The muddy road glistened beneath the lanterns that hung from crooked poles, their light faint and wavering in the mist. Smoke rose from the chimneys of a few early taverns, mingling with the smell of wet earth and cheap wine. The world felt tired, as though it had already lived too long before the sun had even risen.
Li Xuan walked with his hands in his pockets, the hood of his worn coat pulled low. His bare feet made soft prints in the mud, but his eyes were steady—calm, distant, unreadable.
He found them easily.
The three men sat in a small roadside tavern at the edge of the village, their voices loud, their laughter heavier than the air. Through the open doorway, he could see the glow of lanterns dancing over rough faces and greasy tables. They were drinking, slamming cups, bragging about how quickly they'd "handled" a certain woman's home.
So early in the morning,they were busy drinking as if they had no care in the world.
Li Xuan stood in the rain a moment, listening.
Then he stepped inside.
The door creaked shut behind him. The tavern fell quieter, only the crackle of fire filling the space. The innkeeper, a hunched man with gray hair, looked up briefly and went back to polishing a mug. Drunk farmers and gamblers barely spared the newcomer a glance.
Li Xuan moved to an empty table in the corner. He didn't sit immediately. He studied the men—the same three faces that had stood over his aunt that morning.
The biggest of them, the one who had tried to shove him, was halfway through a bottle, his laughter loud and broken. "You should've seen her face," he slurred. "Begging like a dog."
The second man spat on the floor. "That kid though… burned my hand somehow. Weird brat."
Zhao Lin chuckled. "Probably cursed. That house always smelled strange. Wouldn't surprise me."
Their laughter cut off when the boy spoke.
"Still laughing?"
His voice was quiet, almost soft—but it reached them all the same.
Three pairs of eyes turned his way.
The drunkest one squinted, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You again? The brat from the hill?"
Li Xuan didn't answer. He stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight. His expression didn't change, and that silence made something cold crawl down their spines.
The man banged his mug on the table. "What, you come here to beg for your aunt? Get lost before I—"
The cup shattered.
No one saw him move. One moment Li Xuan was standing by the wall, the next he was beside the table, his fingers still hovering in the air where the cup had been. Wine dripped slowly from his knuckles.
The drunk man's words caught in his throat. He blinked down at the fragments scattered across the table, still trying to understand how the boy had crossed the distance.
Li Xuan took the empty seat beside him, calm as though nothing had happened. "You took our home," he said softly. "So I came to take something back."
The man stammered, "Wh-what are you talking—"
Li Xuan reached for the bottle on the table and poured himself a drink. His movements were slow, almost graceful. He took a sip. The taste burned, but his face didn't flinch.
"Bitter," he murmured. "Like regret."
One of the others pushed back his chair. "You've got some nerve, brat—"
Before he could stand, his wrist slammed against the table with a thud that cracked the wood. Li Xuan's hand had moved again, pressing down gently, almost kindly—and yet the man couldn't move, couldn't even breathe.
"Sit," Li Xuan said.
The man obeyed without realizing why.
The tavern had gone utterly still now. Only the faint hiss of rain outside and the soft drip of spilled wine broke the silence. The innkeeper froze behind his counter, pretending not to see.
Li Xuan took another sip. "My aunt," he said quietly, "never harmed anyone. Yet you threw her to the floor like she was trash."
He turned his gaze to the man beside him. "Does that make you proud?"
The man opened his mouth to answer—but no sound came. His throat convulsed once, twice, and then his head hit the table with a dull thump. He was breathing, but shallowly, as though all the strength had been pulled from his body.
Li Xuan looked down at his own hand. The warmth under his skin had grown stronger, rising up his arm like slow fire. He didn't fully understand it, but it felt natural—like something that had always been there .
He stood.
The remaining two men stumbled backward, knocking over their chairs. "Stay back! You freak—!"
Li Xuan tilted his head slightly, his eyes catching the firelight. "You took everything we had," he said. "Now I'll take the one thing you can't buy back."
"What—what thing?"
"Your peace."
The words fell like a whisper, but it was enough.
The lantern flames flickered. A cold wind swept through the tavern though no door had opened.
Li Xuan stood for a long moment, the empty cup still resting loosely in his hand.
He watched the flame dance inside the wine bottle, its reflection faintly silver—like the glow of the feather that still pulsed against his wrist.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Strip yourselves naked," he said softly, voice calm but carrying through the tavern like steel under silk. "Go up to my aunt's house and clean it… or else."
The room went silent. Even the fire seemed to hesitate.
"Or else what?" Zhao Lin sneered, forcing out a dry laugh. "You think a little aura from a half-trained spirit brat will scare me? My Zhao family has men who could kill you just by looking at you."
Li Xuan swirled the wine slowly, watching it spiral in the cup like liquid moonlight. "Pathetic," he murmured. "Just because you belong to a rich family doesn't mean you're rich. When your great Mr. Zhao dies, maybe you'll inherit a single bottle of wine… if you're lucky."
