The great hall of the Han mansion hummed with uneasy talk. Lantern light painted the elders' faces in orange.
Han Cui stood at the head of the table. His brow was tight. His voice carried the weight of the house.
"Is it true?" he demanded. "Did Han Ji really kill those things himself behind me?"
A stout steward rubbed his jaw. He swallowed and spoke slowly. "Master Han, I was there. No, we! We saw it with our own eyes. Those—things—fell like cut ropes. One strike, then gone."
Han Cui slammed his fist on the table. "What do you mean, one strike? Our scouts said such beasts don't die so easy. They said they dissolve only under great immortal power. How could my eldest son—our son—do it?"
A gray-haired captain stepped forward. He had blood on his sleeve. "Master, that's what I reported at once. But this time, strange they all came! Unlike the usual hunting. The beasts were together today came in the night. They tore at the guards. They were ugly, all limbs and teeth. And Han Ji, Master, come on, you saw it too! He… he sliced through them like they were weeds. He moved so fast. And he had a different aura."
Han Cui's voice rose. He leaned close until his face changed. "Who moved like that? Which of our men can move so?" still in denial.
The captain glanced at the servants. "Oh come on… Master… here you go again, accept it! No one. Not among us. Not even the training lads. He… he fought like someone who had been trained by masters."
Han Cui's mouth tightened. He turned to the steward, was about to say something, "I—" but stopped.
The steward hesitated, then spoke. "He was Han Ji. I don't know how to say it properly. He stood there, calm. He pulled a sword, and then—things fell. He even used spears like a storm. He looked… really, so different from the Han Ji I remember…"
Different. The word became a weight in the air. Heads slowly turned. Some guards shook their heads. They could barely believe it.
"What about that cultivator?" Han Cui asked sharply. "The one who introduced himself to us said that he was an outer disciple. He wore sect robes. Did he come back?"
A clerk pressed his lips together, then answered. "Not sure master. He's not back yet."
Han Cui's fists went white.
A lower servant tried to calm him. "Master, perhaps he only passed through. He may have only investigated. If he is truly from Four Element, they might be lenient if we explain. Besides—" He swallowed. "Your son saved our people. He saved the soldiers."
Han Cui's voice cut him. "Saved them? Why here? Why tonight? Why at my eldest son's wedding court?"
The room grew cold. A murmur ran through the attendants. Everyone thought of Han Ji as if they still couldn't believe that it was truly him.
"He was always a problem," the steward muttered. "Once he leaves the estate he causes trouble. But he was never a fighter. Only the second brother trains."
"That we know," the captain said. "But people change. A man can hide talent. He has been a wild one. He kept concubines. He drank with gamblers. He hated marriage. Yet tonight—he stood between the soldiers and death."
Han Cui paced. He rubbed his face. "If this draws attention from the sect elders, we could gain favor." He looked at the men around him. "Search every corner tonight. Find any trace. Ask who contacted the Four Element man. And send word to my younger sons. I want reports in the morning. Be alert!"
"Yes, Master," the men replied in chorus, uneasy.
They traded more questions. They argued about Han Ji's history. They argued about whether a son could change overnight. They argued about honor and shame. Their voices rose. They tried to make sense of something that did not fit their picture.
By the time the council broke, Han Cui's resolve tightened. He would watch his son. He would watch the house. He would not let the family be dragged into scandal. But he could not stop the uneasy thought at the back of his mind. How had his son changed so much? Who had taught him?
—
Wei Ji moved like a shadow through the trees outside the west wing. He had roamed the surrounding land for an hour. He had scouted paths, tracks, and small clearings.
He had tested for lingering demonic Qi. He had tracked simple beasts' trails and listened for other cultivators' breaths. He found nothing like a pack. No watchful eyes followed him.
He stopped on a mossy stone and exhaled. He rubbed his temples. He said the problem out loud. "The Demonkins were pulled by her breakthrough. That's why they came, fought, then left." He shook his head. "That would make sense." He looked toward the line of hills where the wolf had vanished. He frowned. "The wolf likely ran to hunt. It wouldn't waste time hiding if it was hunted. It will hunt me if it has time."
He touched his wrist and made a small sign. Green light flowed from his palm. He closed his eyes and listened with all his senses. The forest answered in soft notes. He heard water in a stream. He heard insects. He heard a distant owl. He heard nothing else.
"I'll not chase it now," he said aloud. "If I run after it I risk leaving her alone. Demonkins might return. Wolves might call others. I need a plan."
He took three slender flytraps from a pouch. He set them carefully. He planted them with thought and sigil.
Each trap was a small wheel of iron and bone, enchanted to sleep and to lure. He placed them near a shallow path where men often walked. He sprinkled a few drops of his blood on the petals. The scent curled into the soil and woke the traps.
The petals snapped shut with a soft click. The ground whispered as a red bud grew from the soil. The flower opened in the moonlight. He smiled, tired and pleased. "Good. Three souls. Enough to work with."
He bent over the traps and murmured the words of his craft. The petals hummed.
The buds absorbed the blood and the small life inside it. He wove the souls gently. He whispered, "These will feed the seed. They will make it stronger. They will make it more flexible." He drew the shapes with his fingers. The air around him filled with the scent of wet earth and pine.
He pressed both hands to the traps. He kept his voice low. "I need a better soul seed. These will do. Their fear will make it powerful. Their anger will add edge."
Something stirred in the soil. Roots tightened like fingers. The flytraps opened and closed. The small shapes inside moaned. He stepped back. He bit his finger and let a drop of his blood fall onto the earth. The flower drank it. The petals shivered. It glowed faintly red.
Wei Ji settled his shoulders and breathed long. He had a plan now. He had a direction. He would use these souls to temper a core. He would speed his cultivation with them. He would not be caught unready when the Celestial Demon Empress moved.
The trapped souls began to stir.
They woke with a jolt. They found themselves bound and hot. They screamed in one voice, raw and wild.
"I'll kill you!" one spat.
"You took my life!" another screamed.
"Curse you! I will find you!" the third shouted, teeth flashing.
Their cries rolled through the forest. The sound carried like a warning. Wei Ji's face went still. He felt the pulse of their rage and tasted the sharp edge of their hatred. He closed his eyes and smiled thinly.
"Good," he said softly. "Let it burn. Let it fuel what I will create."