The Ye Clan estate stood defiant under a sky bruised with storm clouds, the air thick with the musk of wet earth and lingering beastly growls. Rain pattered on the cracked tiles, a soft hiss against the fire Ye Hua tended, her hands trembling as she stretched the last scraps of bandit meat into a watery gruel. Ye Qing paced the courtyard, his spear a steady companion, its dull tip glinting in the dim light as he barked at Ye Jun and Ye Mei to stack more logs. Ye Chen sat near the gate, carving a new ward into a flat stone, his sharp mind lost in the lines despite his twisted leg. Ye Ling prowled the perimeter, her dagger a restless flicker, her eyes scanning the woods where shadows had growled the night before.
Lin Feng leaned against the western wall, its damp stones cool against his back. Goru's defeat had sharpened the Ye Clan's edge, a ember flaring into a fragile flame. His muddy-brown eyes pierced the horizon, steady and unyielding. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul thundered, the seal's fracture a molten scar leaking golden qi into his core. Each clash tore it wider—a torrent straining this mortal frame, forging it into something lethal. He flexed his hand, the faint tremor a sign of power barely leashed—not yet the god's wrath of old, but a blade to rend the arrogant.
Ye Chen hobbled over, his stick tapping a rhythm, his voice a quiet edge. "Those growls last night," he said, eyes probing. "Not bandits. Something bigger."
"Beasts," Lin Feng replied, sliding down. "Stirred by blood. They'll watch—for now."
Ye Chen's brow creased, but he nodded. "You're not worried. That's what's odd."
"Worry's for the weak," Lin Feng said, his tone firm. "Get them ready—trouble's closer than beasts."
The clan gathered in the courtyard, their movements honed—a thread of steel piercing their fear. Ye Qing planted his spear, Ye Chen pocketed his stone, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her jaw tight. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady anchor.
"Bandits are a spark," he said, voice cutting through the rain. "The Lin Clan's the fire. They're coming—soon. We don't yield. We strike."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice gruff. "Lin Clan? Your old kin?"
"Old chains," Lin Feng corrected, eyes glinting. "They'll bring teeth. We sharpen ours."
Ye Ling spun her dagger, a smirk flashing. "Good. I'm itching to carve silk."
"Carve smart," he said. "Move."
The clan sprang into action. Ye Ling darted to the woods, rigging snares with a hunter's finesse—twine laced with barbs, stakes angled to maim. Ye Chen etched wards along the walls, his strokes swift, the air humming with unseen force. Ye Qing and the kids hauled branches, stacking them into a jagged barricade. Lin Feng worked alone, carving a deeper array into the gate's base—a web of qi, invisible but deadly. The seal surged as he channeled power, pain lancing through his ribs, but he pressed on—a trap for the proud.
Dusk fell, the rain a steady drumbeat. Dust rose on the road—riders, their red-and-gold banners snapping through the haze. Five crested the hill—Lin Hao at the lead, his silk robes sodden, his sneer a blade of fury. Beside him rode a lean figure in Iron Fang gray, his qi a faint ripple—Core Formation, mid-stage, sharper than the bandits. Three guards flanked them, swords drawn, their armor glinting.
Lin Hao reined in, his voice a whip of scorn. "Trash! Hiding with rats won't save you. I told you I'd return—crawl out and beg!"
Ye Qing stepped forward, spear leveled. "This is Ye land. Crawl back yourself."
Lin Hao's laugh was a venomous bark. "You? A broken old man and his fleas?" He gestured to the gray-clad man dismounting. "Meet Jin Tao, Iron Fang enforcer. He's here to squash your little revolt."
Jin Tao's cold eyes swept the estate, his voice smooth as oil. "The Lin Clan paid well. Hand over the wanderer, or this hovel burns."
Lin Feng emerged from the gate, his frail frame unbowed. "Me?" he said, voice cool. "Didn't know I haunted your dreams, Lin Hao."
Lin Hao's face twisted, rage flaring. "You humiliated me—me, a sect disciple! You'll grovel before I'm done!" His guards snickered, hands twitching toward steel.
