Dawn came gray, heavy with the smell of smoke from too many hearths fed with too little wood. Pinebrook stirred in uneasy silence, like a man rising from bed already bracing for blows. The Wu compound felt no different. Children whispered instead of playing, men sharpened dull blades into less-dull ones, and Aunt Mei stirred her pot with a spoon that banged like a drumbeat of defiance.
Wu Tian stood in the courtyard beneath the pear tree, spear propped against his shoulder. His body ached from the fight the night before—shoulders heavy, ribs tender, arms humming from the weight of every strike—but the spark inside him burned steady. He breathed into it, coaxing it to spread. His feet shifted without thought, adjusting his stance as if the earth itself whispered where to stand.
The lattice in his mind shimmered.
Cultivation: Qi Sensing, Stage 4.Talent: Low.Perks: Minor Recovery, Pulse Step, Iron Grip.Bloodline: None.
He opened his eyes. Across the courtyard, Wu Feng was binding his leg with a fresh strip of cloth. Wu Ping checked the leather of his sling like a gambler shuffling dice, lips tight. Wu Liang stood near the gate, rope coiled at his hip, eyes red from lack of sleep.
"They'll come soon," Wu Feng said quietly.
"They always do," Wu Tian replied.
The sound of boots on stone reached them before the crowd did. The magistrate's clerk returned, his cedar oil scent clinging sharp even in the cold air. Beside him walked four Chen retainers, their red sashes clean, their blades cleaner. The quiet man came too, posture loose as if the morning belonged to him. Behind them, villagers followed—drawn by hunger, by fear, by the promise of spectacle.
The clerk stopped at the gate, unrolling a scroll with a flourish. "By decree of the magistrate," he announced, "the Wu clan stands guilty of defamation, blasphemy, and incitement. A fine of one hundred silver taels is levied, payable immediately. Failure will result in confiscation of property and relocation."
The number was absurd. Pinebrook might not see that much silver in a year. A murmur rippled through the onlookers, half fear, half resentment.
Wu Tian stepped forward. "We don't have silver," he said evenly. "But we have truth. That's not a debt."
The clerk sneered. "Truth doesn't buy grain. Truth doesn't pay tribute. You'll pay in silver, or you'll pay in blood."
Wu Ping muttered, "Funny how it's always our blood."
Wu Feng's spear clinked against stone as he shifted. Wu Liang's rope slipped once through his hand before he caught it.
Wu Tian didn't look away from the clerk. "If silver decides guilt, then you're not a magistrate. You're a merchant with a knife."
The crowd hissed at his boldness. Some shook their heads. Others, furtive, nodded.
The clerk's face flushed. "Enough. Retainers—"
The quiet man raised a hand. The others stilled. His eyes lingered on Wu Tian, curious, calculating. "Show me your numbers again," he said softly. "On the wall. In front of everyone."
Wu Tian turned, walked to the ink-stained wall, and read each line aloud. His voice was steady. Families robbed. Grain stolen. Tribute doubled. Every name carved into stone with words instead of chisels. The crowd shifted as if the ink weighed on their shoulders.
The quiet man listened, then looked back at the clerk. "And how do you answer these numbers?"
The clerk stammered. "Lies. Obvious lies."
"Then erase them," the quiet man said calmly.
The clerk blinked.
"Erase them," the man repeated. "If they're lies, Heaven won't mind."
The retainers hesitated. The monk at the temple gate watched silently, lips pressed tight.
The clerk licked his lips, then barked, "Erase it!"
A retainer stepped forward, bucket of water in hand. He splashed it across the wall. The ink did not move. He scrubbed with a cloth until his knuckles bled. The words clung, black and sharp against gray stone. The crowd gasped.
Wu Tian folded his arms. "Some truths don't wash away."
The retainer backed off, muttering. The clerk's face twisted. "Defiance, then. So be it. Arrest him—"
The quiet man's hand cut the air again. "Not yet," he murmured.
He stepped closer to Wu Tian, voice low enough that only he could hear. "You're low talent," he said. "This town knows it. You'll break your body long before you break us. Why keep climbing?"
Wu Tian met his gaze. "Because I already lived one life crawling. I won't do it twice."
The man studied him, then gave the faintest nod. "Interesting."
He turned away. "We'll return tomorrow," he said loudly enough for all to hear. "And we'll see what survives another night."
The clerk sputtered but followed, his retainers at his back. The crowd parted to let them pass, murmurs loud now, unsteady. Some whispered that the Wu were finished. Others whispered that maybe—just maybe—they weren't.
When the square emptied, Wu Feng leaned on his spear. "You just painted a target on us."
"It was already there," Wu Tian said.
Wu Ping shook his head. "Targets don't bleed. We do."
Wu Liang said nothing. His rope twisted tighter around his hand.
Aunt Mei came to the gate with a pan still in her fist. "If they come tomorrow, let them come," she said. "This family isn't a coin purse. And I don't raise beggars."
Wu Tian looked up at the ink still gleaming black on the wall. The Chen would come harder. He knew it. But so would the Wu.
He turned to his brothers. "Then we prepare."
That night, the compound moved like a hive. Wu Feng drilled the younger cousins with spears until their arms shook. Wu Ping lined the walls with baskets of stones, each chosen for weight and shape. Wu Liang tied knots into nets and ropes until his fingers blistered. Aunt Mei boiled soup thick with mushroom and egg from the Lin family's gift, feeding every hand that lifted wood or stone.
Wu Tian walked the perimeter, adjusting every trap, every defense. Rope at ankle height. Stones balanced above doors. Buckets of water waiting to fall. He pressed his hand to the cold gate, then to the ink on the wall. His heart beat steady. His breath burned slow.
