The Ye Clan's courtyard lay hushed under a dawn cloaked in ash-gray mist, the air thick with the ghost of last night's growls—too vast, too many, a chorus of hunger that set the valley's pulse racing. Lin Feng stood at the gate, its stakes freshly sharpened, his muddy-brown eyes cutting through the fog to the woods beyond. The seal within roared, its fracture a molten chasm spilling golden qi into his core, forging this frail frame with every heartbeat. Zhan Tian's divine soul stirred, a god's instinct sensing a deeper pulse beneath the earth—something ancient, tethered to his prison, waking now.
Ye Ling prowled nearby, her rusty dagger scraping a twig into a point, her braid tucked tight to silence its swing. Her sharp eyes flicked to the trees, catching a faint rustle. "Those shadows," she said, voice low, barely louder than the wind. "They're not gone. Watching us."
"Shadowfang Wolves," Lin Feng replied, his tone a quiet blade. "Spirit beasts. The valley's stirring—because of us."
Ye Chen limped up, his ward-etched pebble clutched in one hand, sling dangling from his belt. His gaze, keen as a hawk's, traced the gate's wards, then settled on Lin Feng. "You're too calm," he said, blunt. "Beasts like that don't just circle. What's out there?"
"Roots," Lin Feng said, stepping toward the woods. "We dig them out. Now."
Ye Ling's dagger flashed, a smirk curling her lips. "Hunting monsters? I'm in."
Ye Chen hesitated, his twisted leg shifting, but his eyes burned with resolve. "Better than waiting," he muttered, falling in step.
Lin Feng led them past the gate, the Ye Clan's fire a fading ember behind. Ye Qing stood guard, his spear a steady line as Ye Hua drilled Ye Jun and Ye Mei with sticks—small hands clumsy but fierce. The woods loomed, their pines twisted like skeletal fingers, mist weaving a shroud that dulled sound to a whisper. Lin Feng's qi flared—a spark of Heaven's Pulse Sense from Goru's fights—mapping the air. Tracks scarred the dirt: claw marks, broad and deep, laced with qi sharper than a blade's edge. Five wolves, maybe six. Shadowfang Wolves, Body Tempering 4—pack hunters, drawn by blood or power.
He knelt, fingers brushing a print, the seal twitching in rhythm with a buried hum—a ruin, not far, its qi pulsing like a second heart. "West," he said, rising. "Stay close."
Ye Ling's stance lowered, her dagger ready, echoing Heaven's Anchor Form he'd drilled into her. "What's west? More graves?"
"Secrets," Lin Feng said, moving forward. Ye Chen matched pace, his sling swaying, pebble clutched like a talisman. The woods thickened, vines snagging their tattered robes, branches clawing at their skin. A ravine opened—a jagged gash in the earth, cradling a stone arch half-sunk in moss and shadow. Runes glowed faintly on its surface, their jagged curves mirroring the seal's fracture. A qi-rich herb—Starveil Root—sprouted at its base, silver leaves trembling, but a deeper pulse throbbed below: a chamber, sealed, alive with intent.
Lin Feng froze, Pulse Sense catching crimson glints—six pairs, circling the ravine. "Down," he hissed, shoving Ye Ling and Ye Chen behind a crumbling pillar. Six wolves emerged, their fur black as void, qi sparking in their fangs—Shadowfang Wolves, lean and lethal, Body Tempering 4. Their alpha loomed larger, Body Tempering 5, its eyes locked on Lin Feng, drawn to the seal's golden thrum.
He palmed a rune-stone from Goru's fights, the seal's fracture splitting wider—pain lanced his chest, a fire he swallowed. A new skill flickered: Heaven's Veil, a qi shield from his godly days, now a faint shimmer. "Stay back," he said, stepping into the open. He tossed the stone, qi flaring—the ground trembled, a ward tripping two wolves into a snarl, their paws skidding on loose earth.
