The Ye Clan's estate loomed at the edge of dusk, a skeletal silhouette against the bruised purple sky. Once, it might've been grand—stone walls carved with faded dragon motifs, a gatehouse flanked by twin watchtowers. Now, it was a husk. The walls crumbled like old bones, the towers leaned drunkenly, and the gate sagged on rusted hinges. Weeds choked the courtyard, and a faint stench of rot hung in the air. Zhan Tian's golden eyes, masked as Lin Feng's muddy brown, swept over the decay with a flicker of recognition. A fallen power. A blank slate. Perfect.
Ye Qing limped beside him, his weathered face tight with shame. "This… this is us," he muttered, clutching the arm Zhan Tian had slung over his shoulder. "Not much to look at, I know. Bandits hit us hard last season. Took everything—grain, coin, even the kids' shoes. We're barely holding on."
Zhan Tian nodded, his expression blank but his mind racing. Weakness was opportunity. The Ye Clan was a cracked vessel, leaking potential. He'd seal the cracks, fill it with strength, and wield it as his own. "You're alive," he said simply. "That's enough."
Ye Qing managed a weak smile, mistaking the words for kindness. "Aye, thanks to you. Come on, let's get inside before the wolves smell my blood."
The interior was no better. The main hall's roof gaped open to the sky, letting in a drizzle that pattered on cracked tiles. A handful of figures huddled around a pitiful fire—two women, an old man, and a pair of scrawny youths. Their eyes, hollow with hunger, snapped to Zhan Tian as he stepped inside. Suspicion warred with exhaustion in their gazes.
"Who's this?" a girl snapped, rising from the fire. She was young, maybe sixteen, with tangled black hair and a defiance that outshone her patched tunic. A rusty dagger hung at her hip, her hand hovering near it. "Another mouth to feed?"
"Easy, Ling," Ye Qing rasped, easing himself onto a stool. "This man saved me. Pulled me from a ditch after the bandits left me for dead. Says he's a wanderer. I owe him."
The girl—Ye Ling, Zhan Tian noted—narrowed her eyes. "We don't need charity cases. We've got enough trouble."
"Ling!" one of the women barked, her voice sharp despite her frail frame. She stood, brushing soot from her hands, and bowed stiffly to Zhan Tian. "Forgive her. She's protective. I'm Ye Hua, Qing's wife. You're welcome here, stranger. What's your name?"
"Lin Feng," Zhan Tian said, dipping his head. The lie rolled off his tongue easily. He'd shed the Lin Clan's chains, but the name was a useful mask for now. "I don't need much. A corner to sleep in, maybe some work. I'm no leech."
Ye Hua's tired face softened. "Work, we've got. Food's another matter. Sit. Warm yourself."
He took a spot by the fire, letting the heat seep into his aching mortal shell. The seal within him pulsed faintly, a reminder of the power locked away. He listened as the Ye Clan spoke—Ye Qing recounting the bandit attack, Ye Hua lamenting their lost stores, Ye Ling muttering about revenge. The youths, a boy and girl no older than twelve, stayed silent, their eyes darting between hunger and fear. Another figure emerged from the shadows—a cripple, his left leg twisted, leaning on a stick. Ye Chen, Ye Qing's son, judging by the resemblance. His gaze lingered on Zhan Tian, sharp despite his broken body.
"We're cursed," Ye Chen said abruptly, his voice low. "Three raids in a month. The Iron Fang Sect won't protect us—they say we're not worth the trouble. Bandits know it. We're meat waiting to be carved."
Zhan Tian met his stare, noting the spark of intelligence beneath the despair. "Curses can be broken," he said. "Takes more than talk, though."
Ye Chen snorted. "What, you gonna fight them off? You look half-dead yourself."
"Chen!" Ye Hua snapped, but Zhan Tian raised a hand.
"He's right to doubt," he said calmly. "I'm no hero. But I've seen worse than bandits. Survived it, too."
The room quieted, curiosity edging out hostility. Ye Qing leaned forward. "You've got a story, Lin Feng. Care to share?"
"Not much to tell," Zhan Tian lied. "Wandered from a bad place. Learned a few tricks along the way. If you'll have me, I'll help where I can."
Ye Qing exchanged a look with Ye Hua, then nodded. "Stay. We're not proud enough to turn away a willing hand."
