Bai Chen walked up the stone road, the clan gates looming ahead like old enemies. A guard stepped forward, blocking his path.
"Stop. Outsiders—"
Bai Chen ignored him, his steps steady.
The guard frowned, raised his hand. "I said stop—"
Bai Chen didn't even glance.
The man froze. That face… those eyes. Recognition struck. His sternness crumbled into shame. He quickly bowed low.
"Y-Young Master Chen… forgive me! I didn't recognize you. Please, this way."
Bai Chen gave no answer, only a faint nod.
As he entered, laughter cut through the courtyard. His eyes narrowed. A group of boys stood in a circle. At the center—his son, Xuan Chen.
Chen Yuan's brat and his lackeys sneered. "Your father's dead, Xuan. You're just a bastard orphan now!"
Xuan's small fists shook, but his eyes burned. He suddenly lunged, pinching the bully's nose with two fingers and slamming him to the ground. Blood sprayed, the boy howling.
The others stepped back, fear flashing in their eyes, though their mouths still spat mockery.
Then—slap!
A hand cracked across the bully's cheek. Silence fell as Bai Chen appeared. His voice was cold.
"Kneel."
They dropped instantly, trembling.
As after few minutes of time went by in the duration.
Storm at the Gate
The thunder hadn't left. It rolled across the heavens like a drumbeat, like the world itself was warning the Chen clan to hold its breath.
Bai Chen stood at the heart of the courtyard, his son pressed against him, the boy's small fingers clutching his robes like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. His snow-white hair swayed in the storm wind, silver against black clouds. His return should have been quiet, humble—a man finally home after being thought dead. But instead, the heavens themselves chose to roar above him.
And wasn't that fitting?
The bullies were still on their knees. The arrogant child of his elder brother, the one who had struck his son bloody, was trembling so violently the stone tiles beneath his knees rang with each shake.
The servants dared not even breathe. Some whispered prayers. Some whispered his name. Some whispered only, "Heaven's punishment has returned."
Then came the voice.
"ENOUGH!"
His elder brother, Chen Yuan, walked into the storm as if it were his court. His black beard was oiled, his robes neat, his every step echoing authority. The soldiers behind him stood taller as if their master's spine was their own.
The man was clan head material—calm, practiced, dangerous in his patience.
But Bai Chen had seen his brother's kind before. Smooth hands. Sharp tongue. A man who never dirtied his blade, but sharpened it behind the curtain.
When Chen Yuan's eyes fell on Bai Chen, the years melted. That look—half scorn, half fear—was the same he wore when he'd arranged Bai Chen's first exile, the same when he spread whispers about Bai Chen's "reckless arrogance."
"Bai Chen." His brother's voice was deep, commanding. "You vanish for months, no word, no message. And the moment you step back into our gates, thunder follows you like a curse. You hold the clan's peace hostage with your storms. Do you seek to ruin us all?"
The words echoed, designed for the crowd. Not for Bai Chen. No—his brother was feeding the politics of the courtyard, planting the seed: Bai Chen is danger.
Bai Chen knew the game. He had played it before.
Slowly, he rose to his full height, his son clinging tighter at his side. His eyes swept the courtyard—guards, servants, children, disciples, every ear trembling to choose a side. He spoke low, but the storm carried his voice to every corner.
"Ruin us? Ruin us? The ruin is here, Brother. When your son raises his hand against mine, in our courtyard, in front of Heaven's plaque. That is ruin."
The boy beside him flinched, but Bai Chen's hand pressed his shoulder firmly, steady.
Chen Yuan's jaw tightened. He raised his hand, calm, silencing whispers. "Family law is clear. No Chen bloodline may draw arms against another within the manor. If children quarrel, the law says elders must discipline with wisdom, not wrath. You know this. Would you break our law, brother, for one childish quarrel?"
"Childish quarrel?" Bai Chen's voice struck like iron. He stepped forward, each step heavy enough that the ground seemed to bend with him. "When your son called mine bastard? When he spat that my son's father was dead and gone? When he painted shame on my bloodline, on the very marrow of my bones? Is that childish to you?"
The boy who had bullied trembled, his face turning pale as snow. His father's eyes flicked to him—sharp, scolding, useless brat.
But Bai Chen wasn't done.
He turned his gaze on the crowd, on the servants who had watched, on the disciples who had laughed in shadows, on the guards who stood but didn't act.
"This is the Chen clan?!" His voice cracked like the thunder above. "Children mock children. Wolves laugh while pups are torn. Elders stand by and watch. You call yourselves a family?"
Shame rolled through the crowd like a second storm. Heads bowed. No one answered.
Chen Yuan's smile was thin, dangerous. "Strong words, brother. But storms do not build houses, and wrath does not keep clans alive. We need order. We need law. We cannot let personal grudges—"
"Law?" Bai Chen cut in. He pointed a single finger to the heavens above. Lightning forked across the sky in answer. "The heavens themselves thunder when my son bleeds, and you dare talk to me of law? Do you take mortal words over Heaven's judgment?"
The courtyard froze. The politics snapped in half.
Chen Yuan's teeth ground quietly. His robe sleeve fluttered as the storm wind pressed against him, yet he stood his ground. "Brother, do not mistake Heaven's noise for Heaven's will. If you bring storm and disaster into this manor, the empire will see us as cursed. Already the prefecture's spies watch us—would you give them reason to call us unstable?"
Ah. There it was. Politics wrapped in concern. The fear of spies. Of reputation. Of the prefecture's whisper turning to sword.
Bai Chen let the silence hang. His son shifted nervously at his side, small fingers trembling against his sleeve.
He bent, quietly brushing the boy's cheek, wiping the last streak of blood away. His voice softened, just enough for his son to hear: "Do not fear. Even Heaven bends before blood."
Then he straightened again.
"If the prefecture watches, let them watch. Let them see Bai Chen protect his son while your son cowers in dust. Let them judge who is cursed, and who is chosen."
His words struck like a hammer, shaking the servants' hearts.
Some of them began to whisper—
"Bai Chen… the heavens shield him…"
"Thunder answers his words…"
"Perhaps… he is not curse, but blessing…"
Chen Yuan's lips tightened. Already, he could feel the tide turning, loyalty slipping like sand through his fingers.
The storm rumbled again, but this time, it was not fury. It was a drumbeat, steady, patient—like the heavens waiting to see what Bai Chen would carve from this moment.
And Bai Chen knew it.
He stepped forward, his son clinging to him, his voice steady but heavy enough to chain the whole courtyard.
"This is no chaos, Brother. This is no curse. This… is judgment. Remember it well."
And with the last clap of thunder, the clouds began to part, sunlight piercing through, striking Bai Chen's white hair until he looked less man, more omen.
The courtyard bowed—some in fear, some in awe, some in silence too heavy to name.
Chen Yuan's eyes burned. He smiled still, but in that smile lay the promise of knives in the dark.
And Bai Chen knew.
This was only the opening move.