For two days, the wind howled and the rain battered the courtyard of the Azurewood Lin Clan like a mourning wail—an elegy for Li Hu, or perhaps a prelude to the wrath of his father. Inside the small, damp compound, a suffocating silence settled over its three inhabitants, broken only by the weary rhythm of rainfall and the soft voices that carried more fear than comfort. Li Hu's presumed death in the Jagged Ravine—spawned by Lu Chenyuan's quiet manipulations—had changed everything.
"He won't let it go," Lu Chenyuan said, his voice heavy with certainty, anchoring them in the midst of unease. The storm outside had faded to a light drizzle, but the tension in the air was dense. He glanced at Uncle Liu, whose face had taken on new creases of worry, then at Shen Yue, seated with her hands folded tightly, serenity slipping beneath a tremble of dread. "Patriarch Li Jian isn't a fool. He's a man who's lost a son. His grief will be fire—and fire always seeks to burn."
Shen Yue's voice was almost inaudible. "Would he truly look to us? We're so small. He's... he's a patriarch."
"In pain, people don't always look for truth. They look for a place to put their anger," Chenyuan replied, his voice thoughtful. "We were the last to clash with Li Hu. And our 'ancestral protections'—once meant to intimidate—might now be seen as secrets worth fearing. In his grief, Li Jian might convince himself we orchestrated this. That we lured his son to his death." He grimaced, the weight of unintended consequences settling heavily across his shoulders.
Uncle Liu rubbed his temples. "Then what do we do, lad? We can't stand against the Li Clan."
"No. We can't. Not openly." Chenyuan's voice was calm, measured. "But we don't have to. We survive through caution. Through misdirection. Through preparation."
He laid out their path in three words: "Defense. Deception. Diligence."
He began with defense. "The Qi Disturbance Array is modest, but active. I'll modify it—make its alarm more dissonant, more unnerving. It won't stop an intruder, but it might make one hesitate. The Earth Wall talisman is our final shield. And I'll use what spirit stones we have—thirty-five left—to brew more Qi Nourishing Pills. That gives us options. Not many, but some."
Uncle Liu nodded grimly. "I'll keep the storeroom tight. Food's holding steady, for now."
"Good. Now for deception." Chenyuan's eyes sharpened. "Liu, when you go to market, wear your grief. Let your shock bleed into your voice. If people speak of Li Hu, let the story grow as it must—an impulsive man, driven by rage and Berserker Pills, falling to the ravine's dangers. Echo the survivor's tale. Rockslides. Madness. Wild apes. Let the blame rest where it began: on Li Hu, and on the place that swallowed him."
"And diligence," he finished, turning to Shen Yue. "We continue. Your breakthrough to the Second Layer—it strengthens us all. The Green Dew Grass thrives beneath your touch. And your Wood Spirit Qi... it might surprise even us."
The week that followed passed like a coiled spring, tense and brimming. Lu Chenyuan, his cultivation simmering at the Fifth Layer, wrung two more Qi Nourishing Pills from his weary furnace. That brought their stock to six—six small, potent lifelines. He also tinkered with the array's Qi channels. Though he couldn't make it stronger, he reshaped its alarm into a spine-tingling discordant chime—less a warning, more a whisper of dread.
Shen Yue worked with quiet fervor. Her control over Wood Qi grew more refined; she sustained it longer now, flowing it steadily through the soil, her presence coaxing the second planting of Green Dew Grass into lush vibrance. She practiced her Minor Wood Barrier daily, forming weak but promising shields. Her root awakening crept to 32%, unnoticed by others, but not by the system.
Uncle Liu journeyed to Serpent's End with care. The market was thick with whispers. Patriarch Li Jian had visited the ravine himself. His fury was said to shake the stones. He'd sealed the site and posted a reward—fifty spirit stones—for any credible lead on who might've orchestrated Li Hu's end.
"He's fishing," Liu said when he returned. "And folks are terrified. His enforcers are everywhere, pressing for answers. The tale of Li Hu's madness is out there, but Li Jian... he wants someone to blame."
Chenyuan listened in silence. Fifty stones was no small lure. The right—or wrong—person might speak out just to chase it.
"We stay quiet. We stay small. Nothing flashy. Nothing clever," he finally said. "Let them forget us, or see us as too broken to matter."
Yet he knew the 'ancestral protections' rumor he'd planted could now bloom into danger. What once protected might now expose.
The days crept by, haunted by dread. Every creak of wood, every unfamiliar shadow outside the gate drew tight the strings of their nerves. Sleep came shallow and short, chased off by restless dreams. Chenyuan's thoughts looped endlessly, rehearsing confrontations that might never come—or arrive when least expected.
And then, late one afternoon, it did.
The courtyard's unnatural quiet shattered. A harsh, dissonant chime screamed through the air. The alarm.
Chenyuan, Shen Yue, and Uncle Liu were seated around a dimly lit table, discussing dwindling lamp oil. The moment the sound rang out, they froze, eyes locking.
Chenyuan stood first. "Uncle Liu, secure the back. Shen Yue, behind me. Say nothing unless I ask."
His hands shook as he approached the gate, but his steps were steady. He peered through a concealed slit in the wood.
What he saw turned his blood cold.
Patriarch Li Jian stood just beyond the gate. Tall, sharp-edged, his expression carved from loss and fury. His eyes—cold obsidian—burned through the timber as if he already saw the guilt within. Around him stood four Li Clan cultivators, grim and ready, their strength obvious in the way they held still.
And beside them—two officials in grey.
Constables. Green River Prefecture.
The tiger had come. Grief-fed, law-backed. Not just to mourn—but to hunt.
Lu Chenyuan steadied his breath. Fleeing was impossible. Fighting was death.
His only weapon now... was to convince them he was nothing at all.