The atmosphere within the ancestral hall had shifted from the stagnant chill of mourning to a localized, sweltering heat. Zhang Hu, the third son of the Zhang Clan, took a half-step back, his boots scuffing against the polished stone floor. He was an 8th Layer Qi Condensation cultivator, a man who had spent his youth bullying the weaker branches of the surrounding families. He prided himself on his "instinct for weakness," but as he looked at Lin Chen, his instinct was screaming a different tune.
"What is this?" Zhang Hu muttered, his grip tightening on the handle of his iron mace. The air around Lin Chen was literally shimmering. The boy's skin, once sallow and thin, now held a bronze luster. "You... you were a cripple this morning. What kind of forbidden medicine did you swallow?"
Lin Chen didn't answer. He couldn't. His entire world was narrowed down to the sensation of the [Pure-Yang Body] awakening within him. It felt as if a miniature sun had been sewn into his diaphragm, and every heartbeat sent a pulse of liquid fire through his meridians.
Fang Lin, hovering in his spectral state, watched with the keen eye of a former Golden Core master. Too much energy, Fang analyzed. The boy's meridians are wide, but his control is nonexistent. If he doesn't discharge this heat soon, he'll blow a hole through his own dantians.
"Chen! Stop trying to hold it in!" Fang's voice boomed inside the boy's skull. "The Pure-Yang is a destructive force! It is not meant to be bottled; it is meant to incinerate! Point that rusted piece of iron at the pig in front of you and let the fire flow!"
Zhang Hu, seeing the boy's hesitation, mistook it for fear. He regained his bravado and swung his mace in a wide, whistling arc. "Die, you little rat! Earth-Shattering Strike!"
The mace glowed with a dull brown light as Zhang Hu's earth-aligned Qi surged into the weapon. It was a heavy, clumsy attack, meant to crush bone and stone alike.
Lin Chen's eyes snapped toward the incoming weapon. In his old state, he wouldn't have even seen the movement. But now, the world seemed to move in slow motion. He could see the cracks in Zhang Hu's form—the way the man leaned too far forward, the way his center of gravity was exposed.
"Now," Fang hissed.
Lin Chen stepped forward. He didn't use a technique; he didn't know any. He simply thrust his rusted iron sword forward, pouring every ounce of the boiling heat in his chest into his right arm.
BOOM!
The collision was not the sound of metal hitting metal. It was the sound of a furnace exploding. A pillar of white-gold flame erupted from the rusted blade, meeting the iron mace head-on. The brown, earth-aligned Qi of Zhang Hu's attack was instantly vaporized, consumed like dry straw in a forest fire.
Zhang Hu's eyes went wide. He felt a heat so intense it began to singe his eyebrows from three feet away. "What?! My mace—!"
The iron mace, a low-grade spiritual tool, turned cherry-red in a heartbeat and then began to melt. Molten iron dripped onto the floor, hissing as it ate into the stone. The force of the blast sent Zhang Hu flying backward, his black robes catching fire as he crashed into the heavy cedar pillars of the hall.
[DING! Critical Strike Detected.]
[Target: Zhang Hu (Severely Burned, Qi Disrupted).]
[Mission: 'Defend the Ancestral Hall' — 50% Complete.]
"Grandfather... I did it," Lin Chen gasped, his chest heaving. His sword was now glowing orange, the rust having been burned away to reveal a pitted but gleaming core.
"Don't celebrate yet, you idiot!" Fang shouted, his spectral form pointing toward the four guards who had accompanied Zhang Hu. They were in the 6th and 7th layers of Qi Condensation, and though they were terrified, they were drawing their blades. "A lion doesn't stop until the hyenas are dead! Finish the job!"
Fang looked at the System interface. He needed more impact. He needed to show these intruders that the Lin Clan wasn't just "defended"—it was hallowed ground.
[System! Claim the partial mission reward! Unlock 'Spectral Pressure'!]
[Request Accepted. Skill: 'Spectral Pressure' (Level 1) Unlocked.]
[Note: As an Ancestral Spirit, your presence is a burden to the living. Spend 20 CFP to manifest a 'Sovereign's Gaze'.]
Fang didn't hesitate. He had zero points, but the system allowed a one-time "Debt-Advance" because he was the founder.
[Advance Granted. Balance: -20 CFP.]
Suddenly, the grey, hazy world of Fang Lin became sharp. He drew upon the remnants of his Golden Core soul, magnifying it through the System's lens. To the guards in the hall, the temperature didn't just rise—it became heavy. It felt as if the ceiling had been replaced by the foot of an invisible titan.
"Ugh!" One guard fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the floor. "My... my heart... it feels like it's being squeezed!"
Zhang Hu, struggling to stand through the pain of his melted arm, looked up toward the memorial tablet. In the flickering violet light of the candles, he saw a mountain. Not a literal mountain, but the intent of one. The image of Fang Lin, tall and terrifying, loomed over the hall, his eyes two cold stars of judgment.
"The Zhang Clan... dared to kick my door?" Fang's voice didn't just echo; it manifested as a physical shockwave. Dust fell from the rafters. The funeral banners shredded.
"A-Ancestor Lin?!" Zhang Hu shrieked, his mind snapping. "He's a ghost! A vengeful spirit! Run! We have to tell the Patriarch!"
"Run?" Fang's spectral image sneered. "Chen, if a single one of them leaves this hall alive, I will make you cultivate in the freezing mountain peaks for a year."
Lin Chen felt the [Spectral Pressure] too, but to him, it was a warm, protective embrace. It gave him the courage he had lacked for twenty years. He raised his glowing sword, the Pure-Yang Qi swirling around him in a golden vortex.
"None of you," Lin Chen said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register, "are leaving my grandfather's sight."
What followed was not a fight, but a slaughter. Lin Chen moved like a flicker of sunlight. Every swing of his blade left a trail of white fire. The guards, suppressed by Fang's [Spectral Pressure], could barely raise their hands to defend themselves. One by one, they were cut down, their wounds cauterized instantly by the heat of the Pure-Yang energy.
Finally, only Zhang Hu remained, huddled at the base of a pillar, his face a mask of blisters and terror.
"Please..." Zhang Hu wheezed. "My father... he has Spirit Stones... we can pay..."
Fang Lin hovered inches from Zhang Hu's face. The man couldn't see him clearly, but he could feel the absolute zero of the grave and the thousand-degree heat of the ancestor's rage.
"Chen," Fang said coldly. "Kill him. Take his storage pouch. We need the resources."
Lin Chen didn't hesitate this time. He plunged the sword through Zhang Hu's heart. The man's eyes glazed over, and his body slumped to the side.
[DING! Mission 'Defend the Ancestral Hall' COMPLETED!]
[Rewards:]
+200 Clan Fate Points (CFP).
New Skill: 'Soul-Binding Contract' (Level 1).
Clan Fame +5 (Local Influence).
[Balance: 180 CFP.]
Fang Lin breathed a sigh of ghostly relief. The immediate threat was neutralized, but he knew the cultivation world. The Zhang Patriarch would not take the death of his son lightly. They had perhaps twelve hours before a larger force arrived.
"Chen," Fang said, his voice turning somber as his spectral image faded back into the tablet. "Clean up this mess. Then, take the storage pouches to the family treasury. I need to look at the 'Resource Scouting' map. If we're going to survive the week, we need more than just one genius. We need a fortress."
Lin Chen knelt toward the tablet, his golden eyes filled with a new, fanatical devotion. "I hear and obey, Ancestor."
Fang sat back in the grey space of the system, his mind racing. 180 points. It's a start. But to raise a 9th-grade clan to the heavens... I'm going to need a lot more blood.