The Lin Clan's manor loomed over a coastal cliff, its blackwood gates carved with cranes soaring through storm clouds, kissed by the salt-heavy wind of the Azure Sea. Lanterns swayed in the night breeze, casting amber glows across tiled roofs and silk-draped halls, where qi hummed faintly in defensive arrays. Inside the central pavilion, Elder Lin Tao knelt on a jade mat, his beard streaked gray, ribs bandaged from Lin Feng's blow days ago. His qi—Body Tempering 6, dimmed by pain—flickered like a guttering flame. Before him stood Lin Hao, face bruised, wrist splinted, his Body Tempering 4 qi a restless spark, shame burning hotter than his glare. A lacquered table held a cracked scroll—Iron Fang's curt refusal, blood-flecked silk, and a map marking Ye Clan's valley, red ink circling the ravine.
Patriarch Lin Wei loomed at the table's head, his silk robes deep blue, qi at Foundation Establishment 2—a steady tide, sharp as the sea's edge. His eyes, cold as slate, fixed on Tao, voice a low whip. "You knelt to a wanderer," he said, fingers tracing the map. "Hao's wrist, Gao Ran's ribs, Deng Kao's axe—all broken. Explain."
Tao's head bowed, sweat beading despite the chill. "Patriarch, Lin Feng's no stray—glows golden, qi like a core waking. Body Tempering 3 now, maybe more. Ye Clan's worms fight like disciples—traps, wards, a girl sparking qi. The ravine's alive, humming, cracked open."
Hao's fist slammed the table, scroll trembling. "He's trash!" he spat, voice raw. "Divorced, cast out—my shame! Yet he snaps sects like twigs? Iron Fang laughs at us!"
Lin Wei's qi flared—a gust rattled lanterns, silk banners swaying. "Iron Fang watches," he said, voice steel. "Wu Shen's scouts bled too. This Feng—nobody rises that fast. Tao, the ravine—what hum?"
Tao hesitated, bandages shifting. "Runes, old as heavens, qi thick like blood. It cracked under moonlight—silver light, pulsing. Felt… wrong, Patriarch. Like eyes, old ones, watching."
Lin Mei, the clan's shadow, slipped from a corner—her silk black, qi at Body Tempering 8, a blade veiled in calm. Her hairpin gleamed, voice soft but sharp. "Yan Huo's name," she said, dropping a torn cloth—blue, not Lin Clan's, frost-flecked. "Scouts heard it, chanting, by the ravine. Not Iron Fang's, not Black Claw's. Older."
Lin Wei's fingers stilled, qi spiking—lanterns dimmed, arrays humming louder. "Yan Huo," he repeated, eyes narrowing. "A myth—rogue cultivator, sealed centuries ago. If true, that ravine's no grudge."
Hao scoffed, wrist twitching. "Myths don't break my bones! Feng's flesh—I'll carve him myself."
Mei's gaze cut to him, cold. "Your pride's loud, nephew. Feng was yours—now he's Iron Fang's problem. And ours. That cloth—qi's frost, like the chants. Someone's hunting."
A guard burst in, bowing low, his qi faint—Body Tempering 3, trembling. "Patriarch! Scouts—west docks, bloodied. Found this." He dropped a jade shard—cracked, pulsing faint, etched with a fang not Lin Clan's. "Said they saw a shadow, cloaked, chanting Yan Huo. Vanished into the tide."
Lin Wei seized the shard, qi probing—frost bit his fingers, a pulse syncing with his core, then fading. "Void Fang Relic," he murmured, voice low, dread threading through. "Sealed power, older than sects. If Feng's tied to this…"
Tao rose, wincing, voice urgent. "Patriarch, the ravine's key—runes, light, all tied to him. Iron Fang's sniffing; Wu Shen sent Gao Ran, now broken. We hit now—twenty men, dawn, take the valley."
Hao nodded, qi flaring, eyes wild. "I lead! Feng's mine—his rats, that girl, all dust!"