The lattice shimmered again.
Cultivation: Qi Sensing, Stage 5.Talent: Low.Perks: Minor Recovery, Pulse Step, Iron Grip, Steadfast Breath.Bloodline: None.
He exhaled, feeling strength settle into his lungs. His breath flowed smoother, his chest steadier. His body was learning to carry more than it should.
Wu Feng came to stand beside him. "Think we can hold?"
Wu Tian didn't answer right away. He stared at the ink, the wall, the pear tree bowing in the wind.
"We don't have to win," he said finally. "We just have to show we won't break. That's enough to scare them. That's enough to make the town remember."
Wu Feng nodded. "Then we don't break."
The pear tree's dead branches creaked above them, but still it stood.
The wind carried whispers that night. Not words, but hints—boots on dirt too careful, the hush of blades drawn slow, the creak of leather straps pulled tight. The Wu compound breathed with it, every man, woman, and child awake and waiting.
The pear tree loomed in the courtyard, branches clawing at the moon. Its shadow stretched across the cracked stone like a warning. Wu Tian stood beneath it, spear steady in his hands. His body was sore, his knuckles raw, but the flame in his belly burned clear. Each breath pulled Qi deeper, steadier.
The lattice in his mind glowed faint.
Cultivation: Qi Sensing, Stage 5.Talent: Low.Perks: Minor Recovery, Pulse Step, Iron Grip, Steadfast Breath.Bloodline: None.
He whispered to himself, "Don't stop. Don't bend. Don't break."
Wu Feng limped to his side, spear wrapped with fresh cloth. "They'll come over the east wall first," he muttered. "That's where the stone's weakest."
Wu Ping crouched on the roofline, sling loaded, eyes sharp despite the bags under them. "I hear three—no, four—climbing."
Wu Liang knelt by the gate, rope in his hands, face pale but jaw tight. He whispered numbers under his breath like prayers.
Aunt Mei sat near the kitchen door, frying pan across her lap. She didn't speak, but the fire in her eyes was louder than words.
The first hand crested the east wall. Wu Ping's sling sang. A stone cracked against knuckles, and the man tumbled with a cry, body thudding against dirt. Three more pulled up anyway, boots hitting the courtyard stone.
Wu Tian stepped forward. His spear thrust once, clean, faster than his own eyes expected. The first retainer staggered back, blood streaming from his thigh. The second swung a blade; Wu Tian shifted, Pulse Step carrying him just out of reach. His counterstrike slammed into the man's ribs, the Iron Grip steady even as the impact rattled bone.
The third came low, knife flashing. Wu Tian dropped his spear haft across the man's wrist, twisting until the blade clattered. He rammed his knee into the man's gut. The retainer folded, gasping.
"Wu!" Wu Feng roared, driving his spear into another who had tried to slip past. Blood sprayed across the courtyard stones.
From the gate came a crash—splinters flying as two more forced their way through. Wu Liang yanked his rope, and the trap tightened, dragging one man off his feet. Aunt Mei's frying pan rang against the other's helmet, the sound echoing like a bell. He staggered, dazed, until Wu Ping's stone ended the argument.
The courtyard erupted into chaos. Shadows leapt from wall to wall, steel flashing in the moonlight. Wu Tian fought at the center, every strike fueled by grit and the stubborn refusal to bend. His breath burned, but Steadfast Breath carried him longer than his body had any right to last.
A blade slipped past his guard, cutting across his ribs. Pain lanced hot, but Minor Recovery flared faintly, sealing the worst of it before blood could weaken him. He gritted his teeth and drove his spear through the retainer's shoulder, forcing him back.
Voices outside shouted. More boots pounded.
"They're sending everyone," Wu Feng grunted, sweat dripping from his brow.
"Good," Wu Tian growled. "Let them."
The gate shuddered again. Then it burst inward. Torches flared. A dozen more surged in—mercenaries and retainers both, eyes hungry for blood and coin.
The Wu roared back, every voice carrying over the courtyard: "WU! WU! WU!"
The cry shook the night.
Wu Tian's spear blurred, thrust and sweep, every movement honed by desperation and fire. He didn't fight like a genius. He fought like a man with no other choice. Every wound fed his resolve. Every gasp of breath was another promise.
The quiet man stepped into the courtyard then, calm amid the storm. He didn't draw a blade. He didn't need to. His presence alone pressed heavier than steel.
Wu Tian felt his eyes on him, measuring. Testing. Waiting.
The battle raged. Spears cracked. Stones flew. Ropes tightened. The Wu fought like cornered wolves, teeth bared, unwilling to yield. Bodies fell, blood pooling on the stones, but the gate still held, the pear tree still stood, and the clan still breathed.
Wu Tian's chest heaved. His vision blurred at the edges. But his spear was steady. His breath was strong. His heart refused to slow.
The lattice shimmered again.
Cultivation: Qi Sensing, Stage 6.Talent: Low.Perks: Minor Recovery, Pulse Step, Iron Grip, Steadfast Breath, Flowing Strikes.Bloodline: None.
Strength surged through him, his movements smoother, each strike chaining into the next like flowing water. His spear became a storm, forcing the enemy back step by step.
The quiet man smiled faintly. "Interesting," he murmured.
And still, Wu Tian roared:
"The Wu do not break!"
The clan's voices joined his, shaking Pinebrook awake. The Chen pressed harder, but for every step they gained, the Wu dragged them back, bloody and unbowed.
The night was far from over.
But for the first time, Wu Tian saw fear flicker in his enemies' eyes.