The Ye Clan estate basked in a fleeting calm the morning after Goru's defeat. Sunlight filtered through the patched roof of the main hall, casting dappled gold on the tiles where Ye Hua swept away the last of the night's dust. Ye Qing sharpened his spear with renewed vigor, the clink of stone on metal a steady heartbeat. Ye Ling prowled the courtyard, testing the new stakes Zhan Tian had helped carve, her dagger flashing as she sliced at imaginary foes. Ye Chen sat by the fire, sketching arrays with a charred stick, his crippled leg stretched out but his mind alight. The young ones, Ye Mei and Ye Jun, darted between chores, their laughter a rare sound in the once-silent ruin.
Zhan Tian leaned against the western wall, his muddy-brown eyes tracing the horizon. The Black Claw's rout had been a victory, but victories, he knew, bred enemies. The seal within him thrummed, its fracture a jagged scar leaking golden qi into his meridians. Goru's crude cultivation had sparked it—a mortal's spark against a god's ember. The power was a river now, pressing against its dam. He flexed his hand, feeling the strength seep into his bones. Not enough to reclaim his past glory, but enough to crush ants—and ants were gathering.
Ye Chen's voice broke his reverie. "You're staring again," he said, hobbling over with his stick. "What's out there?"
"Trouble," Zhan Tian replied, his tone even. "Goru ran. He'll talk. Others will listen."
Ye Chen frowned, his sharp mind turning. "The Black Claw's not done, then. And the Lin Clan—your old family—they'll hear too."
"They'll do more than hear," Zhan Tian said, turning to him. "They'll come. Soon."
Ye Chen's eyes narrowed. "You're not scared. You want them to."
Zhan Tian's lips twitched—a flicker of the god beneath the mask. "Scared's for the weak. I want them to try."
Before Ye Chen could dig deeper, Ye Ling's shout rang out. "Dust on the road! Riders—Lin Clan banners!"
The clan snapped to life. Ye Qing grabbed his spear, Ye Hua ushered the kids inside, and Ye Ling sprinted to the gate, her dagger drawn. Zhan Tian followed, his pulse quickening—not with fear, but with the thrill of a game unfolding. The Lin Clan's pride was a brittle thing, and he'd cracked it. Now they'd come to mend it with blood.
Five riders crested the hill, their red-and-gold banners snapping in the wind. Lin Hao led them, his silk robes pristine, his face a mask of fury. Beside him rode a lean man in Iron Fang Sect gray, his qi a faint ripple—stronger than Lin Hao's, a mid-tier disciple at least. Three guards flanked them, their swords gleaming. They reined in before the gate, Lin Hao's sneer cutting through the silence.
"Well, trash," he called, his voice dripping venom. "Hiding with rats didn't save you. I told you I'd be back."
Ye Qing stepped forward, spear leveled. "This is Ye land. Leave, or we'll make you."
Lin Hao laughed, sharp and cruel. "You? A washed-up old man and a pack of beggars? This is Jin Tao, Iron Fang Sect's enforcer. He's here to see your little rebellion end." The lean man—Jin Tao—dismounted, his cold eyes sweeping the estate. His qi pulsed, a solid wave that pressed the air. Core Formation, early stage. Weak by Zhan Tian's old standards, but a threat to mortals.
Jin Tao spoke, his voice smooth as oil. "The Lin Clan's paid us to clean up. You've got one chance—hand over the wanderer, and we might leave your hovel standing."
Zhan Tian emerged from the gate, his frail frame unbowed. "Me? I'm flattered. Didn't think I'd live in your head, Lin Hao."
Lin Hao's face twisted. "Shut it, dog! You humiliated me—me, an Iron Fang disciple! You'll crawl before I'm done!"
Ye Ling bristled, stepping beside Zhan Tian. "Try it, silk-boy. We'll carve you up first."
Jin Tao raised a hand, silencing Lin Hao's retort. "Enough talk. Step forward, wanderer, or we burn it all."
Zhan Tian smiled—a cold, fleeting thing. "Burn it? You'll have to get past me."
Jin Tao's eyes narrowed, sensing something off. "Bold for a beggar. Let's see if you bleed like one." He drew a short sword, its edge glinting, and lunged—fast, precise, a cultivator's strike.
