The wooden door creaked as Ye Chen stepped into the crisp morning air.
Lin Bao stood in the center of the dirt yard.
Short.
Stout.
A greasy mustache.
Grey silk tunic hanging loose over his protruding belly.
He tossed a leather pouch of low-grade spirit stones in one hand, a sneer plastered across his face.
Behind him — two muscular guards, both carrying heavy wooden staffs.
“Well, look who finally decided to crawl out.” Lin Bao’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve grown bold, brat. The young master’s cultivation attendants have been waiting at the treasury for an hour. If he loses even a single strand of Qi because of your laziness, your skin won’t be enough to pay for the damage!”
In his past life, the mere sound of Lin Bao’s voice would have made Ye Chen’s stomach knot with anxiety.
He would have bowed.
Apologized.
Accepted whatever beating followed — just to protect his meager job.
But today?
Ye Chen stood perfectly straight.
His arms hung loose at his sides.
Shoulders relaxed.
Young face expressionless.
But his dark eyes held a terrifying, stagnant depth — the gaze of an immortal who had looked down upon emperors.
“Are you deaf, you useless garbage?” Lin Bao growled.
He took a heavy step forward.
Raised his right hand to slap Ye Chen across the face — just as he had done dozens of times before.
“I asked you a question!”
The hand cut through the air.
Aimed directly at Ye Chen’s cheek.
To a mortal eye, the slap was fast.
But to Ye Chen — whose soul possessed combat instinct refined through a thousand life-and-death battles — the movement was laughably slow.
Full of glaring flaws.
His body was weak.
Yes.
But the human body did not need massive amounts of Qi to execute perfect timing.
Just as the hand came within inches of his face, Ye Chen shifted his weight.
He didn’t jump back.
He stepped into Lin Bao’s space.
Tilted his head by a fraction.
The steward’s palm brushed past his ear.
Hit nothing but empty air.
Before Lin Bao could process the shock, Ye Chen’s right hand shot forward like a striking viper.
No fist.
Instead — two fingers extended.
Driving with pinpoint accuracy into the soft cluster of nerves beneath Lin Bao’s armpit.
The Tianquan pressure point.
Thud.
A muffled gasp tore from Lin Bao’s throat.
The pressure point instantly blocked the minor stream of Qi flowing through his arm — paralyzing his entire right side.
The leather pouch slipped from his numbed fingers.
Before it could hit the dirt, Ye Chen extended his foot.
Caught the pouch on the tip of his worn cloth shoe.
Flipped it up into his own left hand with effortless grace.
“You… what did you do?”
Lin Bao stumbled backward, clutching his useless, dangling right arm.
His face turned a mottled shade of purple — pain and sheer disbelief.
“You broken-root trash! How dare you strike an estate steward!”
“An estate steward?”
Ye Chen looked down at the pouch in his palm.
Then raised his gaze to meet Lin Bao’s eyes.
The sheer, suffocating coldness in that stare made the stout man involuntarily take another step back.
“You are a slave of the Lin Clan, Lin Bao. My father is an elder of this lineage — regardless of his absence. I am a descendant of the bloodline. You are the one who has forgotten your place.”
“Insolent brat! Break his legs!”
Lin Bao roared to his two guards, his voice cracking in panic.
The two muscular guards rushed at Ye Chen from both sides — heavy wooden staffs raised.
They were mortals.
But they possessed brute strength that could easily fracture a teenager’s bones.
Ye Chen didn’t blink.
The first guard swung his staff horizontally toward his ribs.
Ye Chen ducked under the arc with fluid ease.
Used the guard’s own forward momentum against him — swept his leg across the man’s ankles.
The guard tripped.
Lost his balance completely.
Crashed face-first into the dirt courtyard — losing two teeth in the process.
The second guard tried to bring his staff down in a vertical crush.
Ye Chen simply stepped to the left.
Let the heavy wood slam harmlessly into the earth.
Before the guard could pull the weapon back, Ye Chen drove the heel of his palm directly into the man’s exposed diaphragm.
Oof!
The air rushed out of the guard’s lungs in a violent burst.
He collapsed into a fetal position, clutching his stomach — gasping desperately for air like a fish out of water.
The entire confrontation had taken less than ten breaths.
Two grown men lay groaning in the dirt.
And Ye Chen hadn’t even broken a sweat.
He calmly walked over to the trembling Lin Bao.
The steward’s arrogance had entirely evaporated.
Replaced by primal, instinctive terror.
He looked at the sixteen-year-old boy as if he were looking at a demon in human skin.
“The young master wants his spirit stones. Correct?”
Ye Chen asked softly, tapping the leather pouch against his thigh.
“Y-yes…” Lin Bao stammered.
His knees shook.
“Tell him I will deliver them myself.”
Ye Chen smiled.
A cold, dangerous expression that didn’t reach his eyes.
“And Lin Bao… if I see your face near my courtyard again, I won’t just block your pressure points. I will erase your cultivation permanently. Do you understand?”
Lin Bao nodded frantically.
Tears of fear welled in his eyes.
Ye Chen turned and walked out of the courtyard — leaving the broken men behind.
He needed to go to the outer treasury.
If his memory served him right, the young master of the Lin Clan, Lin Hao, was currently possessing a rare, low-grade Spirit-Cleansing Herb — the exact item Ye Chen needed to begin repairing his fractured spirit roots.
It was time to take what was theirs.