The Ye Clan's courtyard buzzed with a rare energy the morning after the bandit raid. The fire crackled higher, fed by scavenged wood from the broken gate, and the scent of boiled hare lingered in the air. Ye Qing paced, his weathered hands trembling—not with fear now, but with a flicker of hope. Ye Hua knelt by the pot, rationing the meat into meager bowls, while the two youngest clung to her skirts, wide-eyed and whispering about the stranger who'd turned back the wolves. Ye Ling sharpened her dagger with furious strokes, her gaze flicking to Zhan Tian—Lin Feng, as they knew him—where he sat against a crumbling wall, seemingly idle.
Inside, Zhan Tian's mind churned like a storm over the celestial seas. The bandits had been a test, a pebble tossed into the pond of his plans. The array he'd scratched into those stones was a trifle, a shadow of the formations he'd once woven to bind divine beasts. Yet it had worked—crude, but effective. The Ye Clan's awe was a tool, their trust a thread he'd weave into loyalty. The seal within him pulsed, its fracture widening a fraction more with each use of his qi. He was still a god shackled, but the chains were rusting.
Ye Chen hobbled over, his stick tapping the tiles. His sharp eyes studied Zhan Tian, lingering on the faint calluses of his hands—too precise for a mere wanderer. "That wasn't luck," he said, voice low. "Those men dropped like flies. What did you do?"
Zhan Tian met his gaze, his expression bland. "Threw some rocks. Got lucky with where they landed."
"Rocks don't do that," Ye Chen pressed, leaning closer. "I saw them stumble before they hit the ground. Like something grabbed their legs."
"Clever," Zhan Tian thought, suppressing a smirk. Ye Chen's mind was a blade dulled by circumstance, but it could be honed. Aloud, he said, "Maybe they tripped. Fear does strange things."
Ye Chen frowned, unconvinced, but Ye Qing's shout cut the tension. "Enough chatter! Lin Feng, you've earned your keep. What else can you do for us?"
Zhan Tian stood, brushing dust from his patched tunic. "Fix what's broken. Walls, traps, whatever you need. I'm no warrior, but I'm not useless."
Ye Ling snorted, sheathing her dagger. "Not useless? High praise from the man who scared off ten bandits with 'rocks.' Let's see if you're all talk."
"Test me, then," Zhan Tian said, his tone mild but his eyes glinting. A challenge accepted was a chance to prove without revealing.
She led him to the estate's western wall, a stretch of stone so crumbled it barely reached his waist. "Bandits come through here every time. Fix it, oh mighty wanderer."
He nodded, crouching to inspect the rubble. The wall was a ruin, but its bones were solid—old masonry from a prouder era. With time and qi, he could turn it into a fortress. For now, he'd settle for a trick. He traced a finger along a cracked stone, channeling a thread of qi into a basic reinforcement rune. It wouldn't hold against a sect elder, but bandits? More than enough.
"Help me stack these," he said, lifting a slab. Ye Ling hesitated, then joined him, her strength surprising for her wiry frame. They worked in silence, the wall rising block by block. By midday, it stood chest-high, rough but sturdy. Zhan Tian stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow—a mortal act to sell the lie.
Ye Ling kicked the base, testing it. The stone didn't budge. "Huh. Not bad. Maybe you're worth something."
"Small steps," he said, turning away. Inside, he calculated: the rune would hold for weeks, maybe months. Time to build more.
That afternoon, he roamed the woods with Ye Chen, gathering herbs under the guise of foraging. The cripple's limp slowed them, but his memory was sharp—he pointed out patches of wild ginseng and bitterroot, plants Zhan Tian recognized from his past life. With refinement, they could bolster the clan's health, maybe even spark a weak cultivation base in the stronger ones. He pocketed a few, his qi probing their properties. Crude, but usable.
"You know plants," Ye Chen said, watching him. "More than a wanderer should."
"Picked it up somewhere," Zhan Tian replied, deflecting. "You know this land better than most. That's worth more."
Ye Chen grunted, but a flicker of pride crossed his face. Another thread tied.
Dusk brought trouble. Hooves thundered on the dirt road, and Ye Ling sprinted into the courtyard, her dagger drawn. "Riders! Three of them—Lin Clan colors!"