The other man at Zhao Lin's side, already drunk, slammed his cup on the table and laughed harshly.
"Ha! Mr. Zhao Lin owns estates, women, and guards. Do you think we're afraid of some homeless brat?"
Li Xuan's gaze lifted lazily to the two men. "I can see his guards," he said coldly. "Quite… pathetic."
Then he set the cup down.
The impact wasn't loud—but the sound that followed was.
Boom.
The table splintered, the shockwave rippling through the wooden floor. Bottles behind the counter exploded in a burst of glass and wine.
The old Innkeeper froze mid-breath, watching crimson liquid drip down his shelves like blood. He wanted to scream but his throat locked.
He didn't know who this boy was—but anyone who could make Zhao Lin pale was not someone to offend.
The two thugs stumbled back, falling hard on their backsides. Zhao Lin remained standing, though his face had turned red with a mix of shock and fury.
"You little bastard!" Zhao Lin roared, pointing a trembling finger at Li Xuan. "I'll show you what happens when you insult the Zhao family!"
The men on the ground scrambled to their feet, knives drawn. "Master Lin, we—"
"Shut up!" Zhao Lin barked. "Beat him down! Make him crawl back to his dead mother!"
The words hit Li Xuan like a blade.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled. His expression didn't change, but his hand clenched so tightly that the faint sound of bones cracking filled the quiet tavern.
The silver feather beneath his sleeve pulsed once—brighter this time.
One of the men hesitated. "Master Lin, maybe we should—"
"Cowards!" Zhao Lin spun and slapped the man across the face. "Do it!"
Li Xuan looked up slowly, his deep blue eyes dull yet calm. "Mr. Zhao Lin," he said softly, "if your family is so mighty, why send trash to fight for you? Or are you just afraid you'll soil your fine clothes?"
Zhao Lin's face twisted with rage. His chest heaved as a wave of spiritual energy burst out from him, distorting the air. It wasn't strong—but hot, fierce enough to send his men stumbling back from the pressure.
"I'll show you the might of the Zhao family!" he bellowed, his eyes glowing faintly purple.
Li Xuan sighed, then raised his foot and kicked the broken table aside. His other hand lifted the cup in one smooth motion and tossed it.
It struck Zhao Lin square in the chest.
The sound was dull—then came the crash.
Zhao Lin's body flew backward, smashing through another table before crashing into the wall. The crowd gasped. For a second, no one even breathed.
Li Xuan rested one leg over the other, sitting casually amidst the chaos like a young king on his throne.
"The children of great families," he said quietly, "are always fools."
The bystanders—villagers, drunks, gamblers—all stared wide-eyed.
No one had ever seen Zhao Lin, heir of the Zhao family, thrown like a rag doll by a boy half his age.
"I said…" Li Xuan's voice deepened, echoing strangely through the room, "go to my aunt's house—naked—and beg. Or else."
As he spoke, a faint silver light appeared in his palm, shaped like a feather, its lines glowing softly. He didn't even notice it.
And then—his voice changed.
It wasn't him anymore. It was something else—ancient, soft, and distant, like a whisper echoing through the heavens.
"I said… go to my aunt naked, and beg."
The voice wasn't loud, yet it rolled through the tavern like thunder.
Li Xuan flinched, but Zhao Lin and his men didn't move—they couldn't. Their eyes went blank for a second, their faces pale. Then, in one trembling motion, Zhao Lin knelt.
"Y-yes, young master…" he whispered hoarsely.
Before the stunned crowd, Zhao Lin began to strip off his outer garments. His two men followed without hesitation, their hands shaking as if controlled by unseen strings.
Li Xuan blinked in disbelief, but then a small, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.
"Good," he said quietly. "Now—give me everything you have."
Zhao Lin staggered forward, fumbling at his belt pouch. He handed over several gleaming coins—emerald-gold, ten times more valuable than any common coin. "H-here, young master. Five coins. Please…"
Li Xuan took them and nodded slightly. "Anything else?"
Zhao Lin swallowed hard. "What do you wish of me?"
"Go to my house," Li Xuan said, "clean every inch, buy back what you broke, and leave twenty more coins on the table. Then… forget everything."
Zhao Lin bowed, trembling, and nodded. "Yes… young master."
They turned, half-naked, and stumbled out into the rain, their pale figures disappearing into the misty street.
The tavern stayed silent for a long time.
Every person inside could only stare at the door, as if afraid to breathe too loudly.
Then, slowly, Li Xuan rose from his chair. He walked to the counter and dropped one of the emerald coins before the old innkeeper.
"For the mess," he said softly.
The innkeeper's hands shook as he accepted it, bowing deeply without a word.
Li Xuan turned toward the door. The silver light around his wrist faded, leaving only the dull warmth of his skin.
He stood for a moment, watching the pale glow of dawn through the rain.
He thought of Aunt Mei—of her trembling hands, of the way she smiled even when her world was falling apart.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt… lighter.
He knew the Zhao family would come for him.
He knew this peace would not last.
But right now, he didn't care.