Zhan Tian moved—slow to their eyes, a blur to his own. His qi flared, a river breaking its banks. He sidestepped, tapping Jin Tao's wrist with a finger. The sword veered, slicing air, and Jin Tao stumbled, shock flashing across his face. Zhan Tian pressed forward, palming a runed stone from his sleeve. He flicked it at Jin Tao's feet, and the air shimmered—a ward snapping into place. The enforcer's legs buckled, his qi faltering as the array drained him.
Lin Hao gaped. "What—?"
Zhan Tian didn't wait. He darted past Jin Tao, closing on Lin Hao. The boy swung a clumsy fist, qi flaring weakly. Zhan Tian caught it, twisting until Lin Hao yelped, dropping to his knees. "Still sloppy," he said, voice low. "Sect training's wasted on you."
The guards charged, swords raised. Ye Ling met one, her dagger clashing with steel, while Ye Qing speared another through the thigh. Ye Chen's sling cracked the third's skull, dropping him cold. Zhan Tian released Lin Hao, spinning to face Jin Tao as the enforcer recovered, sword slashing in a furious arc.
The seal within Zhan Tian screamed, its fracture splitting wide. Golden qi flooded his meridians, searing his mortal flesh. He caught the blade bare-handed—qi hardening his skin—and twisted, snapping it in two. Jin Tao staggered back, eyes wide. "You're… no mortal!"
"Wrong," Zhan Tian said, stepping closer. "Just better." He slammed a palm into Jin Tao's chest, qi pulsing—a muted echo of his past strikes. The enforcer flew back, crashing into a tree, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Lin Hao scrambled to his horse, his guards retreating with him. "You're dead, Lin Feng! The Lin Clan—the sect—they'll crush you!" His voice cracked as he spurred away, dust trailing his flight.
The Ye Clan erupted—Ye Ling's wild laugh, Ye Qing's triumphant shout, Ye Chen's stunned silence. Zhan Tian turned back, reining in the golden light before it betrayed him fully. His hand stung, blood trickling from where the blade had grazed—a reminder of this body's limits.
Ye Qing clapped his shoulder, grinning. "You're a storm, lad! Sent 'em running twice now!"
Ye Ling sheathed her dagger, smirking. "Silk-boy pissed himself. Worth seeing."
Ye Chen hobbled over, his gaze piercing. "That was no trick. You broke a cultivator's sword—with your hand."
Zhan Tian shrugged, wiping the blood on his tunic. "He was weak. I got lucky."
"Lucky my ass," Ye Ling muttered, but her eyes gleamed with respect.
That night, the clan gathered around the fire, their spirits high despite the threat looming. Ye Hua pressed broth into Zhan Tian's hands, her voice soft. "You're our shield, Lin Feng. I don't know where you came from, but I'm glad you're here."
"Shields hold," he said, sipping the broth. "We'll need more than that soon."
Ye Ling sat beside him, her tone low. "Jin Tao called you no mortal. He's right, isn't he?"
Zhan Tian met her stare, unyielding. "Mortal enough to bleed. Strong enough to win. That's what matters."
She grinned. "Keep winning, and I won't care what you are."
Later, alone by the gate, Zhan Tian traced the array's fading runes. The seal's fracture glowed in his mind, a golden river straining to break free. Jin Tao's qi had pushed it—mid-tier cultivation brushing a god's soul. He closed his eyes, guiding the power deeper, strengthening his meridians. Pain lanced through him, but he welcomed it—a forge tempering his cage into a blade.
A rustle drew his attention. Ye Chen stood there, stick in hand. "You're building something," he said. "Not just walls. Us."
Zhan Tian opened his eyes. "You're part of it. Think you can keep up?"
Ye Chen smirked, a rare spark in his gaze. "Try me."
The cripple limped off, leaving Zhan Tian to the night. The Lin Clan's wrath was a storm brewing, and the Iron Fang Sect loomed behind it. Tian Xu's betrayal was a distant echo, but its rhythm drove him. The Ye Clan was a blade now—sharper, stronger. He'd wield it to cut through the ants, the wolves, and eventually the heavens.