That night, Zhan Tian lay on a straw mat in a corner of the hall, the drizzle tapping above him. The Ye Clan slept fitfully around him, their breaths ragged with hunger and worry. He didn't sleep. His mind turned inward, probing the seal. The fracture he'd felt since leaving the Lin Clan had widened—a hair's breadth, but enough to let a sliver of qi trickle free. He guided it through his meridians, slow and deliberate, strengthening this frail body. It wasn't much—not yet—but it was a start.
Dawn broke gray and cold. Ye Ling woke him with a kick to the ribs, her dagger glinting in the weak light. "Up, wanderer. If you're staying, you're working. We're checking the traps. Move."
Zhan Tian rose without complaint, following her into the misty woods beyond the estate. The traps—crude snares of twine and sticks—were empty, save for one that'd caught a half-starved rabbit. Ye Ling cursed, kicking a tree. "Barely enough for the kids. We're rotting out here."
He crouched by the snare, studying it. Primitive, weak. "You're hunting wrong," he said. "Too obvious. Predators smell desperation."
She glared. "Oh, and you're some master trapper now?"
"No," he said, standing. "But I know patterns. Animals. People. Same rules." He pulled a twig from the snare, bending it into a tighter loop. "Shift the angle. Hide the bait deeper. They'll come."
Ye Ling scoffed but watched as he adjusted the trap, her hands twitching to mimic him. "Fine. Prove it works, or I'll gut you myself."
By midday, the trap held a fat hare—enough to feed the clan for a day. Ye Ling stared at it, then at him, suspicion warring with grudging respect. "Luck," she muttered, but she didn't argue when he reset the others.
Back at the estate, Ye Hua cooked the hare, the scent drawing weak smiles from the youths. Ye Qing clapped Zhan Tian's shoulder. "You're a blessing, Lin Feng. Small, but real."
"Small's where it starts," Zhan Tian said, his tone neutral. Inside, he calculated. Food was a bandage. The Ye Clan needed more—defenses, resources, a spine. Bandits weren't the only threat. The Iron Fang Sect loomed, and beyond them, greater powers. He'd faced worse in his past life, but this mortal shell limited him. For now.
That afternoon, he wandered the estate's perimeter, mapping its weaknesses. The walls could be shored up with basic formations—nothing divine, just tricks he'd picked up in weaker realms. The woods offered herbs he could refine into crude pills. The Ye Clan had potential—Ye Ling's fire, Ye Chen's mind. He'd sharpen them, quietly, until they were weapons.
A shout broke his thoughts. Ye Ling sprinted from the gate, her face pale. "Bandits! Coming fast—ten, maybe more!"
Zhan Tian's pulse quickened—not with fear, but anticipation. He followed her to the courtyard, where Ye Qing rallied the clan. Ye Chen handed out sticks and rusted tools, his jaw tight. "They'll take what's left," he said. "We can't stop them."
"We'll try," Ye Qing growled, gripping a dented spear.
Zhan Tian stepped forward, his voice calm. "Give me a moment."
Ye Ling whirled on him. "A moment? They'll kill us!"
"Trust me," he said, already moving. He darted to the gate, grabbing a handful of stones from the rubble. His qi flared—barely a spark, but enough. He scratched simple runes into the stones, a child's version of a warding array he'd once used to trap gods. He scattered them along the approach, whispering a command. The air shimmered faintly, a barrier no mortal eye would catch.
The bandits arrived minutes later—grimy men with scarred faces and curved blades. Their leader, a hulking brute, laughed as he kicked the gate. "Open up, pigs! We're hungry!"
The first three charged—and froze mid-step, crashing to the ground as the array sapped their strength. The others hesitated, confusion rippling through them. Zhan Tian emerged, his frail frame unimposing. "Leave," he said. "Or fall."
The leader snarled, swinging his blade. Zhan Tian sidestepped, tripping him with a flick of his foot. The man hit the dirt, and Ye Ling pounced, dagger at his throat. The rest fled, dragging their stunned kin.
Ye Qing stared at Zhan Tian, awe in his eyes. "How…?"
"Luck," Zhan Tian said, turning away. Inside, he smiled. The seed was planted. The Ye Clan would grow.