The sky was a bruised charcoal, weeping the final, cold remnants of a midnight storm. Clear droplets still clung to the peach blossoms, falling like heavy tears onto the mud-slicked paths of the Han estate. It was a day for celebration—the Han Clan was hosting the powerful Mo and Shen families—but for Han Ye, it was just another day in hell.
A sharp kick caught Han Ye in the ribs, sending the pale, white-haired youth sprawling into a puddle. He didn't cry out. He simply looked up with his strange, crimson eyes—eyes the color of a dying sun—at the servant girl standing over him.
"The guests will be here by noon," she hissed, wiping her hands on her apron. "The Master wants the courtyard spotless. Stop daydreaming and get water from the stream! If the tea is late, I'll make sure the Head Disciplinarian flays the skin from your back."
Han Ye stood silently, his thin frame shivering under a threadbare tunic. At seventeen, he had the "Low-Grade Bones" of a commoner—a curse in a world where strength was everything. In the Han Clan, he wasn't a person; he was a piece of furniture that bled.
Evening soon came by The Sun Empire's Western Province was abuzz with activity that evening. The Han Clan estate was alive with celebration, but away from the laughter and political maneuvering of the Great Hall, a different kind of tension was brewing.
Han Jun, the Fourth Young Master, moved like a shadow through the quiet corridors. The timing had to be perfect. With the Family Head and all the powerful Elders preoccupied with welcoming the prestigious Mo and Shen families, the Ancestor's Hall was virtually unguarded.
He slipped inside the hallowed hall, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. The Heart of Taichu, the sacred Ancestry Jade, pulsed with a subtle light on its pedestal. He snatched it, the cool weight of destiny in his hands.
The moment his skin touched the artifact, the air crackled with raw spiritual energy. Han Jun was unaware that a deep, array security system had activated. The stone pedestal exploded with blinding white light, projecting a massive pillar of light into the night sky, visible for miles.
Han Jun gasped in shock. An automated array! How could a mere body-tempering stone have such a powerful defense formation?
He ran, the jade clutched tightly. The sound of shouting guards and powerful Qi signatures rushing toward the Ancestor's Hall grew louder. He needed a place to hide, a scapegoat, immediately.
That's when he saw him.
Han Ye was returning late, having spent the entire day hauling and filling every water supply tank in the massive Han Estate. His back ached, and his white hair was plastered to his pale, sweaty forehead.
Han Jun rushed forward, a desperate madness in his eyes.
Han Jun: "You servant! Get here now!"
Han Ye flinched, stopping immediately and bowing his head in submission.
Han Ye: "Yes, Young Master?"
Before Han Ye could even process the demand, Han Jun shoved the small, pulsing treasure into his hands.
Han Jun: "Hold this for me! Now!"
Han Ye's hands immediately began to shake. The object was warm, thrumming with energy he didn't understand. He knew instantly what it was—the most sacred, protected treasure the clan possessed.
Han Ye: "M-master, this is the family ancestry treasure!"
Han Jun: "Just shut up and hold it! I'll be right back!"
Han Jun vanished into a nearby shadow just as the first silhouettes of the guards appeared down the path. Han Ye stood alone, the precious, stolen item in his hands, perfectly framed as the thief.
The shouting grew closer.
Guard 1: "There! The white-haired servant!"
Han Ye looked down at the jade in his hands, then at the incoming guards. A cold dread, heavier than any cultivator's Qi pressure, settled over him. He had been set up, and his life was now forfeit.