The evening drizzle had just begun.
Streetlights shimmered against wet asphalt, stretching the narrow road near Fang Ze's neighborhood into a ribbon of blurred gold. Students drifted home in scattered groups, umbrellas brushing as laughter and idle chatter dissolved into the steady hum of traffic.
Fang Ze's younger sister, Fang Xiaoyu, walked alone.
Second year of middle school—slim, quiet, her schoolbag held tight against her chest. Fang Ze had taught her and their elder sister only the most basic breathing rhythm of the Spiritual Listening Gathering Technique. Nothing offensive. Nothing that could draw attention. Just enough to nourish the body and calm the mind.
To the outside world, Fang Xiaoyu was still an ordinary girl.
But tonight, something felt off.
She noticed it when the street behind her thinned unnaturally, the surrounding noise fading as if swallowed by the rain.
Footsteps followed.
Slow.
Measured.
"Hey, little sister."
Fang Xiaoyu stiffened. She turned her head slightly and saw three boys leaning against the shuttered entrance of a closed convenience store. Their uniforms hung loose and untidy, school badges ripped away. One chewed gum with exaggerated laziness. Another flicked a metal lighter open and shut, sparks briefly slicing through the drizzle.
Local troublemakers.
"Wrong way," Fang Xiaoyu said quietly, forcing steadiness into her voice as she tightened her grip on her bag.
The tallest boy snorted. "Relax. We just wanna talk."
They shifted, blocking the narrow sidewalk with casual familiarity.
Fear stirred—but did not bloom.
Fang Xiaoyu remembered her brother's words.
Breathe. Slow. Don't panic.
She inhaled, guiding the breath downward exactly as she had practiced. Her heartbeat eased. Her thoughts cleared.
But clarity did not mean strength.
She knew she couldn't overpower them.
—
Several streets away, Fang Ze stopped.
The rain tapped lightly against his coat as his gaze sharpened.
A disturbance.
Not Qi.
Emotion.
Fear tangled with aggression, spreading outward in a warped pulse—crude, untrained, but sharp enough to stand out against the city's spiritual background.
Fang Ze turned without hesitation.
—
The boys hadn't expected resistance.
When Fang Xiaoyu stepped back and tried to slip past them, one reached out, fingers stretching toward her wrist.
He never touched her.
A hand closed around his arm midair.
Calm.
Unyielding.
The pressure alone forced the boy to his knees, breath knocked from his lungs as rain splashed across the pavement.
"Move," Fang Ze said softly.
The drizzle seemed to stall.
The other two boys froze, eyes widening as they took in the tall figure who had appeared without sound. Fang Ze stood between them and his sister, grip firm yet precise—not crushing, simply absolute.
"Brother…" Fang Xiaoyu whispered, relief breaking through.
Fang Ze released the wrist and stepped forward.
No shouting.
No wasted motion.
Just presence.
At the seventh layer of Qi Gathering, even restrained pressure was overwhelming to ordinary people. The air thickened, heavy enough to press on lungs and nerves alike. Instinct screamed danger. Legs trembled.
"You chose the wrong person," Fang Ze said, his voice level and cold. "And the wrong place."
One of them tried to speak, but the words died as Fang Ze's gaze flicked toward him—sharp, measured, carrying quiet authority.
"Leave," Fang Ze said. "Now."
They ran.
Footsteps splashed through puddles as the boys fled into the darkness, fear driving them faster than bravado ever could.
Fang Ze exhaled slowly. The pressure vanished, as though it had never existed.
He turned to Fang Xiaoyu, his expression already softening.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. I remembered what you taught me."
A faint nod.
"That's enough," Fang Ze said. "Let's go home."
—
As they walked beneath the rain-soaked streetlights, Fang Ze's thoughts remained clear and cold.
This wasn't an isolated incident.
Across the city, strength was surfacing without guidance. Delinquents, gangs, opportunists—once they brushed against power, restraint eroded quickly.
This wasn't a declaration.
It was a probe.
A crude one—but deliberate.
Fang Ze had no intention of playing the hero.
But some lines…
They were not meant to be crossed.
And tonight, Beijing had learned that—quietly.