The Ye Clan estate hummed with a fragile vitality as the sun climbed over the jagged hills. Ye Ling's new traps—guided by Zhan Tian's subtle tweaks—had snared two rabbits and a wild pheasant, their meat simmering in a pot that Ye Hua tended with a rare smile. Ye Chen scratched designs into a slab of bark, refining the wall runes Zhan Tian had shown them, his crippled leg forgotten in his focus. Ye Qing and the young ones hauled stones, stacking them along the western wall with a rhythm born of purpose. For the first time in months, the air carried hope instead of despair.
Zhan Tian stood apart, leaning against the gatepost, his muddy-brown eyes scanning the woods. The Black Claw's retreat yesterday had been a bruise to their pride, and pride, he knew, demanded blood. Inside, his divine soul thrummed, the seal's fracture spiderwebbing further with each pulse of qi he'd wrested free. The herbs, the fights, the runes—all were chisels chipping at his cage. He could feel it now—a river of power, dammed but straining. Soon, it would flood.
Ye Ling approached, wiping sweat from her brow. "You're brooding again," she said, her dagger twirling in her hand. "What's got you staring like that?"
"Waiting," he replied, his voice low. "They'll come again. Bigger this time."
She smirked. "Let 'em. I'll gut twice as many with these traps."
"Traps won't be enough," he said, turning to her. "They'll bring numbers. We need more than rabbits."
Her smirk faded. "You've got a plan, don't you? Spill it."
"Later," he said, nodding toward Ye Qing. "Gather them. We'll talk."
The clan assembled in the courtyard, their faces a mix of trust and wariness. Ye Qing leaned on his spear, Ye Hua cradled a bowl of broth, and Ye Chen sat with his bark sketch, his sharp gaze locked on Zhan Tian. The young ones—Ye Mei and Ye Jun—huddled close, their eyes wide.
"Bandits won't stop," Zhan Tian began, his tone steady. "The Black Claw's licking their wounds, but they'll hit harder next time. We need defenses—real ones. Walls stronger, weapons sharper, and a way to make them fear us."
Ye Qing frowned. "We've got no steel, no coin. What can we do?"
"Use what's here," Zhan Tian said. "Wood, stone, the land. I'll show you how."
Ye Chen tapped his stick. "Those runes again? They're not just tricks, are they? I've been thinking—patterns like that, they're old. Sect stuff."
Zhan Tian met his stare, unyielding. "Call it what you want. They work. That's what matters."
"Fair," Ye Chen said, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Show us."
The day blurred into labor. Zhan Tian guided Ye Ling to carve wooden stakes, hardening them with a faint qi infusion he masked as "seasoning." Ye Chen etched runes into the walls, his precision surprising for a novice. Ye Qing and the kids gathered stones, piling them into crude barricades. By noon, the estate's perimeter bristled—a patchwork fortress, rough but defiant.
Zhan Tian worked alone at dusk, reinforcing the gate with a layered array. His qi flowed freer now, a steady stream he wove into the stones. The seal cracked wider, a golden thread bleeding into his meridians. Pain flared—mortal flesh buckling under divine weight—but he gritted his teeth, pushing it deeper. His hands trembled, not from weakness, but from the echo of Heaven's Fang in his grip, a memory of power he'd reclaim.
A shout shattered his focus. Ye Jun, the younger boy, stumbled from the woods, his face pale. "Men! Coming fast—lots of 'em!"
Zhan Tian rose, his qi snapping back into hiding. "How many?"
"Twenty, maybe more!" Ye Jun gasped. "Big guy leading—huge axe!"
The Black Claw. Zhan Tian's lips twitched—a test worth taking. "Get inside," he told Ye Jun. "Tell them to hold the gate."
The clan scrambled as the ground trembled with approaching boots. Ye Qing gripped his spear, Ye Ling flanked him with her dagger, and Ye Chen braced behind a barricade, a sling in his good hand. Ye Hua herded the kids into the hall, her face tight with fear.
Zhan Tian stepped to the gate, alone. The bandits emerged from the trees—a swarm of scarred faces, rusted blades, and cruel grins. Their leader towered over them, a mountain of muscle with a double-headed axe slung over his shoulder. His voice boomed, shaking the air. "Ye dogs! You think you can slap my boys and walk away? I'm Goru, Black Claw's fist. This dump burns tonight!"
