The whispers started near the medicinal herb gardens, frantic and sharp, cutting through the usual afternoon tranquility. "Spirit Weasels! A pack of them, near the Moonpetal patch!"
Lin Fan's head snapped up. He and Mei Ling had been meticulously weeding around a bed of rare Cloud Ginseng, their comfortable silence filled with the familiar, gentle hum of their connection. Spirit Weasels weren't typically aggressive, more like large, hyperactive ferrets with a taste for spiritually potent flora, but a pack could be dangerous, especially to someone defenseless. The Moonpetal Dewgrass patch was Mei Ling's current project, vital for Elder Mei's next batch of pills.
Mei Ling was already on her feet, her face pale with alarm. "The Dewgrass! It's almost ready for harvest!"
Without conscious thought, Lin Fan moved, putting himself between her and the direction of the commotion. "Stay behind me, Ling'er."
They hurried towards the patch, nestled in a small clearing bordered by dense bamboo. The sight that greeted them sent a jolt of adrenaline through Lin Fan. At least five Spirit Weasels, sleek, unnervingly fast creatures with flickering blue energy around their claws, were darting through the delicate Moonpetal stalks, tearing at the shimmering leaves with greedy abandon. Their chittering cries echoed with a manic energy. One, larger than the rest, snarled possessively as they approached.
A junior disciple, clearly sent to fetch help, hovered uselessly nearby, paralyzed by fear. The Weasels ignored him, focused solely on their feast.
Mei Ling gasped, seeing the destruction. Her distress was a sharp, cold spike lancing through the warmth of their usual resonance. Lin Fan felt it like a physical blow, igniting a fierce protective instinct deep within him. He was 'Waste,' yes, with no Qi to command, no techniques to unleash. But Mei Ling was his friend, his anchor, the source of the only true connection he felt. He wouldn't let these creatures harm her or destroy her work.
"Get Elder Mei!" Lin Fan yelled at the trembling junior disciple, shoving him towards the path. "Quickly!"
The lead Weasel, sensing a challenge, turned its attention towards Lin Fan, its blue claws extending, crackling with volatile energy. It lowered its head and charged.
There was no time for thought, no space for his usual inadequacy. Fueled purely by Mei Ling's fear and his desperate need to protect her, the warm resonance within him ignited. It wasn't a gentle hum anymore; it surged, a torrent of focused energy flooding his senses, sharpening his perception, loosening his limbs. It felt less like power generated and more like potential unlocked, a sudden, shocking fluidity granted by their intertwined emotions.
The charging Weasel seemed to move slower, its path predictable. Lin Fan didn't have Qi-enhanced speed, but the resonance gave him something else – an instinctual, preternatural grace. He sidestepped the snapping jaws, the crackling claws missing him by a hair's breadth. As the creature shot past, he brought the heel of his hand down sharply on the back of its neck – a simple strike, yet delivered with timing and precision he shouldn't possess. The Weasel crumpled with a surprised yelp, momentarily stunned.
Two more darted at him from the flanks. Panic flared, instantly countered by the steady thrum of Mei Ling's presence behind him, her fear now mingled with desperate hope. He felt her will lending strength to his, smoothing the frantic edges of the resonance into a focused shield. He didn't block; he flowed. Weaving between attacks, using the creatures' own momentum against them, redirecting their lunges with pushes and deflections guided by an intuition that felt utterly alien yet perfectly natural. He moved not with trained martial prowess, but with the startling efficiency of water finding its course around obstacles.
He managed to incapacitate another Weasel with a well-aimed kick to its ribs, leveraging its lunge against it. But the remaining three pressed their attack, their energy claws tearing at his robes, leaving shallow, stinging cuts. He gritted his teeth against the pain, desperately trying to keep them away from Mei Ling.
Just as the lead Weasel recovered and prepared for another lunge, Mei Ling cried out, "Fan gege, your arm!"
He glanced down. A deeper gash bled freely. Seeing the blood, seeing the creatures closing in, Mei Ling's fear spiked again, but this time it transmuted into fierce determination. She took a hesitant step forward, her hands clenched.
Her surge of courage resonated powerfully through their link. Lin Fan felt a final, potent wave of warmth flood him – clarity, strength, resilience. With a sharp cry, channeling this unexpected reinforcement, he grabbed a thick bamboo stake lying nearby, discarded from garden work. Using it like an extension of his own enhanced flow, he swept it low, catching the recovering Weasel off balance, then thrust sharply, not aiming to kill but to deter, striking its flank hard. The creature shrieked and scrambled back. Seeing their leader repulsed and two others incapacitated, the remaining Weasels hesitated, their manic energy fading into uncertainty.
At that moment, authoritative shouts echoed from the path. Elder Mei arrived, flanked by two senior disciples radiating palpable Qi pressure. With a few sharp commands and gestures, they drove the remaining Spirit Weasels off into the bamboo grove, their presence quickly restoring order.
Lin Fan leaned heavily on the bamboo stake, his body screaming with exertion, blood dripping from his arm. The resonant surge faded, leaving behind an aching exhaustion but also a profound sense of disbelief. He had done that. Without Qi, he had held off five demonic beasts.
Mei Ling rushed to his side, her eyes wide with tears and relief. "Your arm! Are you alright?" Her hands hovered over the gash, her touch sending a gentle, soothing pulse through their connection, easing the stinging pain slightly.
He looked from the retreating figures of the Weasels to Mei Ling's anxious face, then down at his own trembling hands. He felt drained, but exhilarated. The power hadn't come from his meridians, but from the space between them, ignited by danger, fueled by her fear and his resolve. As Mei Ling fussed over his injury, her touch sending waves of comforting warmth that eased his exhaustion faster than seemed possible, Lin Fan knew his life had irrevocably changed. The Waste of Verdant Peak had found a spark, not of Qi, but of something far stranger, and infinitely more personal.