Day was just breaking when Ye Fen awoke.
He hadn't slept well. Two voices had been bickering in his mind all night: one insisted, "That package is definitely suspicious," while the other sneered, "Just a few withered weeds—hardly worth losing half a night's sleep over." Eventually, he had simply sat up cross-legged on the bed to guide his qi according to the methods of the Emperor's Incineration Manual.
The results were faint. The Dou Qi in his meridians was as thin as a strand of hair, and more than half of it dissipated after a single circulation. However, he could feel that the cold, sluggish sensation that had haunted his body like maggots in bone for three years had finally begun to thin out.
When the first light filtered through the cracks in the window, he got out of bed. The moment he pushed the door open, his foot brushed against something.
Ye Fen looked down. Tucked beneath a stone plinth by the threshold, partially hidden by several broken roof tiles, was the corner of a piece of coarse burlap. He crouched, brushed the tiles aside, and lifted a small bundle.
It was very light. He picked the dead knot apart to find a few shriveled, yellowing stalks of Serenity Grass. They were mediocre in quality, their medicinal scent so faint it was almost undetectable. Pressed beneath them was a slip of paper.
It was blank. Completely empty, without a single character.
Ye Fen stared at the paper for a long time. What does this mean? A warning? A reminder? Or... something else?
Inside his mind, the consciousness of the Dou Emperor gave a derisive snort. "Mysticism for the sake of it."
Ye Fen didn't respond. He rewrapped the Serenity Grass and the paper and tucked them into his robe. Regardless of who sent it, since they hadn't left a name, he would act as if it never happened. He had more pressing matters at hand.
Today was the fifth of the month—the day the family distributed "Dou Qi Stones."
A line had already formed on the bluestone plaza outside the Ye family storehouse.
There weren't many people—about twenty or so, all younger generation disciples. Some spoke in hushed tones while others closed their eyes to rest. The atmosphere wasn't lively, but it wasn't oppressive either.
Ye Fen walked to the end of the line. The moment he appeared, the surrounding area fell silent.
Several gazes swept over him—some probing, some contemptuous, but most were simply indifferent. No one greeted him, and no one moved to give him space. He was treated like an inconsequential shadow.
Ye Fen kept his head down and stood still. The line moved forward slowly.
At the storehouse entrance sat a deacon disciple in grey robes. He appeared to be in his early twenties, possessing a square face and a wide mouth. He held a register, calling out names at a leisurely pace.
"Ye Ming." "Present." A lanky youth stepped forward, took three pale green stones the size of pigeon eggs, and turned to leave.
"Ye Yu." ...
By the time it was Ye Fen's turn, nearly an hour had passed. The deacon disciple looked up, glanced at him, and his lips twitched.
"Ye Fen?" "Yes."
The deacon didn't reach for the Dou Qi stones immediately. Instead, he flipped back a few pages in the register and tapped a specific line with his finger.
"Oh, right," he drawled. "Deacon Li gave special instructions. Your resources for this month... have been adjusted."
Several gazes drifted toward them again. Ye Fen's heart sank, but his expression remained unchanged.
"How were they adjusted?"
The deacon fished a small cloth bag from under the table and tossed it onto the surface. The mouth of the bag wasn't tied tight, revealing three stones inside. They were a dull, dusty grey, their surfaces pitted and uneven. The spiritual energy within them was so thin it was almost imperceptible.
Mottled Dou Qi Stones.
These didn't even qualify as "Low-grade"; they were the scraps dug up alongside the main veins, usually given to servant disciples for practice.
The deacon leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "This is it," he grinned. "Take it or leave it."
Ye Fen didn't reach for the bag. He stared directly at the deacon.
"I recall the clan rules stating quite clearly," his voice was low but every word was sharp. "Any member of the Ye family under eighteen is entitled to three low-grade Dou Qi stones per month. I am fifteen."
The deacon laughed. "Rules are rules. But resource allocation must account for reality, shouldn't it? Your Dou Qi has been regressing for three years; giving these to you is a waste. Better to save them for those who actually need them."
He paused, leaning in closer to whisper. "Besides, Brother Qingya specifically reached out. He wants you to... stay in your place."
Ye Fen remained silent. In his mind, the cold voice of the Dou Emperor rang out. "Kill him."
Ye Fen's fingertips trembled slightly. It wasn't fear. It was a sudden surge of near-instinctive violence that startled even himself.
He took a deep breath and suppressed the impulse. "Brother Qingya?" he repeated, suddenly letting out a faint smile. "What kind of 'thing' is he exactly?"
The deacon's face stiffened. "What did you say?"
"I said," Ye Fen took a step forward, reaching for the bag of mottled stones on the desk, "give me what belongs to me."
The movement was fast. However, the deacon had been anticipating a struggle. He immediately slammed his hand down to pin the bag. Their fingers touched the cloth almost simultaneously.
In that split second, Ye Fen's wrist gave a microscopic twitch. It wasn't a grab; instead, he used the tip of his index finger to lightly poke a specific spot on the back of the deacon's hand.
The force was light, but the placement was surgical.
