The decision, once made, was met not with approval, but with a weary, baffled acceptance. The Patriarch, seeing no better way to meet the quota without crippling the farms, reluctantly agreed. The elders muttered amongst themselves, and his father, Yang Zhan, simply shook his head and walked away without a word, the look on his face a mixture of shame and a strange, grudging respect.
Only his mother, Madam Liu, had a parting shot.
As he left the courtyard, she fell into step beside him, her crimson robes a swirl of furious silk. "Are you a complete and utter fool?" she hissed, her voice a low, venomous whisper that was for his ears alone. "Do you have any idea the face you are making this family lose? My son, digging in the mud with the clanless filth of the Dregs. You are not just a cripple; you are an active, walking embarrassment."
He didn't look at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "The clan needs ten laborers. I am one."
"You are a fool!" she snarled. She stopped, grabbing his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh with surprising strength. He could feel the heat from her palm through the thin fabric of his sleeve. "This isn't a game, you idiot boy. The Governor's work gangs are run by brutes. They will work you until you collapse. What then? Will the Yang Clan have to carry its useless son home on a stretcher? More shame. More ridicule."
He met her gaze then. Her amber eyes were blazing with a potent mix of fury and… something else. A flicker of genuine, angry concern. It was the frustration of a woman watching her last, flawed possession willingly throw itself into a fire.
"I will be careful, Mother," he said, his voice quiet.
She scoffed, releasing his arm as if it were contaminated. "See that you are." She turned and swept away, her robes a flash of crimson indignation.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Nine other names were chosen—old men too weak for the fields, young boys not yet old enough to hunt. A collection of the clan's most disposable people.
The next morning, before the first rays of Lumina had even crested the Titan's Tooth range, they assembled at the gate. A grim-faced Captain Wei Jin and a squad of his soldiers were waiting for them. Without a word, they were marched through the awakening town, a sad little parade of the Yang Clan's decline.
The Dregs was a maze of mud-slicked alleys and leaning, makeshift shacks pressed against the southern town wall. The air was thick with the smell of cheap wine, unwashed bodies, and despair. People watched them pass from shadowy doorways, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow. This was the home of the "Stray Dogs"—the clanless, the outcasts, the forgotten.
The work site was a sprawling, muddy pit where a dozen other laborers were already toiling. They were tasked with digging. Moving heavy, waterlogged earth from one pile to another under the watchful, unforgiving eyes of the Governor's soldiers.
The labor was brutal.
Within the first hour, Yang Kai's back was a screaming knot of agony. His soft, uncalloused hands were raw and blistering. The simple wooden shovel felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. The Vitality Pill from two nights ago had long since worn off, and the single bowl of congee he'd had for breakfast was a distant memory.
He was a joke. The other laborers, hardened men from the Dregs, worked with a grim, practiced efficiency. They looked at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. The young master playing at being a commoner.
By midday, his world had shrunk to the shovel in his hands, the burning in his muscles, and the mud sucking at his worn-out shoes. He fell, his legs giving out, collapsing into the cold, wet earth.
A shadow fell over him.
He looked up to see one of the guards, a brutish man with a scar bisecting his eyebrow. The guard kicked his side, a dull, heavy thud that stole his breath.
"Get up, you useless scrap," the guard sneered. "The Governor doesn't pay for loafers."
Pain, sharp and immediate, flared in his ribs. He coughed, tasting mud and blood. He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled, refusing to obey.
This is it, he thought, a wave of dizzying despair washing over him. My mother was right. I'm going to die here.
"Leave him."
The voice was deep and gravelly. Another laborer, a mountain of a man with a bald head and a thick, braided beard, had stopped his work. He was easily the biggest man in the pit, his arms as thick as Yang Kai's thighs.
The guard turned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his saber. "What did you say, old man?"
The big man didn't flinch. He leaned on his shovel, his eyes, surprisingly clear and intelligent, fixed on the guard. "I said, leave him. He's a boy. Not used to this work. Let him rest a moment. We'll cover his share."
The guard hesitated, his eyes flicking between the giant laborer and the other men, who had all stopped to watch. There was a silent, simmering tension in the air. These men were from the Dregs. They were beaten, but they weren't broken.
With a final, contemptuous spit, the guard backed away. "Fine. But if the quota's not met, none of you eat tonight."