Mei's hairpin glinted, her voice a blade. "Twenty's bold, Tao. Feng's traps tore Black Claw—forty fled. You bled with ten. What's changed?"
Tao's jaw tightened, bandages creaking. "We've arrays—qi nets, storm spears. Feng's strong, but no sect. We drown him."
Lin Wei paced to a window, sea crashing below, his qi a quiet storm. "No," he said, turning, shard in hand. "Not dawn—midnight. Thirty men, Mei leads. Tao, you guard. Hao, you kneel—learn."
Hao's face purpled, fist rising, but Mei's glance silenced him—a viper's calm. "Patriarch," she said, stepping forward, "midnight's sharp, but that ravine—frost-qi's no myth. If Yan Huo's waking, we're bait."
"Bait catches," Lin Wei said, tossing the shard—arrays sparked, stone groaning. "Feng's the spark—genius or demon. We crush him, claim the ravine. Void Fang's ours."
The pavilion's doors opened, admitting Lin Shu, a young scribe, qi faint but eyes keen. She clutched a scroll—fresh ink, seal unbroken. "Patriarch, from the docks—merchant saw Ye Clan's valley. Smoke, no fire. Said a wanderer glowed golden, broke Iron Fang's spears. Rumors spread—sects listen."
Lin Wei's laugh was cold, qi spiking—lanterns flared, shadows dancing. "Golden," he said, seizing the scroll. "Feng's loud—too loud. Shu, spread word: he's a rogue, no clan. Let sects hunt."
Mei's lips twitched, a shadow of a smile. "Clever, Patriarch. Iron Fang's pride stings—Wu Shen'll bite. But that frost-qi…"
"Find it," Lin Wei snapped, turning to the map, finger jabbing the ravine. "Mei, thirty—Body Tempering 6, four at 7. Take arrays, spears, no mercy. Bring Feng's head, the ravine's heart."
Tao bowed, pain etched deep, voice low. "And Yan Huo's shadow?"
"Ghosts bleed," Lin Wei said, shard glinting in his grip. "If it's real, we carve it too."
Hao stood, wrist trembling, qi a restless spark. "I'm no kneeler," he muttered, eyes burning. "Feng's mine—midnight or not."
Mei's hairpin flashed, her voice silk. "Kneel, boy, or I'll break your other wrist."
The sea roared below, waves clawing the cliff, as guards moved—boots echoing, blades sharpened, arrays charged with qi. Lin Shu lingered, scroll tucked away, her gaze darting to the shard—frost pulsed, faint but alive. "Patriarch," she said, soft, "merchants talk—valley's not just Feng. A girl, dagger-quick, qi sparking. Ye Clan's no dust."
Lin Wei's eyes narrowed, map forgotten. "A girl," he repeated, qi stilling—a pause, rare and heavy. "Body Tempering?"
"First rank," Shu said, bowing. "Fresh, but fierce. Broke Gao Ran's men with Feng."
Tao's voice rose, urgent. "That's her—the braid, dagger like a wolf's fang. She's his shadow, Patriarch. Cut her, he bleeds."
Mei's smile vanished, her qi a quiet blade. "A spark's no threat, but Feng's teaching. If Ye Clan's rising…"
"They're worms," Hao snarled, stepping forward, qi flaring. "I'll gut her myself—Feng's pet, his rats, all—"
Lin Wei's qi surged, a tide drowning the pavilion—lanterns snuffed, arrays roaring. "Enough," he said, voice a hammer. "Mei leads. Hao, you watch. Midnight strikes, we end this. If Yan Huo's there, we—"
A gong sounded—sharp, from the docks, cutting the night. Mei spun, hairpin glinting, Pulse Sense catching silk flashing beyond the gates—not Lin Clan's, silver, qi frost-cold. The shard pulsed, brighter, as waves crashed, a shadow rising from the tide, cloaked, chanting—Yan Huo, rise.