakes sharpened to bite. Ye Chen carved wards along the walls, his strokes bold despite the wet, the air thrumming faintly. Ye Qing and the kids hauled logs, stacking them into a jagged choke point. Lin Feng worked alone, etching a deeper array into the gate's keystone—a lattice of qi, unseen but lethal. The seal flared as he channeled power, pain spiking through his chest, but he pressed on—a net for the bold.
Noon brought the enemy—boots thundered through the rain, a dozen riders in Iron Fang gray, their armor glinting with faint runes. No Lin Clan banners; the sect had taken the reins. At their head strode a woman, tall and wiry, her braid a sodden rope, a whip coiled at her hip crackling with qi—Core Formation, peak stage, a breath from Foundation. Liao Mei, her enforcers called her, seven men and one woman fanning out, their weapons a mix—swords, a mace, a black-tipped spear.
She halted before the gate, her voice a blade through the storm. "I'm Liao Mei, Iron Fang's Claw. You've bloodied our name, Ye filth. Surrender the wanderer, or I'll skin you alive."
Ye Qing emerged, spear planted, rain streaming down. "He's ours. Step here, and you'll bleed."
Liao Mei's lips curled, a predator's grin. "Bold words, old dog. Let's see your bite." She flicked her wrist, and the whip lashed out—a streak of qi aiming for Ye Qing's chest.
Lin Feng intercepted, catching the leather mid-air, qi hardening his grip. The sting bit his palm, a shallow cut welling blood, but he yanked—pulling Liao Mei forward. She stumbled, surprise flashing in her eyes, then planted her feet, sneering. "You," she hissed. "The ghost. I'll flay you first."
The enforcers charged, a disciplined wave. Lin Feng released the whip, stepping into their midst, qi surging—the seal's fracture splitting wide, a golden flood breaking free. He ducked a sword, his palm cracking the wielder's wrist—the blade flew, embedding in the mud. A mace swung; he sidestepped, kicking the man's knee—a snap dropping him. The spear thrust, black iron gleaming; he caught the shaft, qi snapping it, then drove the broken end into the attacker's shoulder.
Liao Mei's whip cracked, wrapping his leg—qi searing through his tunic. She yanked, but he pulled back, dragging her into the fray. The gate's ward pulsed, triggered—three enforcers faltered, legs slowing as invisible chains gripped them. Ye Ling burst from the woods, her dagger slashing a throat before vanishing again. Ye Chen's sling whistled, stones cracking armor with lethal aim. Ye Qing roared, spearing an enforcer's gut, blood mixing with rain.
Lin Feng faced Liao Mei, her whip coiling for another strike. "You're no beggar," she snarled, qi spiking—a peak-stage aura bending the storm. "What are you?"
"Lin Feng," he said, voice calm as death. He lunged, qi hardening his fists. The whip lashed; he caught it, twisting it around his arm, then yanked hard. Liao Mei flew forward, off-balance, and he drove a knee into her ribs—a crack echoing. She gasped, rolling away, her whip snapping back to strike his side.
Blood trickled, pain flaring, but Lin Feng pressed on. The seal's golden tide roared, his veins blazing as he pushed past mortal limits. He closed the gap, dodging a frantic lash, and struck her chest with an open palm—a golden pulse, controlled but fierce. Liao Mei flew back, crashing through a log, hitting the mud with a groan, her whip limp.
The enforcers faltered—four down, three staggering. Ye Ling pounced, her dagger a whirlwind, while Ye Chen's stones felled another. Ye Qing's spear pinned the last to the barricade, his breath heaving. Liao Mei struggled up, her glare venomous. "The sect will—"
"Run," Lin Feng cut in, looming over her, rain dripping from his hood. "Tell them I'm waiting. Next time, I won't stop."
She spat blood, then limped off, her survivors trailing. The Ye Clan surged—Ye Ling's fierce cheer, Ye Qing's triumphant bellow, Ye Chen's quiet awe. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi retreating, his side bleeding but his stance firm.
Ye Qing thumped his back, grinning. "You're a damn hurricane, lad! Sent 'em packing again!"
Ye Ling laughed, wiping her dagger. "Whip-bitch didn't see it coming. You're unreal!"
Ye Chen stepped close, his gaze piercing. "You broke her like nothing. That's beyond skill."
Lin Feng pressed a hand to his side, shrugging. "She overestimated herself. That's her loss."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the storm a dull roar outside. Ye Hua bound Lin Feng's wound, her touch gentle. "You're our pillar," she said, voice thick. "We'd be ash without you."
"Pillars stand," he said, letting her work. "We're aiming higher."
Ye Ling sat near, her tone hushed. "You glowed—brighter than ever. Don't dodge."
He held her gaze, resolute. "Keep growing. You'll get it."
She chuckled. "Challenge on."
Later, alone by the gate, Lin Feng knelt, tracing the keystone's ward. The seal's fracture burned in his core, a golden inferno he could barely contain. Liao Mei's peak qi had torn it wider—a mortal's fury clashing with a god's essence. He guided the power, forging his frame—muscles tightening, pain a crucible.
Ye Chen joined him, rain-soaked. "You're not human," he said, blunt. "Not fully."
Lin Feng stood, meeting his eyes. "I'm what you need. Keep pace."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of ambition. As the storm faded, a horn blared in the distance—deep, commanding. Lin Feng's head snapped up. A gray figure stood on the hill, sword in hand, qi pulsing like a war drum—an elder's shadow, unyielding.