The sharp clang of the Qi Disturbance Array shattered the delicate calm of morning in the Azurewood Lin Clan courtyard, its resonance harsher and more insistent than ever before. Beneath the soil, where the lone Moonpetal Leaf sprout had quietly begun its fragile ascent, the ground almost seemed to flinch, recoiling from the jarring intrusion.
Lu Chenyuan, deep in conversation with Shen Yue about the sprout's next stage of cultivation, felt a chill lance through him. This wasn't the formal, almost theatrical approach of Patriarch Li Jian's previous visit. This was something else—raw, unrefined, and dangerous.
"Stay here. Both of you," he ordered, his voice low and flint-edged, slicing through the swell of unease. "Bar the inner door. Don't make a sound. Don't come out unless I'm in real, unmistakable danger."
His gaze locked with Shen Yue's—steady, piercing. "Trust me."
She nodded. Though her face had gone pale, her eyes didn't waver. Fear lingered, but so did the quiet steel they'd tempered together. Uncle Liu, hands unsteady with age and dread, moved to secure the inner door, muttering a silent prayer under his breath.
Lu Chenyuan turned toward the main gate, not with the servile caution he'd shown before, but like a serpent roused in its lair—silent, watchful, ready to strike. He leaned toward the peephole and peered through.
His jaw clenched.
Three strangers stood outside—grimy, travel-worn, and entirely unfamiliar. They weren't from the Li Clan, nor did they carry the bearing of Prefecture enforcers. These were drifters, rogue cultivators judging by their mismatched robes and hardened expressions. The leader, a burly man with a ragged scar across his cheek and a rust-flecked saber strapped to his back, raised a fist mid-knock.
Their cultivation wasn't high—Third Layer Qi Refinement, perhaps with the leader scraping the Fourth. Alone, no threat to him. Together, unpredictable. And if desperation drove them, the situation could quickly spiral.
Scavengers. His gut twisted. Drawn by the chaos, by Li Jian's bounty, or merely the scent of weakness—hoping to sniff out secrets or snatch what they could with threats.
He had to tread carefully: too strong, and word might reach Shadow Hand Xue; too weak, and they'd devour him alive.
Unbarring the gate, he opened it just a crack—just enough to show control, not invitation.
"Who are you?" he asked coldly. "And what business do you have with the Azurewood Lin Clan?"
The scarred man offered a smirk devoid of mirth. "Well now, look at that. Patriarch Lu himself. We're just... good neighbors, you might say. Heard things've been rough in these parts. Thought we'd check in. Offer some... protection."
His gaze swept over the gate's flaking paint and the worn courtyard beyond, full of undisguised disdain.
"We need no protection," Lu Chenyuan replied, voice flat. "We are a poor clan, living quietly. If you've no honest reason to be here, move along."
"A poor clan, huh?" the second man piped up, wiry and twitchy, his eyes darting like a bird's. "Funny that. Word is, old man Li Jian's offering quite the reward for information about his boy's accident. A poor clan might be tempted to... get creative."
The message was plain: they wanted leverage, or at least a reason to extort.
Lu Chenyuan's mind worked rapidly. He couldn't let them inside. He couldn't reveal too much strength either—not when hidden ears might be listening. Every move was a gamble.
"Young Master Li's death is a tragedy, yes," he said, icy and calm. "But we've lived apart from such affairs. We know only the rumors passed through the market. We have nothing worth selling, and nothing worth taking."
He let the words hang—subtle emphasis on their supposed poverty, on their irrelevance.
But the scarred leader stepped forward, hand grazing the saber at his back.
"Maybe we oughta see for ourselves," he said, voice low. "Poor folks sometimes have rich secrets. Wouldn't want you hiding something dangerous, eh?"
This was the brink. Lu Chenyuan narrowed his eyes and let a thin strand of his Fifth Layer Qi Refinement aura slip free—not overt, not ostentatious, but enough to weigh the air like damp stone, to make lesser cultivators feel their breath catch.
"This place," he said softly, "is watched over by the ancestors of the Azurewood Lin Clan. We may be poor—but we are not undefended. The last intruders who tried their luck here found this soil… less than welcoming."
He spoke with deliberate ambiguity, reinforcing the superstitions they'd worked so hard to spread. A veiled threat. A whisper of ghost stories and ancient energies.
The three felt it—the pressure, the unease. The scarred man's smirk flickered. Fifth Layer? Here? The math didn't add up. Maybe the old rumors weren't so baseless.
"Old ghosts don't scare us," the leader muttered, but with less bravado now.
"That makes you bold," Lu Chenyuan replied smoothly. "But boldness often turns to regret. The Serpent's Coil Hills have claimed many lives. Intruders seldom walk away untouched. And neither do I."
His eyes locked on the man's. A quiet challenge. A promise, should they push further.
The pause that followed was long and taut. The rogues had come expecting fear, perhaps tears—certainly not calm defiance or veiled might. Now they stood at a crossroads. Fifty spirit stones from Li Jian suddenly didn't seem so easy to earn.
The scarred man glanced at his comrades. The wiry one shifted anxiously. The brute looked ready for a fight—but waiting.
Finally, the leader exhaled through his nose. "Just being friendly, Patriarch," he muttered. "Didn't mean to overstep. Looks like you've got things under control."
With a flick of his head, he signaled retreat. The others followed, though none without a final, wary look over their shoulders.
Lu Chenyuan watched them go, his body taut until they vanished beyond the trees. Then, slowly, he shut the gate, barring it once more with trembling hands. His pulse hammered in his ears, but satisfaction bloomed quietly in his chest.
They had come expecting easy prey. Instead, they'd met the careful mask of a man who had learned to wield fear as both sword and shield.
From behind, Shen Yue and Uncle Liu emerged, faces pale, cautious.
"They're... gone?" Shen Yue asked, voice catching.
"For now," he said, exhaling deeply. "Scavengers. No real threat—but a reminder. We're being watched. Tested."
As the sun climbed and the tension began to ebb, Lu Chenyuan mulled over the implications. This skirmish would no doubt ripple outward—become part of the gossip web, warped and twisted. But he had drawn a line. He'd shown the Lin Clan wasn't as helpless as it seemed. That it could bite.
That night, under the flicker of rationed lamplight, he and Shen Yue knelt beside the patch of earth where their hope grew in secret. The Moonpetal Leaf sprout glowed faintly, its tender stem reaching upward through weeds and shadow.
Shen Yue extended a hand, her Qi gentle as it flowed into the seedling. Her face softened, touched by light and soil and quiet triumph.
"It's growing," she murmured. "Slowly... but it's growing. Even with strangers at our gates, it still reaches for the sky."
[System Notification: Wife Shen Yue has successfully nurtured the Moonpetal Leaf sprout through a period of external stress. Affinity with Moonpetal Leaf +5%. Spiritual Root (Variant - Wood) awakening progress: 49%. Host gains minor insight into resilient plant cultivation under adverse conditions. Clan Prosperity Meter: 28/100.]
Lu Chenyuan nodded, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. The threat of the investigator still loomed. The mourning tiger still paced. But within their crumbling courtyard, something had taken root—quiet and defiant.
The serpent wasn't just learning to coil. It was learning how to guard its hidden blossom with teeth bared, and strike when shadows came too close.