Han Yu felt three presences.
One elderly man, his spiritual presence thin and flickering like a dying candle.
One middle aged woman, her cultivation nonexistent but her body toughened from labor.
One child, a boy… hungry, small, and weak.
The courtyard itself was pitifully small. A few bamboo planks formed the fence. Inside were three tiny rooms, a kitchen missing half its tiles, and a small toilet behind a loose wooden door. The only greenery was a handful of vegetables struggling in a dirt patch beside the kitchen.
Footsteps sounded from within. The door creaked open, and a boy of seven or eight walked out rubbing his eyes. His cheeks were thin, his wrists frail, and his clothes were patched many times over but kept as clean as possible.
He lifted his head and saw Han Yu.
His eyes widened in terror. The cold, predatory aura of Ju Fan hit him like a hammer. He let out a sharp cry and stumbled back, falling onto the dirt.
"Mother! Grandpa!"