Ye Ling lunged, her dagger slashing a wolf's flank, drawing a red line before a snap forced her back, her breath sharp. Ye Chen's sling whistled, a stone cracking a wolf's ribs with a dull crunch, felling it with a whine. Lin Feng moved, Heaven's Veil flickering—a thin barrier deflecting a claw that grazed his shoulder, tearing cloth but sparing flesh. He countered with a palm, qi-focused, snapping a wolf's leg. It crumpled, yelping.
The alpha roared, charging, its qi a crude storm—stronger than Goru's, wilder. Lin Feng's Pulse Sense mapped its arc—he ducked, Veil absorbing a fang's graze, then slammed a fist into its chest, Heaven's Anchor Strike cracking ribs with a muffled snap. The beast staggered, eyes dimming, but the pack pressed, jaws flashing. Ye Ling danced through, her dagger claiming a wolf's throat, blood spraying as she spun clear. Ye Chen's stone downed another, its skull splitting, while Lin Feng's Veil shielded Ye Ling from a lunge, his kick shattering the attacker's jaw.
The alpha rallied, limping but fierce, its snarl shaking the ravine. Lin Feng met its gaze, qi surging—the seal screamed, pain threading strength into his bones. He darted forward, Anchor Strike hammering the alpha's skull—a wet crack—and it collapsed, lifeless. The last wolf fled, tail low, vanishing into the mist.
Ye Ling panted, blood streaking her arm, her grin wild but strained. "You're a damn storm," she said, wiping her dagger. "That shield—new trick?"
"Old one," Lin Feng said, flexing his hand, the seal's burn fading. "You're sharper today."
Ye Chen retrieved his stone, his gaze steady but probing. "Those runes, that glow—same as the gate. You're tied to this place."
Lin Feng knelt by the arch, ignoring the question. The runes pulsed, syncing with the seal—a memory sparked: a cloaked figure, eyes like molten jade, whispering, "Tian Xu bound you, Yan Huo broke you." A name, a shadow tied to his betrayal, stirring stakes beyond the valley. His jaw tightened, the vision fading like smoke.
"Take these," he said, plucking Starveil Roots—three silver stalks, their qi warm as embers. He tossed one to Ye Ling, one to Ye Chen. "Chew slow. It'll wake your core."
Ye Ling bit hers, grimacing at the bitter tang. "Like chewing nails," she muttered, but her eyes flickered—a faint qi pulse stirring in her veins, raw but alive.
Ye Chen chewed deliberately, his breath deepening. "Feels… heavy," he said, a spark kindling behind his gaze. "Like I'm seeing through fog."
"Hold it," Lin Feng said, pocketing the third root. The arch's runes glowed brighter, a slab shifting to reveal steps descending into shadow—a chamber, its air thick with qi, humming like a distant storm. "We'll dig deeper later. Clan first."
A cry pierced the quiet—Ye Jun's voice, shrill, from the estate. Lin Feng's Pulse Sense flared—boots, light but hurried, darting east. "Move," he said, sprinting through the woods, Ye Ling and Ye Chen scrambling after, their breaths ragged but fierce. The courtyard burst into view: Ye Qing's spear raised, Ye Hua clutching Ye Mei, Ye Jun pointing at the gate, his small face flushed.
"Blue robes!" Ye Jun gasped, clutching a stick. "Slipped into the trees—saw 'em!"
Lin Feng's blood ran cold—Lin Clan colors, per the scroll from days ago. The deadline loomed, maybe hours away. "Traps," he said, voice steel. "Double them."
Ye Ling darted to the woods, weaving thorns into snares, her dagger a blur as she sharpened stakes. Ye Chen knelt by the gate, carving wards with bold strokes, the air humming faintly, his twisted leg forgotten in focus. Ye Qing rallied Ye Jun and Ye Mei to haul branches, piling them into a jagged choke at the gate's base. Lin Feng worked alone, etching a deeper array into a stone slab—qi lines no mortal could see, a net for the bold. The seal pulsed, pain spiking through his temples, but he pressed on, sweat beading his brow.
Midday brought a shift—smoke curled on the wind, not from Ye Clan's fire but farther west, a thin plume rising like a serpent's spine. Ye Ling sprinted back, her face taut, dagger drawn. "Fire's no accident," she said, panting. "Too neat—someone's signaling."