Ye Ling bristled, stepping up, her dagger gleaming. "Try it, silk-rat. I'll cut your tongue first."
Jin Tao raised a hand, silencing Lin Hao's sputter. "No more chatter. Step out, wanderer, or we torch it all."
Lin Feng's lips quirked, a shadow of a smirk. "Torch it? You'll have to reach me." He stepped forward, qi simmering—a river ready to burst.
Jin Tao drew a short sword, its edge glinting, and lunged—fast, a cultivator's precision. Lin Feng shifted, the blade slicing air, and tapped Jin Tao's wrist—a wisp of qi veering the strike. Jin Tao stumbled, shock flickering in his eyes, and Lin Feng tossed a runed stone at his feet. The air shimmered—a ward snapping tight, sapping his strength. The enforcer's knees buckled, his sword dipping.
Lin Hao gaped. "What—?"
Lin Feng darted past, closing on Lin Hao. The boy swung a wild fist, qi sparking faintly—pathetic. Lin Feng caught it, twisting until Lin Hao yelped, dropping to his knees with a thud. "Still a child," he said, voice a quiet taunt. "Sect's wasted on you."
The guards charged, blades flashing. Ye Ling met one, her dagger clashing steel, sparks flying as she drove him back. Ye Qing speared another's thigh, blood spraying, his roar shaking the rain. Ye Chen's sling cracked, a stone smashing the third's helm, dropping him cold. Lin Feng released Lin Hao, spinning to Jin Tao as the enforcer rose, sword slashing in a furious arc.
The seal erupted, golden qi flooding his veins—a torrent breaking free. Pain seared his core, but he caught the blade bare-handed—qi hardening his flesh—and twisted, snapping it in two. Jin Tao reeled, eyes wide. "You're no mortal!" he gasped, swinging a fist laced with qi.
"Wrong," Lin Feng said, ducking. "Just sharper." He slammed a palm into Jin Tao's chest—a controlled pulse, not the full storm. The enforcer flew back, crashing into a tree, out cold, his armor dented.
Lin Hao scrambled up, his guards limping behind. "You're dead, Lin Feng!" he shrieked, voice cracking. "The sect—the Lin Clan—they'll crush you!" He mounted his horse, fleeing into the rain, dust trailing his panic.
The Ye Clan erupted—Ye Ling's wild laugh, Ye Qing's booming cheer, Ye Chen's stunned nod. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi fading, his hand bleeding from a shallow nick—a reminder of limits he'd soon shatter.
Ye Qing gripped his shoulder, rain-soaked and grinning. "You're a cyclone, lad! Sent 'em scurrying again!"
Ye Ling sheathed her dagger, smirking. "Silk-boy's crying home. You're a beast—I love it."
Ye Chen stepped up, his gaze dissecting. "You snapped a cultivator's sword. That's no trick."
Lin Feng wiped the blood on his tunic, shrugging. "He was soft. Soft breaks easy."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the storm raging outside. Ye Hua pressed a rag to Lin Feng's cut, her voice soft. "You're our rock," she said, tears brimming. "We'd be gone without you."
"Rocks hold," he said, letting her bind it. "We're forging more."
Ye Ling sat close, her tone low. "You glowed—clear as day. What's that?"
He met her stare, steady as iron. "Grow with me. You'll see."
She grinned. "Fine by me."
Later, alone by the gate, Lin Feng traced the array's fading lines. The seal's fracture burned in his mind, a golden maelstrom straining to break free. Jin Tao's qi had ripped it wider—a mid-stage spark clashing with a god's ember. He guided the power, tempering his frame—pain a forge, strength its yield.
Ye Chen joined him, rain dripping from his hood. "You're not one of us," he said, direct. "Not anymore."
Lin Feng glanced up, calm. "I'm what you'll need. Match me."
Ye Chen smirked, a spark igniting. "I'll try."
The storm howled, but the Ye Clan stood taller. As lightning flashed, a silhouette flickered on the hill—tall, gray-robed, qi pulsing like a drum. An Iron Fang banner snapped in the wind, its shadow stretching toward them.