Ye Qian moved through the wilderness with a predatory stillness. His hand remained gripped firmly around the hilt of his rusted Tang blade, the weapon now feeling like a natural extension of his skeletal structure. Within his body, the power of the Fifth Stage of Body Tempering flowed like a river of liquid fire, revitalizing his muscles with every rhythmic breath. His senses were so sharp that he could hear the heartbeat of a squirrel fifty paces away and the subtle shifting of dry leaves under a predator's paw.
Unbeknownst to him, a group of figures lurked in the dense thicket several hundred yards behind. It was Ye Chen—his arrogant cousin from the First House—accompanied by several sycophants. Normally, these pampered disciples would never set foot in the dangerous back mountains, but a toxic mix of curiosity and malice had driven them to follow the "trash" illegitimate son. They wanted to see exactly what Ye Qian was doing in the shadows, hoping to catch him in some act of weakness they could mock later.
"Look at him, wandering around like a lost dog," one of the lackeys whispered, a sneer twisting his face.
Ye Chen narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with disdain. "He's probably just looking for scraps of meat left behind by real hunters. Let's see how long he lasts before he starts crying for help."
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavy with a violent chill.
A grey shadow exploded from the high grass—a wilderness wolf, larger and fiercer than the ones Ye Qian had previously faced. Its claws glinted like obsidian daggers as it launched a lethal pounce toward Ye Qian's throat.
Ye Qian didn't flinch. His eyes remained calm, almost cold. As the wolf reached the apex of its leap, Ye Qian's right foot dug into the soft earth, pivoting his center of gravity. He moved with a speed that blurred the vision of the spies watching from the trees.
Using the refined strength of the Fifth Stage, he brought the Tang blade up in a precise diagonal block. Clang! The wolf's claws struck the steel, but instead of being pushed back, Ye Qian used a subtle rotation of his wrist to deflect the momentum. The wolf's massive weight was sent sailing harmlessly past his shoulder, its claws raking nothing but empty air.
Before the beast could even land, Ye Qian spun half a circle on his heel. His left hand guided the blade in a lightning-fast counter-slash. The rusted edge whistled through the air, clipping the wolf's shoulder and sending a spray of blood into the dirt. The wolf let out a pained yelp, scrambling back into the brush, its predatory confidence shattered.
From the shadows, Ye Chen's jaw dropped. His eyes widened in disbelief. The "trash" he had kicked and insulted for years had just handled a wilderness beast with the calm efficiency of a seasoned warrior. The shock quickly turned into a burning, jealous rage. He couldn't accept that this outcast was becoming strong.
"Think you're a big man because you can hit a dog?" Ye Chen stepped out from the trees, his face flushed with anger. "You're still just a piece of trash, Ye Qian! Let me show you what real power looks like!"
Ye Chen's aura flared. As a favored son of the First House, he had access to better resources and manuals. He lunged forward, his fists glowing with a faint, aggressive light as he unleashed a barrage of strikes that felt like a mountain collapsing toward Ye Qian.
Ye Qian stood his ground, his expression as unmoving as a lake's surface. As the first punch approached, he slid to the right, his movements fluid and economical. He raised the Tang blade, not to cut, but to use the flat of the blade as a shield.
The impact of Ye Chen's fist against the blade sent a dull thud through the clearing. However, Ye Qian didn't retreat. He adjusted his weight, allowing the force of the punch to slide along the blade's surface. Ye Chen, unable to control his own momentum, stumbled forward, his face turning pale as he realized he had lost his balance.
"You dare resist me?!" Ye Chen roared, spinning around and launching three consecutive kicks aimed at Ye Qian's ribs.
Ye Qian moved like a ghost. He tapped the ground with his toes, leaping back just enough to let the kicks whistle past. Every move Ye Chen made was documented and analyzed by Ye Qian's heightened senses. He could see the gaps in Ye Chen's form, the hesitation in his breathing, and the arrogance that made his movements predictable.
Ye Chen grew frantic. He unleashed his signature move—a sweeping low kick aimed at Ye Qian's knees. Ye Qian hopped lightly over the leg, and while in mid-air, he spun his body, the hilt of his Tang blade striking Ye Chen's upper arm with the force of a falling hammer.
Crack!
Ye Chen let out a strangled cry, clutching his arm as he retreated several steps. A dark bruise began to form immediately. His breath was ragged, and sweat poured down his face. "This... this is impossible! You're just a servant! A waste!"
Ye Qian remained silent, his blade pointed toward the earth. He wasn't even breathing hard. The difference in their foundations was now clear: Ye Chen's strength came from pills and ego, while Ye Qian's was forged in blood, pain, and a rusted blade.
Seeing his master defeated, the lackeys rushed forward to help Ye Chen. Panic-stricken and humiliated, Ye Chen scrambled to his feet. "You've done it now, Ye Qian! You dared to draw blood from a member of the First House! You're dead!"
Ye Chen and his group fled back toward the estate, their hearts filled with terror and a desperate need for revenge.
The news reached the Ye Clan main hall like a lightning strike. The Patriarch, Ye Qian's father in blood but not in heart, slammed his fist onto the arm of his jade throne.
"That illegitimate brat did what?!" his voice boomed, shaking the dust from the rafters. "He used a weapon to injure my son? He used a blade against the bloodline of the First House?"
The elders of the clan exchanged dark looks. In their eyes, Ye Qian's growth wasn't a reason for pride; it was a threat to the established order. A servant's son becoming stronger than the main heirs was a stain on their reputation.
"Bring him back!" the Patriarch ordered, his eyes burning with cold fury. "If he thinks a few days in the woods makes him a master, I will remind him of his place under the lash!"
Within the hour, armored guards arrived at the back mountain. Ye Qian was calm as they surrounded him. He wiped the blood of the wolf from his rusted blade and sheathed it with a sharp click. He knew the clan wouldn't celebrate his breakthrough; they would punish him for it. But as he looked at the guards, he felt no fear. His Stage Five power gave him a quiet confidence that no decree could take away.
Back at the manor, the atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy. Ye Qian was forced to kneel in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by hundreds of clan members. The Patriarch looked down at him with nothing but contempt.
"For the crime of assaulting a superior and violating the clan's peace," the Patriarch announced, "Ye Qian is sentenced to ten lashes of the Iron Whip!"
Ye Qian lowered his head, accepting the sentence in silence. He didn't argue. He didn't beg. Each crack of the whip against his back felt like a stinging insect, but his reforged skin and bones absorbed the impact with ease. The physical pain was nothing compared to the cold realization that this "family" was his greatest enemy.
As the punishment ended, Ye Qian stood up slowly, his back bloodied but his gaze unbroken. He tightened his grip on the Tang blade. The whispers of the crowd and the mockery of the First House disciples fell on deaf ears.
He understood now: respect wouldn't be given to him; it had to be taken. Every lash of the whip, every insult, and every moment of pain was merely fuel for the fire burning in his soul. The road ahead was treacherous, but as he walked back toward his dilapidated shack, Ye Qian knew that he was no longer the one being hunted. He was the storm that would eventually tear this clan apart.