The shriek of the Qi Disturbance Array fractured the hush of the Azurewood Lin courtyard, each metallic clang a spike through Lu Chenyuan's chest. His heartbeat roared in his ears—quick, panicked, like a bird flung against a cage's bars.Patriarch Li Jian. Here. Now.All his careful preparations—scripted innocence, practiced humility, veiled deflections—they would either save them or unravel in the face of grief-stricken fury.
He inhaled deeply, willing stillness into his limbs, calm into his face. Only the faintest tremor ghosted across his fingers. He turned to Uncle Liu and Shen Yue, his voice low but firm. "Stay inside. Bar the back entrance. Do not come out unless I call—and only then, with caution."
Uncle Liu gave a mute nod, face pale. Shen Yue's eyes—wide, dark, frightened—locked on his. But beneath the fear, there was trust. Her silent, steady presence was a thread anchoring him to the moment.
Lu Chenyuan unlatched the heavy gate, cracked it open just wide enough to step through. He emerged alone—modest robes, empty hands, posture respectful. A humble patriarch receiving a storm.
And what a storm it was.Li Jian stood like a boulder carved from grief and fury. He was enormous, a looming figure who looked carved from ironwood. His usual rigid control was gone, replaced with something raw and barely restrained. His eyes, bloodshot and sunken, burned with ice and fire. Beside him, four Li Clan cultivators radiated tension, their weapons ready. The two constables from Green River Prefecture kept a respectful distance—detached, impassive, but present. That mattered. This was, for now, an official visit. Not a blood reckoning.
Lu Chenyuan bowed deeply. "Patriarch Li Jian. Honored officers. This is a surprise. Has something… happened?"His tone was concerned, puzzled, properly deferential. Unaware.
Li Jian's chest heaved. When he spoke, it was like stones grinding together. "Lu Chenyuan. Spare me your games. You know why we've come."
Lu Chenyuan let surprise flicker across his face, then something softer—sorrow dawning. "Is this… is this about Young Master Li Hu?" he asked gently. "I only heard rumors—frightening ones—from a servant who'd gone to market. We are devastated. My clan grieves with yours, Patriarch. A son lost… I cannot imagine that pain."
The words were honeyed with sympathy, carefully measured, giving nothing away.
One of the Li cultivators twitched, hand tightening on his hilt. But Li Jian held him back with a look sharp as a blade. The constables remained statues.
"Condolences?" Li Jian spat the word. "My son was murdered. Tricked. Ambushed like prey. This was no accident!" His voice cracked, ragged with anguish. "And you—you—defied him publicly. You humiliated him. He spoke of your arrogance, your delusions."
Lu Chenyuan flinched as though struck. "Patriarch… I am the head of a struggling clan. Our conflict with Young Master Li Hu was regrettable, but minor—a misunderstanding over boundaries. We would never raise a hand against him. Even if we dared, how could we? He was backed by your clan's strength, his own prowess formidable."
He gestured to their modest courtyard, the cracked stone, the worn banners. "We have no power. No secrets. Barely enough to survive. The Jagged Ravine is treacherous. Surely even someone of his talents could falter there through mischance."
Li Jian's eyes narrowed. "And yet, I hear your clan's fortunes have shifted. 'Ancestral protections,' they whisper. Strange energies. Old spirits stirring. Are those the powers that gave you the courage to defy my son—and the means to kill him?"
Here it was—the edge of the knife.
Lu Chenyuan's expression turned weary, pained. "Those tales… they're just that. Fantasies. Half-memories clung to by the old and desperate." His voice cracked, softly. "We are a clan with history, yes—but no legacy remains. If we truly possessed ancestral power, would we live like this? Would I have let Young Master Li Hu's earlier visit nearly ruin us?"
A subtle turn. A reminder. Li Hu had not come peacefully.
"My son," Lu Chenyuan said slowly, "was passionate. Bold. And, forgive me, known for temper and pride. There are many who say—quietly—that he dabbled in dangerous concoctions. Berserker Pills. Such things cloud judgment. In a place like the Ravine, even a strong cultivator can act rashly. Recklessly. I heard the survivor—shaken, incoherent—say your son charged ahead, leaving the others behind. They couldn't stop him."
He let the words fall like ash—soft, mournful, and not his own. Just stories.
One constable stepped forward. "Patriarch Li," he said carefully, "our investigation continues. But the survivor's account, as it stands, supports no direct foul play. Rockslides. Spirit beasts. Separation in unstable terrain. These are the facts we've gathered."
His words were a tether pulling Li Jian back from the brink—reminding him that justice still had rules.
Li Jian trembled. His fists clenched. His face twisted. Rage and grief warred behind his eyes. But even through the storm, he remained a patriarch. He had to.
"You speak too well, Lu Chenyuan," he said finally, voice hoarse. "Too calmly. For a man so poor. So harmless." He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "My son is dead. If I find so much as a breath, a thread, linking you to his fall… I will wipe your name from history. Do you understand?"
"I do," Lu Chenyuan said softly. He bowed his head. "And if there were truth to your suspicion, your vengeance would be just. But I swear—on my ancestors' spirits—we had no hand in this. The Lin Clan mourns as well. The Jagged Ravine is cruel. We live beside that danger every day."
Positioned now not as enemies—but fellow victims.
Li Jian stared at him, searching for cracks. The air thrummed with tension.
Then, like a string snapping, he turned. "We're done here," he growled. "For now."
He stalked away. His men followed. The constables gave Lu Chenyuan unreadable looks and fell in step behind.
Only when their forms vanished down the path did Lu Chenyuan move. He sagged against the gate, legs trembling. Sweat soaked his back. His breath came shallow. But he was alive. His clan still stood.
Uncle Liu and Shen Yue burst from within.
"Chenyuan!" Shen Yue cried, reaching for him. Her hand found his arm—warm, real. "Are you hurt? What did he—?"
"They're gone?" Uncle Liu asked, voice thin.
"For now," Lu Chenyuan murmured. He straightened slowly, eyes sharpening. "He suspects. He will probe. But we've bought time. And we gave him nothing."
His gaze turned inward, cold. "We gave him what he expected: a serpent's deference."
But inside, the serpent had not fled. It had coiled tighter.
He had stood before rage and power—and endured. He had deflected, dissembled, survived. And in doing so, he'd found something dangerous blooming within.
He would not forget the taste of it.
The game had changed. And Lu Chenyuan was no longer just surviving.
He was adapting.