The air tasted different.
As Ye Chen walked back from the bamboo grove, the world around him felt alive.
The ambient spiritual energy of the earth, once silent to his broken senses, now hummed against his skin like a thousand tiny insects.
Inside his dantian, a single thread of silver Qi pulsed with a reassuring warmth.
He clenched his fist.
It was a pathetic amount of power compared to the ocean he once commanded as the Azure Cloud Sovereign.
But here, among the mortal trash of the outer estate, it was enough to make him a predator.
However, as he approached the small wooden courtyard he shared with his missing father, the warmth in his blood turned to ice.
The low bamboo fence surrounding his yard had been violently kicked down.
Wood splintered and iron clattered from inside his small house, shattering the afternoon quiet.
Ye Chen’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
He didn’t quicken his pace, but his stance shifted.
His footsteps became silent, predatory.
He stepped through the broken doorway.
The interior of his home was a wreck.
Books were torn apart, floorboards ripped open, and his father’s old wooden desk was flipped on its side.
Three outer disciples were rummaging through a heavy trunk in the corner.
The leader was Lin Ming, a cousin from a minor branch of the family.
He was nineteen, arrogant, and possessed a crude cultivation at the First Layer of the Qi Condensation realm.
In his hands, he held an old, rusted iron sword—the only heirloom Ye Chen’s father had left behind before disappearing.
“Look at this junk,” Lin Ming scoffed, tossing the sword onto the floor.
“The old ghost didn’t leave a single spirit stone behind. Just rags and broken manuals.”
“Looking for something, Cousin Lin Ming?”
The soft, icy voice from the doorway made all three disciples jump.
They spun around.
Ye Chen stood there, arms folded, his expression terrifyingly calm.
Lin Ming recovered quickly, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.
“Ah, the trash has returned. We heard you had a little clash with Steward Lin Bao this morning. You’ve grown quite a spine since your father ran away. But you forgot one thing—Lin Bao is just a servant. I am a master.”
“You are a parasite,” Ye Chen replied smoothly.
His gaze shifted to his father’s ruined desk, then to the rusted sword on the floor.
“You break into my home, desecrate my father’s belongings, and think your status protects you? You have three breaths to kneel, repair this room, and place that sword back where it belongs.”
The three outer disciples stared at him for a second before bursting into loud, mocking laughter.
“Did this broken-root fool lose his mind?” one lackey barked.
“He’s threatening us!”
“Three breaths are up,” Ye Chen whispered.
Before the laughter could die down, Ye Chen moved.
He didn’t move like a teenager.
He moved like a seasoned killer.
The first lackey didn’t even see the strike coming.
One moment Ye Chen was at the door, the next, his fist was buried deep into the boy’s solar plexus.
Crack.
The lackey’s ribs fractured.
The air rushed from his lungs as his body lifted off the ground, crashing heavily against the stone wall before sliding into an unconscious heap.
“What—” Lin Ming gasped, his eyes widening in shock.
The second lackey panicked and drew a small dagger from his belt.
But Ye Chen’s combat instinct was flawless.
He caught the boy’s wrist mid-air, twisted it backward until the bone popped, and drove his knee directly into his face.
The lackey collapsed instantly, his nose shattered, blood spraying onto the floor.
In less than three seconds, Lin Ming was the only one left standing.
The arrogant smile was gone, replaced by pale-faced horror.
He could feel a strange, sharp pressure radiating from Ye Chen—an aura that shouldn’t belong to a mortal.
“You… you have cultivation!” Lin Ming stammered, stepping back until his heels hit the trunk.
“Your spirit roots… they aren’t broken!”
“They were,” Ye Chen said, his boots clicking softly against the floor as he approached.
“But the heavens decided to grant me a favor. Unlike you, who wastes your Qi on bullying the weak, I know exactly how to use every drop of my power.”
Lin Ming roared in desperation, channeling all his Qi into his fist, and swung wildly at Ye Chen’s head.
It was a pathetic, unrefined strike.
Ye Chen casually slapped the punch aside with his palm.
With his other hand, a thread of silver Qi shot from his fingertips, wrapping around Lin Ming’s throat like an iron collar.
The older boy’s eyes bulged as his own spiritual energy was violently suppressed.
Ye Chen grabbed him by the collar, lifting the nineteen-year-old completely off the ground with the aid of his Qi.
“Let… me… go…” Lin Ming choked out, his legs kicking uselessly in the air.
“This house belongs to my lineage,” Ye Chen said softly, his voice echoing in Lin Ming’s ears like the decree of a god.
“The next time anyone from your branch steps foot inside this courtyard, I won’t just break your bones. I will tear your dantian apart and turn you into a true cripple. Do you understand?”
Lin Ming nodded frantically, his face turning blue.
Ye Chen tossed him out of the broken doorway like a sack of garbage.
The arrogant cousin rolled into the dirt courtyard, coughing violently and clutching his bruised throat.
The other two lackeys, barely conscious, crawled out on their hands and knees, dragging themselves away in terror.
Ye Chen didn’t look at them again.
He turned back into the ruined room, knelt down, and gently picked up his father’s rusted iron sword.
He wiped the dirt off the scabbard.
His eyes turned toward the inner city, where the main branch of the Lin Clan resided.
The small flies had been swatted.
Now, it was time to hunt the wolves.