"Brooooo! Let's sneak out!"
Qin Hao tugged at his twin brother Qin Feng's sleeve, eyes sparkling like a puppy who'd just discovered bacon-flavored ice cream. The five-year-old's idea of "sneaking out" involved loudly announcing his plans to the entire household while wearing a neon-green hat that screamed, "HEY, I'M DOING SOMETHING SUSPICIOUS!"
Qin Feng, the eight-year-old "prodigy" of the Qin Clan—*and self-proclaimed master of mischief*—rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own brain. "Sneak out? Buddy, we live in a fortress the size of Texas. The last time Uncle Bob tried to 'go for a walk,' he needed a map, a compass, and three snack breaks."
The Qin Clan wasn't just any family—it was the *Avengers* of the Eastern Xia Empire, except with more martial arts and fewer spandex suits. With a population rivaling New York City and enough firepower to make the Pentagon jealous, their sprawling compound had everything: training grounds, libraries, tea houses, and even a suspiciously well-stocked cookie bakery (rumored to be Qin Feng's secret lair). Why leave when you could binge-eat almond cookies and boss around your little brother?
But Qin Hao, the human equivalent of a golden retriever, wasn't deterred. "Pleeeeease? I heard there's a *giant noodle stall* outside the gates! They serve dumplings bigger than my head!" He mimed an explosion with his hands. "*Boom*! Flavortown!"
Qin Feng sighed. *Ah, the naivety of youth.* If their mother, Lady Yun Xiyue—aka "The Momster"—caught them, Hao's "flavortown" would turn into "grounded-for-life-town." But then Feng's inner gremlin whispered: *What if… you let Hao take the fall?*
"Fine," Feng said, patting Hao's head like a CEO approving a doomed intern's project. "Wait for me by the west gate. I'll… uh… distract Mom."
"You're the best, bro!" Hao zoomed off, tripping over his own feet twice.
Feng sprinted in the opposite direction, bursting into Lady Yun's meditation chamber like a tornado in silk robes. "MOM! HAO'S RUNNING AWAY TO JOIN THE CIRCUS!"
**Ding!**
*[System Alert: Host has successfully framed the Chosen One. +200 Villain Points!]*
Lady Yun dropped her jade teacup. "*Again?!* That child thinks his legs are GPS devices!" She stormed out, grabbing a willow branch—*her "negotiation tool" of choice*—while muttering parenting mantras: "I birthed him. I love him. I will *not* sell him to the noodle stall…"
Meanwhile, Hao was happily counting clouds by the gate when—**WHAP!**—Lady Yun appeared like a teleporting ninja. "You're grounded till the next lunar eclipse!"
"But Feng said—!"
"Your brother is a *saint* covering for you!" Lady Yun huffed, dragging him home.
Feng, now leaning against a doorway eating a dumpling, waved. "Don't blame him, Mom! It's *totally* my fault." He smirked, tossing Hao a *"suckerrrrr"* look.
Hao's jaw dropped. *Betrayal! Treachery! Whyyyyy?!*
Just as Lady Yun's willow branch met Hao's backside (*thwack!*), the sky erupted with music. Nine dragon-turtles the size of school buses descended, pulling a golden carriage blinged out like a rapper's birthday present. Behind them, an army of armored cultivators rode winged lions—because *subtlety* was for peasants.
"The Lin Clan!" Feng whispered. These weren't just allies; they were the *Wolf of Wall Street* meets *Game of Thrones*—a powerhouse family ruling the Western Xia with an iron fist and a diamond-encrusted spreadsheet.
Lord Lin Hao, a man whose smile could sell snake oil, stepped out. "Brother Qin! Your boys are *legends*! One's got 'future emperor' vibes, the other a glowy chest bone!"
"It's a *Supreme Bone*," Lady Yun corrected, side-eyeing Hao, who was now trying to hide inside a decorative vase.
Then *she* appeared—Lin Xiner, the Lin Clan's seven-year-old heiress, dressed like a Disney villainess-in-training. "Supreme Bone? Pfft. My new servant, Lin San, could beat your 'prodigy' with his pinky!" She snapped her fingers, and a scrawny teen shuffled forward, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Feng sized up Lin San. The boy had a forehead so pronounced it could've doubled as a shelf. *Hmm. Either he's hiding a third eye, or he really likes headbutting doors.*
"Well?" Xiner taunted. "Scared, *princess*?"
Feng grinned. "Nah. But your pet here might need a helmet." He cracked his knuckles. "Let's dance, Forehead Boy."
**---**