The deacon felt a sudden numbness, as if he'd been pricked by a needle. His entire arm instantly went limp and weak, and his fingers involuntarily released the bag.
He let out a sharp "Ah!"
Ye Fen had already seized the bag and yanked it back. Panicking, the deacon lunged with his other hand to grab Ye Fen's wrist.
Ye Fen acted as if he had lost his balance, his body pitching forward. His shoulder "accidentally" slammed into the deacon's chest.
Thump.
The deacon was knocked backward, flipping over along with his chair. In the chaos, the drawstring of the storage pouch at his waist came loose, and it tumbled to the ground.
Ye Fen also "stumbled" a few steps, bending down to retrieve his bag of mottled stones. As his fingers touched his own bag, his other hand brushed over the deacon's storage pouch with incredible speed.
The motion was so swift it was practically invisible.
By the time he stood up, he held his bag of mottled stones, and the deacon's storage pouch was back in its original place. Everything had happened in the blink of an eye.
To the onlookers, it appeared to be a simple scuffle: Ye Fen tried to grab the bag, the deacon blocked him, they collided, and the deacon fell while Ye Fen picked up the bag. A common enough dispute.
The deacon scrambled up, face flushed with rage, pointing a finger at Ye Fen. "You dare lay hands on me?!"
Ye Fen lowered his head, clutching the bag of mottled stones so hard his knuckles turned white. He looked as if he were either consumed by rage or paralyzed by fear, his shoulders trembling slightly.
"I... I was only taking what is mine," he said, his voice quivering with the characteristic grievance of a youth. "You... you can't do this..."
Without another word, he turned and left, not looking back. He walked quickly, almost running away from the plaza.
The deacon wanted to give chase, but someone nearby pulled him back. "Forget it, Wang Mang. Why bother with a loser?" the person whispered. "Nothing was lost. If this gets blown out of proportion, it won't look good for Deacon Li either."
The deacon, Wang Mang, panted heavily and felt for the storage pouch at his waist. It was there. He opened it and checked; the few low-grade Dou Qi stones inside were perfectly fine. Not a single one was missing.
He breathed a sigh of relief, but the spot on his chest where he'd been hit still throbbed. With no way to vent his lingering fury, he spat viciously toward Ye Fen's retreating back.
"Dammit, what bad luck!"
Ye Fen ran all the way back to his small courtyard. Only after he shut the door and leaned his back against it did he let out a long, heavy breath.
His palms were slick with sweat. Not from fear, but from tension—and a trace of inexplicable excitement.
He opened his left hand. Lying in his palm were three pale green stones, slightly larger than pigeon eggs, their surfaces smooth and glowing with a faint ripple of spiritual energy.
Low-grade Dou Qi stones. The real deal.
He pulled the bag of mottled stones from his robe, emptied the three dusty grey scraps, and carefully tucked the three low-grade stones inside.
Having finished this, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the stones in his palm. In his mind, the Dou Emperor's consciousness grunted.
"Crude technique."
Ye Fen didn't argue. He knew his movements had been full of holes; if the deacon had been more observant, or if a master had been watching, the theft would have been obvious.
But he had no choice. His resources were being embezzled, and cultivating the Emperor's Incineration Manual required massive amounts of Dou Qi. With only those mottled stones, he would struggle even to maintain his current level, let alone break through to become a Dou Shi within a month.
He needed these stones.
"The 'Pulse-Severing Hand' I taught you... you only used thirty percent of its potential," the Dou Emperor said coldly. "Had you used a full hundred, that hand of his wouldn't have moved for three months."
Ye Fen remained silent for a moment. "There was no need."
"Mercy of a fool." "..."
Ye Fen tucked the Dou Qi stones against his chest. The faint spiritual energy emanating from the stones seeped through his clothes and into his skin, making the thin strand of Dou Qi in his meridians feel slightly more active.
He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth. It was worth it. Even with the risk and the crude technique, it was worth it.
Just as he was thinking this, the Dou Emperor's voice suddenly dropped.
"Idiot."
Ye Fen froze. "What?"
"You didn't shake the tail."
Before the words had fully registered, the courtyard door was struck by a violent kick.
BANG!
The door frame shook violently, sending dust cascading down. Then came Ye Qingya's roar from outside, dripping with unbridled malice.
"Ye Fen! Get out here!"
Ye Fen's heart hammered against his ribs. He stood up, but before he could reach the door, it was kicked again. This time, the force was much greater. The wooden bolt snapped with a sharp crack.
The door was shoved open roughly.
Ye Qingya stood at the front, flanked by four or five branch family disciples, all looking hostile. Wang Mang was among them, clutching his chest and pointing a finger at Ye Fen as he shrieked:
"Brother Qingya! It's him! He robbed me earlier and hit me!"
Ye Qingya ignored Wang Mang, his eyes locked onto Ye Fen like a predator. "Ye Fen," he said, his voice low and squeezed through gritted teeth. "The 'Qi-Condensing Pill' granted by the family is missing from Wang Mang's storage pouch."
He took a menacing step forward. "Someone saw you take it."