The swirling emerald vortex of the valley gate rippled violently, casting long, distorted shadows across the Lin Clan’s central plaza.
Outside, the afternoon sun was high, warming the marble steps of the Obsidian Pavilion where the high-ranking elders sat in comfortable high-backed chairs.
They were drinking expensive spirit tea, waiting to welcome the victorious youth of the inner and outer courts.
“This year’s harvest should be exceptional,” the Third Elder murmured, a proud smile touching his lips as he stroked his white beard.
His grandson, Lin Cheng, had promised to bring back at least twenty Crimson Spirit Fruits.
“The young generation is growing stronger under our guidance.”
The First Elder nodded slowly, his sharp eyes fixed on the spatial portal.
“The laws of the cosmos favor the prepared, brother. The ones who excel today will form the vanguard of our lineage.”
Before the elders could finish their tea, the stone archway roared.
The emerald light flared blindingly, and a group of disciples tumbled out of the rift, landing heavily on the white marble floor.
However, there were no cheers.
No proud displays of filled jade boxes.
The disciples who emerged looked like hollowed ghosts.
Their faces were pale, their uniforms soaked in sweat and dried mud, and their bodies trembled with a collective, suffocating terror.
They immediately fell to their knees, bowing their heads so low their foreheads touched the cold stone, refusing to speak a single word.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the Third Elder barked, slamming his teacup onto the wooden table, cracking the porcelain.
“Why do you look like defeated dogs? Where are the fruits? Where is Lin Hao?!”
A sudden cry of pure horror from the back of the portal cut him off.
Three outer disciples stumbled out, carrying two blood-stained figures on makeshift wooden stretchers.
The crowd of onlookers around the plaza gasped, a wave of disbelieving shock rippling through the gathering.
Lying on the first stretcher was Lin Cheng.
His chest was hollow, his face completely pale, and his lower abdomen was deflated—the distinct, horrifying sign of a shattered dantian.
On the second stretcher lay Lin Hao.
His right wrist was fractured at an impossible angle, his ribs were visibly caved in, and his left knee was a mangled mess of shattered bone and torn flesh.
He was barely conscious, gasping for air as blood bubbled from his lips.
“Cheng’er! Hao’er!”
The Third Elder roared, leaping from his elevated seat with such violence that his mahogany chair shattered into fragments.
His powerful aura at the Eighth Layer of Qi Condensation erupted wildly, crushing the air around the pavilion.
He vanished from the platform and reappeared beside the stretchers, his hands trembling as he checked his grandson’s core.
“My dantian… Grandfather… my core is gone…” Lin Cheng wailed, his voice cracking with pure despair.
“The waste… Ye Chen… he ruined me…”
“Who did this?!” the Third Elder screamed, his eyes turning bloodshot with an all-consuming, murderous fury.
He spun around, his glare locking onto the cowering disciples.
“Who dared to violate the laws of the clan inside the trial grounds?!”
Before anyone could answer, the green portal rippled once more.
Walking out of the spatial distortion with calm steps was Ye Chen.
His faded grey tunic was pristine, his basic iron sword resting quietly at his waist.
He carried no bags of fruit, but his hands were tucked loosely into his sleeves, his face a mask of absolute, unyielding stone.
He did not look like a teenager returning from an outer trial; he looked like a monarch returning to a conquered territory.
Beside him walked Lin Xinyue, her face incredibly pale, her eyes constantly flicking toward him with a deep, unspeakable dread.
She had witnessed him dismantle the clan’s top talents without breaking a sweat, and she knew the storm that was about to hit the Lin Clan would change everything.
“Insolent beast! You dare return after crippling my lineage?!” New chapters come out on g.com first.
The Third Elder did not hesitate.
Driven by pure, unadulterated hatred, he channeled all his energy into his right palm, forming a glowing, brown vortex of earth-attributed Qi—the Mountain-Crush Palm.
He launched himself forward, aiming to strike Ye Chen directly in the chest and liquefy his internal organs on the spot.
A normal Second Layer cultivator would have been crushed into dust by the sheer pressure of an elder’s full-force attack.
But Ye Chen did not blink.
As the terrifying palm pressure rolled toward him, his dark eyes locked onto the elder’s movement.
He did not drop into a defensive stance, nor did he draw his sword.
Instead, his right hand slowly emerged from his wide sleeve, his silver Qi pulsing beneath his skin with a quiet, lethal density that could split mountains.
“Stand down, Third Elder!”
A thunderous, booming roar resonated across the plaza like a strike of heavenly lightning.
The First Elder appeared mid-air between the two, his long white sleeves expanding as he unleashed a massive wave of defensive Qi that collided with the Third Elder’s palm, neutralizing the impact in a violent burst of wind that shattered the marble tiles beneath their feet.
“First Elder! Why do you stay my hand?!” the Third Elder roared, his voice trembling with fury as he was forced back three steps.
“That broken-root waste has crippled my grandsons! He has systematically destroyed the future of our faction! According to the laws of the clan, he must be executed by a thousand cuts!”
“The trials of the Hidden Cloud Valley are governed by the ancient ancestral decree,” the First Elder said, his voice flat and heavy as he descended to the ground, his sharp eyes locking onto Ye Chen with intense curiosity and a hidden trace of wariness.
“The law states that all actions within the valley—including infighting and plunder—are exempt from external punishment. Strength determines survival. If your grandsons failed to protect their own cores, it merely proves their incompetence.”
The Third Elder choked on his rage, his fists clenching so hard that fresh blood began to drip from his palms.
He knew the First Elder was technically right, but the humiliation of accepting it was like swallowing broken glass.
Ye Chen stood in the shadow of the confrontation, his posture relaxed, his dark eyes looking at the angry elder with a profound, stagnant indifference.
“Enjoy your breath while you still can, old dog,” Ye Chen whispered to himself, his voice completely lost in the roaring wind.
“The debt of the Lin Clan is still far from paid.”