Ye Qing shouted back, "Leave, or we'll bury you!"
Goru laughed, hefting his axe. "Bury me? With what? That cripple's stick?" He waved a hand, and the bandits charged, a wave of steel and fury.
Zhan Tian raised a hand. "Wait," he murmured to the Ye Clan, then stepped forward. His qi flared—still a trickle, but sharper now. He tossed a handful of runed stones, scattering them in an arc. The air shimmered, and the first wave of bandits stumbled, their legs buckling as the ward drained their stamina. Five fell, groaning, but Goru roared through, axe swinging.
"You!" Goru bellowed, locking eyes with Zhan Tian. "You're the ghost, huh? I'll split you first!"
The axe descended, a blur of death. Zhan Tian shifted—slow to mortal eyes, a dance to his own. He ducked, the blade grazing his shoulder, tearing cloth but not flesh. His hand snapped out, tapping Goru's wrist with a pulse of qi. The giant's arm jerked, the axe veering into the dirt. Goru stumbled, shock flashing across his face.
"Sloppy," Zhan Tian said, stepping back. "Big doesn't mean strong."
Goru roared, wrenching his axe free and swinging wide. Zhan Tian wove through the strikes, his frail frame a phantom. He palmed a stone, flicking it into Goru's knee—a crack echoed, and the giant staggered, cursing. The Ye Clan watched, stunned, as their "wanderer" toyed with a monster.
The bandits rallied, pressing the gate. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger slashing a throat before retreating. Ye Chen's sling cracked skulls, precise despite his limp. Ye Qing speared a man through the gut, his old strength flaring. But the numbers pressed—ten still stood, hammering the barricades.
Zhan Tian saw the tide turning. Time to shift it. He leapt onto the wall, his qi surging—a river now, not a stream. The seal screamed, its fracture splitting wide, golden light flooding his soul. Pain seared his meridians, but he channeled it, slamming his palm into the gate. The array flared, a pulse of force rippling outward. Bandits flew back, crashing into trees, their screams swallowed by the wind.
Goru roared, charging through the chaos. "Die, you freak!" His axe arced high, qi rippling faintly—a crude cultivation trick.
Zhan Tian met it head-on. His hand caught the haft mid-swing, qi locking his grip like iron. He twisted, wrenching the axe free and hurling it into the woods. Goru lunged, fists flying, but Zhan Tian ducked, slamming a palm into the giant's chest. A muted crack—ribs snapping—and Goru crumpled, gasping.
The remaining bandits froze, then fled, abandoning their fallen. Ye Ling whooped, Ye Qing laughed, and Ye Chen stared, sling slack in his hand. Zhan Tian stepped back, his breath steady despite the fire in his veins. The seal pulsed, its golden light fading as he reined it in.
Goru coughed blood, glaring up. "You're… no wanderer. Who are you?"
"Lin Feng," Zhan Tian said, turning away. "That's all you need to know."
The Ye Clan swarmed him as Goru crawled off, defeated. Ye Qing gripped his shoulder. "You're a damn storm, lad! Where'd that come from?"
"Practice," Zhan Tian said, deflecting. "We held. That's what counts."
Ye Ling grinned, wiping blood from her dagger. "You're insane. I like it."
Ye Chen limped closer, his gaze piercing. "That wasn't practice. That was power. Real power."
Zhan Tian shrugged. "Call it what you want. It's yours to use now."
That night, the clan feasted on bandit spoils—meat, bread, a jug of sour wine. Ye Hua pressed food into Zhan Tian's hands, tears in her eyes. "You're our backbone, Lin Feng. We'd be ash without you."
"Backbones grow," he said, taking a sip. Inside, he savored the breakthrough. The seal was weakening, his qi a tide he could ride. Goru's defeat was a pebble—the Lin Clan, the Black Claw, Tian Xu—they'd all feel the avalanche.
Ye Ling sat beside him, her voice low. "You're still hiding. I saw that glow—don't lie about fireflies again."
He met her stare, unyielding. "You want truth? Earn it. Fight with me, and you'll see."
She smirked. "Deal."
Later, alone by the gate, Zhan Tian traced the array's fading runes. The seal's fracture glowed in his mind, a promise of what was coming. The Ye Clan was a blade now—rough, unpolished, but sharp enough to cut. He'd forge it stronger, wield it against the world.