The big man grunted and walked over to Yang Kai. He offered a massive, calloused hand. "On your feet, boy."
Yang Kai took the hand, and was pulled to his feet as if he weighed nothing.
"Thank you," he gasped, his ribs aching.
The big man just nodded, his eyes appraising. "You're one of the clan boys, aren't you? Yang Clan?"
Yang Kai nodded.
"Hmph. First time I've seen a clan pup in the Grinder." He gestured with his head to the pit. "That's what we call this place. It grinds you down. I'm called Xiong. What's your name?"
"Yang Kai."
Xiong grunted again. "Well, Yang Kai. Welcome to the bottom."
The rest of the day was a blur of misery, made bearable only by the tacit protection of the man named Xiong. The big man was a leader amongst the Dregs laborers, his quiet authority respected even by the guards. He worked with a relentless, powerful rhythm, and seemed to do the work of three men without breaking a sweat.
When the sun finally began to set, casting long shadows across the muddy pit, a whistle blew. The workday was over. A cart was wheeled out, and each laborer was given a single, greasy piece of roasted meat and a chunk of hard, black bread.
It was the most delicious thing Yang Kai had ever tasted.
He sat apart from the others, leaning against a pile of excavated earth, his body screaming in protest with every movement. He watched Xiong and the other Dregs laborers. They ate quickly, their conversation sparse and guttural. They were a pack, bound by shared hardship.
Xiong finished his meal and walked over, sitting down beside Yang Kai with a heavy sigh that seemed to shake the ground.
"You did not run," Xiong said, his voice a low rumble. It wasn't a question.
"Where would I go?" Yang Kai replied, his voice hoarse.
"Heh. Smart boy." Xiong gnawed on the bone from his meat, his powerful teeth making short work of it. "Most clan pups would've cried for their mothers by the first hour. You're weak, but you're not soft. There's a difference."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the guards herd the other laborers out of the pit.
"Why did you help me?" Yang Kai asked.
Xiong tossed the bone aside. "The Governor and his dogs, they want to break us. They want us to turn on each other, to fight over scraps. Every time we help one of our own, we spit in their eye. Today, you were one of our own." His gaze was sharp. "And… I am a curious man. I've never seen a clan send one of their own blood to do this kind of work. The Yang Clan must be in a bad way."
It was a statement, not a question. The whole town knew.
Yang Kai didn't answer. He didn't need to.
"You should know," Xiong continued, his voice dropping lower. "This isn't just about digging a hole. This land we're clearing… it belongs to the clanless. Families have lived in those shacks for generations. The Governor is evicting them with no place to go. He is creating an army of desperate, angry people. And desperate people do desperate things."
Yang Kai's mind, now fueled and sharp, processed the information. This wasn't just a construction project. It was social engineering. The Governor wasn't just weakening the clans; he was creating a volatile, resentful population that he could potentially aim like a weapon.
"What will they do?" Yang Kai asked.
"Starve. Steal. Or…" Xiong's eyes flickered towards the looming shadow of the Titan's Tooth range. "Join the Shadow Market. The Rat's Nest is always looking for new recruits. Smugglers. Thugs. People willing to risk the mountains for a bit of profit."
He was getting a lesson in the town's underbelly, information he never would have learned inside the clan walls. This pit, this "Grinder," was a nexus of gossip, resentment, and truth.
"You'll be back tomorrow," Xiong said, pushing himself to his feet. "Don't be late. The guards are crueler in the morning."
He started to walk away, then paused. "A piece of advice, Yang Kai. Here, your name means nothing. Less than nothing. It's a target. Your weakness is your shield. Let them think you are a fragile, useless pup. Let them underestimate you. In the Grinder, the nail that sticks up is the first to get hammered down."
With that, he disappeared into the growing darkness, merging with the other shadows of the Dregs.
Yang Kai sat alone in the muddy pit, the cold seeping into his bones. His body ached. His hands were bloody. He had been humiliated, beaten, and pitied.
But he had survived.
And he had learned.
He looked down at his raw, dirty hands. His mother had called him an embarrassment. His cousin had called him a fool. Xiong had called him weak, but not soft.
He preferred Xiong's assessment.
He slowly, painfully, got to his feet and began the long walk back to the estate, his mind already piecing together the new, ugly map of the world he had uncovered.
[Cycle of the Azure Emperor, Year 3472, 7th Moon, 6th Day]