The night was heavy and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the back courtyard of the Ye Clan estate, whistling under the eaves and sending dried leaves skittering across the stone floor with a dry, scratching sound.
Ye Qian moved like a shadow, a wicker basket of freshly picked herbs strapped to his back. His footsteps were silent and steady. Since completing the medicinal bath, his body felt transformed; every muscle was taut with potential energy, and his bones felt as dense as reinforced iron. The constant ache of malnutrition had been replaced by a quiet, vibrating power that made his movements fluid and light.
As he reached his room, he suddenly froze. A faint, flickering light leaked through the cracks of his door, accompanied by the muffled sound of things being thrown around.
Ye Qian's eyes narrowed. His heart didn't race with fear; instead, it grew cold with a predatory focus. He crouched low, pressing his ear to the door and peering through a small gap.
Inside, a young man was frantically tossing things aside. It was Ye Chen—not the powerful genius of the First House, but his namesake, a lowly lackey and distant cousin who acted as the "dog" for the main branch. Ye Chen's face was twisted with greed and anxiety as he searched the small cabin. He was looking for something specific—the medicinal bath scroll or the pills the steward must have smuggled to the trash.
"Where is it? Where is that old man's treasure?" Ye Chen hissed, throwing a stack of tattered clothes to the ground. He opened a small wooden cabinet, his fingers fumbling through a few bottles of cheap ointment and the clan's most basic Body Tempering manual. "That old steward is biased! Why would he waste good resources on a trash like you while I have to scrape for every crumb?"
Finding nothing of value, Ye Chen's frustration boiled over. He grabbed a heavy wooden training staff leaning against the wall, his eyes flashing with a cruel, petty malice.
Outside the door, Ye Qian felt a strange sensation. The Qi in his blood was surging, reacting to his anger. He could feel the strength in his shoulders and the newfound resilience in his shins. He didn't just want to hide; he wanted to test his new body.
Ye Chen... Ye Qian whispered the name in his mind. You chose the wrong night to break into my home.
He pushed the door open. It didn't creak; it swung wide with a sudden, violent force.
"You!" Ye Chen yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin. But the shock quickly turned into a sneer when he saw it was only Ye Qian. "You're finally back, you piece of trash. Tell me where you hid the pills, or I'll break every bone in your useless body!"
Without waiting for an answer, Ye Chen swung the heavy wooden staff. It whistled through the air, aimed directly at Ye Qian's chest.
In the past, Ye Qian would have been too slow to react. But now, the world seemed to move in slow motion. He saw the arc of the staff clearly. He didn't retreat; he lunged forward.
Ye Qian crossed his arms in a defensive block. CRACK! The staff slammed into his forearms. A dull thud echoed through the room, but instead of the sound of breaking bone, it sounded like wood hitting a solid trunk of a tree. Ye Qian's arms numbed for a split second, but he didn't falter. The medicinal bath had made his bones tough enough to withstand the blow.
Using the momentum, Ye Qian dove inside Ye Chen's reach, his right fist driving toward the bully's shoulder like a battering ram.
Ye Chen gasped, barely pulling his shoulder back in time, but the force of the punch still sent a jolt of pain through his arm. He couldn't believe it—the trash was fighting back with real power.
"You're dead!" Ye Chen roared, swinging the staff in a desperate horizontal arc.
Ye Qian dropped low, his stomach grazing the floor as the staff sailed over his head, smashing a porcelain cup on the table behind him. From his crouched position, Ye Qian lashed out with a lightning-fast kick to Ye Chen's knee.
It was a strike fueled by years of repressed rage. Ye Chen's leg buckled, his kneecap screaming in pain. He stumbled back, his eyes wide with genuine shock. This wasn't the weak boy he used to kick in the dirt. This was something else.
The room became a blur of motion. The staff swung, the fists flew, and the air was filled with the sounds of grunts and heavy impacts. Ye Qian used every inch of the small space to his advantage. He rolled over the bed, vaulted over the low table, and used his elbows to deflect the heavy wooden club.
Every time the wood hit his body, Ye Qian felt the shock, but his reforged muscles absorbed the impact. He felt like a piece of iron being tempered by a hammer. With every blow he took, his confidence grew.
He stepped into a gap in Ye Chen's defense and delivered a heavy elbow strike to the bully's ribs. Oof! Ye Chen staggered, the wind knocked out of him. Ye Qian didn't stop. He followed up with a sweeping kick that caught Ye Chen's ankle, sending the bully crashing into the wooden cabinet.
Ye Chen scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat and fear stood out on his forehead. His shoulder was bruised, his knee was throbbing, and his hands were shaking. He looked at Ye Qian, who stood in the center of the room, breathing steadily, his eyes as cold as a winter night.
"This... this is impossible," Ye Chen stammered, his arrogance completely shattered. "You're just trash... how can you have this much strength?"
Ye Qian didn't answer with words. He took one slow step forward. The floorboards didn't just creak; they groaned under the weight of his resolve.
Seeing the cold light in Ye Qian's eyes, Ye Chen realized he couldn't win. He didn't want to find out what happened if the fight continued. He clutched his bruised shoulder, spat on the floor to save a bit of face, and backed toward the door.
"Don't think this is over!" Ye Chen hissed, though his voice lacked any real bite. "The First House will hear about this!"
He turned and fled into the darkness of the courtyard, his footsteps frantic and uneven.
Ye Qian stood alone in his messy room. He looked at his trembling hands—not trembling from fear, but from the adrenaline of his first victory. He knelt down and began to pick up his scattered herb bundles and the basic manual. His movements were calm and precise.
"Go ahead and tell them," Ye Qian whispered to the empty doorway. "The more you look down on me, the less you'll see me coming."
He sat on his bed, feeling the power still humming in his veins. The medicinal bath was only the beginning. He had tested his strength against a common bully, but he knew the real monsters of the Ye Clan were much stronger.
Outside, the wind continued to howl, but Ye Qian no longer felt the cold. The definition of trash had been rewritten tonight. He wasn't a victim anymore; he was a hunter waiting for the sun to rise.