Zhan Tian's pulse quickened—not with fear, but anticipation. The Lin Clan, already sniffing after him? Faster than he'd expected. He followed Ye Qing to the gate, where three figures dismounted—Lin Hao at the lead, flanked by two burly guards in faded red robes. His silk tunic gleamed, a gaudy contrast to the Ye Clan's rags, and a sneer twisted his lips as he surveyed the estate.
"Well, well," Lin Hao called, his voice loud enough to carry. "The trash found a new sty to wallow in. Ye Clan, huh? Fitting for a dog like you, Lin Feng."
Ye Qing bristled, gripping his spear. "He's our guest. State your business or leave."
Lin Hao laughed, stepping closer. "Business? I'm here to see how low my sister's ex can sink. Divorced and crawling to a clan of beggars? Pathetic." His guards chuckled, hands on their swords.
Zhan Tian emerged from the shadows, his frail frame unthreatening but his eyes cold. "You've seen me. Go back to your feast, Lin Hao. This place isn't worth your boots."
Lin Hao's grin widened. "Oh, I think it is. The Iron Fang Sect's new disciple deserves a little fun. Maybe I'll burn this dump down, teach you rats your place." He snapped his fingers, and the guards drew their blades, advancing.
Ye Ling lunged, dagger flashing, but Zhan Tian caught her wrist. "Wait," he murmured, then stepped forward. "You want fun? Try me."
Lin Hao blinked, then roared with laughter. "You? I'll break you again, trash!" He swung a fist, qi rippling faintly—a novice's trick, barely worth noticing.
Zhan Tian sidestepped, his movements slow to the untrained eye but precise as a god's. He tapped Lin Hao's elbow, redirecting the blow into the dirt. Lin Hao stumbled, face-planting with a grunt. The guards froze, stunned, as the Ye Clan gasped.
"Clumsy," Zhan Tian said, voice flat. "Sect training not sticking?"
Lin Hao scrambled up, his face red with fury. "You—!" He charged again, qi flaring brighter. This time, Zhan Tian let a sliver of his own qi leak—barely a breath, enough to nudge Lin Hao's balance. The boy tripped over his own feet, crashing into a guard and sending both sprawling.
The courtyard erupted—Ye Ling's sharp laugh, Ye Qing's shout of disbelief, the guards' curses as they disentangled themselves. Lin Hao staggered to his feet, spitting dirt. "This isn't over, you worm! The Lin Clan will hear of this!"
"Tell them," Zhan Tian said, turning away. "Tell them Lin Feng says hello."
Lin Hao mounted his horse, his guards scrambling after him. "You'll regret this! All of you!" The trio galloped off, dust trailing their retreat.
Ye Qing clapped Zhan Tian's shoulder, grinning. "You've got guts, lad. Didn't think you had it in you."
Ye Ling sheathed her dagger, smirking. "Not bad. Still think you're hiding something, though."
"Think what you want," Zhan Tian said, walking back to the fire. Inside, he savored the moment—Lin Hao's humiliation was a pebble in the avalanche to come. The Lin Clan would stew, and he'd use their anger to sharpen the Ye Clan's edge.
That night, he sat alone by the wall, tracing the rune he'd carved. The seal within him thrummed, its fracture spiderwebbing further. Lin Hao's qi, weak as it was, had stirred something—a resonance, a memory of battle. He closed his eyes, guiding the trickle of qi through his meridians, strengthening his bones, his blood. This body was a cage, but he'd forge it into a weapon.
Ye Chen joined him, silent for a moment. "You're no wanderer," he said finally. "Not with moves like that."
Zhan Tian opened one eye. "And you're no cripple, not in your head. We're both more than we seem."
Ye Chen stared, then nodded slowly. "Fair enough. Just… don't drag us into something we can't handle."
"Too late for that," Zhan Tian thought, but he said, "I'll keep you standing. That's all you need to know."
The cripple hobbled off, leaving Zhan Tian to the night. The Ye Clan was a spark—fragile, flickering. He'd fan it into a flame, then a inferno. Lin Hao's visit was a gift, a crack in the world's complacency. Soon, they'd all see what a god could do with a handful of outcasts.
The Shadow Patriarch's roots were sinking deeper.