"Lin Clan," Lin Feng said, his gaze distant, Pulse Sense stretching thin. "Or worse."
Ye Qing thumped his spear, his grizzled face hard. "We're ready, lad. Thanks to you."
"Not enough," Lin Feng said, turning to the clan. "Gate's our spine—hold it. I'll break their front."
Ye Chen's eyes narrowed, his pebble rolling in his palm. "You always take the lead. Why?"
"It works," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Get to it."
The clan scattered with purpose—Ye Hua herded the kids inside, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands, while Ye Qing braced at the gate, spear gleaming. Ye Ling flanked him, her stance low, dagger ready, while Ye Chen crouched behind the choke, sling loaded with rune-etched stones.
Lin Feng stepped to the woods' edge, alone, his qi a quiet tide. Pulse Sense caught a flicker—blue silk, a figure darting between pines, scroll clutched tight. A Lin Clan scout, not fleeing but watching, closer than Ye Jun's cry. The seal thrummed, urging action, but Lin Feng held still, a hunter's patience coiling beneath his skin.
The scout stepped into a clearing, unaware, his robes too bright for stealth—a young man, barely past twenty, his face sharp with arrogance. He unrolled the scroll, muttering, voice carrying on the breeze. "Wanderer's here—Ye rats too. Hao was right, they're—"
Lin Feng moved, silent as a wraith, closing the gap in four strides. He palmed a stone, flicking it—a qi spark sent it cracking into the scout's ankle. The man yelped, tumbling into the brush, scroll flying. Lin Feng loomed over him, frail but towering, his voice a low growl. "Finish that thought."
The scout scrambled back, eyes wide, darting to Ye Ling's shadow as she emerged, dagger glinting. "You're him," he stammered, clutching his leg. "Lin Feng—Hao's dog! The clan's coming—tomorrow, dawn! You're dead, all of you—"
Lin Feng crouched, snatching the scroll. Its wax seal bore the Lin Clan's crane, the parchment heavy with ink—terms, threats, a map marking the Ye estate. His lips twitched, a cold smirk. "They're late," he said, tossing the stone up, catching it. "Run back. Tell Hao I'm waiting."
The scout bolted, limping into the trees, leaving snapped twigs in his wake. Ye Ling laughed, sharp and wild, spinning her dagger. "He pissed himself—worth the hike."
"Won't laugh tomorrow," Lin Feng said, scanning the scroll. Names, numbers—ten men, maybe more, led by an elder. Body Tempering 6, likely. The seal stirred, eager, but his frame ached—too frail for a full storm yet.
They trekked back, the estate's fire a beacon through the dusk. Ye Qing greeted them, his spear lowered, relief raw. "Trouble?"
"Always," Lin Feng said, handing him the scroll. "Lin Clan's dawn. We hold."
Ye Hua pressed bowls into their hands, stew thin but warm, her gray eyes fierce. "You're our fire," she said, gripping Lin Feng's arm. "We stand with you."
"Fire spreads," he said, sipping. Ye Jun babbled about the scout, Ye Mei clutching his sleeve, their small faces lit with trust. Ye Ling sat close, chewing the last of her root, her qi flicker brighter now—a spark nearing flame.
"Teach me that punch," she said, nudging him, her tone half-demand, half-plea. "The one that dropped the wolf."
"Tomorrow," Lin Feng said, meeting her gaze, steady as rock. "If we're breathing."
Ye Chen watched, silent, his pebble rolling in his palm—a quiet blade sharpening. The clan's fire crackled, shadows dancing on the walls, but the woods beyond grew still—too still.
Lin Feng rose, climbing the western wall, Pulse Sense stretching to its limit. The ravine's runes pulsed in his mind, a distant hum, but closer—eyes gleamed, crimson, not wolves'. A shadow moved, taller, cloaked, its qi a whisper of frost. Not Lin Clan, not Black Claw. The seal roared, a warning, as the figure vanished, leaving only a low, guttural chant—half-spoken, half-sung, cut off by the night's weight.
"Yan Huo's awake," it hissed, mid-breath, then—