The terror was a living thing. For two days, Yang Kai didn't leave his room. He remained huddled in his small, cold sanctuary, the echo of his Third Aunt's threat a constant, chilling whisper in his mind.
I will personally pluck out that sharp little tongue of yours and blind those curious new eyes.
He believed her. The cold, absolute certainty in her grey eyes had been far more terrifying than his mother's fiery rage or his cousin's arrogant disdain. He had poked a sleeping dragon and had been lucky to escape with only a scorched soul.
His brief, foolish confidence was shattered, replaced by the familiar, gnawing fear that had been his only companion upon waking in this world. He was nothing. A cripple. A ghost. He had no power, no allies, and now, he had made a powerful, vigilant enemy within the very walls of his prison.
On the third day, hunger finally won out over fear. His stomach was a hollow, aching pit. The daily deliveries of congee had stopped. It was a subtle, but clear message. His brief period of relevance, his five days of labor, was over. He was no longer a clan asset, even a pathetic one. He was back to being a forgotten burden. If he wanted to eat, he would have to find food himself.
He crept out of his room like a thief, his senses on high alert. The estate felt alien and hostile. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat. Every distant voice sounded like a summons. He half-expected to see Madam Xue around every corner, her eyes like chips of ice.
He made his way to the Cold Hearth Hall, the clan's communal dining area. It was late morning, and the hall was mostly empty, save for a few servants clearing away the remains of the morning meal. He saw them glance at him, their expressions a mixture of pity and disinterest, before they turned away.
A large pot of leftover congee sat by the hearth, a thin, watery gruel that was likely destined for the slop bucket. His stomach growled. Shame warred with hunger. Shame lost.
He found a chipped bowl and ladled a meager portion for himself, his hands shaking. He sat at a deserted table in the darkest corner of the hall, hunching over his bowl and eating like a starved dog, his eyes constantly scanning the doorway.
He was so focused on his fear that he didn't notice the figure approaching until they were standing right beside his table. He flinched, spilling some of the congee on his robes.
It was his cousin, Yang Wei.
The morning air in the First House's training ground was crisp and clean. Yang Wei stood in the center of the yard, his eyes closed, feeling the potent flow of his Star Force circulate through his newly tempered meridians. Peak Stage 2. Solid as a mountain stone. The power was a quiet, humming river within him, a stark contrast to the stagnant pond of the rest of his clan.
"Wei'er."
He opened his eyes. His mother, Madam Lan, was gliding towards him, a vision of serene, jade-green silk.
"Mother," he said, bowing his head respectfully.
"You have been training hard," she said, her voice a calm, approving murmur. "Your foundation is stable. But you must not neglect your body's needs." She held out a small, cloth-wrapped parcel. "I had the kitchens prepare these for you."
He took the parcel. It was still warm. Steamed buns, filled with savory, minced Spirit Beast meat. A rare treat.
"They are not for you," she replied, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. "They are for your cousin."
He froze. "You wish me to deliver charity to the Second House's shame?" he asked, his voice tight with contempt. "Mother, it is an insult to my status."
Madam Lan did not look up from the rare Silver Lotus she was pruning. "It is precisely because of your status that you must deliver it," she said calmly. "Power is not just about strength, my son. It is about perception."
She finally met his gaze, her jade-green eyes cool and sharp. "To the clan, this is an act of magnanimity from the First House, a gesture of care for our kin. It shows our benevolence. To the Second House, it is a reminder. It reminds your aunt that she cannot even provide for her own son, and must rely on my table for his sustenance. It reminds your uncle that his pride is hollow."
She smiled, a faint, chilling expression. "We are reminding them of their place, Wei'er. And we are doing it with a gift of two steamed buns. That is power. Now go. Play the part of the caring cousin."
He stared at her, then at the buns. He understood. It wasn't charity. It was a political move. An act of dominance cloaked in kindness. He let out a sigh, a mixture of profound annoyance and grudging respect for his mother's cunning. He bowed his head again. "As you wish, Mother."
He walked away, the warm parcel feeling like a lead weight in his hand, a symbol of the pathetic family obligations that were a constant distraction from his own path to power.
Yang Wei looked down at him, then around the squalid room, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He placed the warm parcel on the filthy table as if it were a piece of trash.
"Here," he said, his voice flat. "A gift from the First House."
He looked at the half-eaten bowl of watery congee. "My mother heard you were eating pig slop and took pity on you. She worries you will collapse in a hallway and further disgrace the family name."
He took a step closer, looming over the seated Yang Kai. "Eat it. Get strong. And try not to be such a pathetic embarrassment to the name Yang. Some of us still have pride."
Yang Wei delivered his final insult and turned to leave, clearly satisfied with his performance. As his hand touched the door, a quiet, steady voice came from behind him.
"Thank you, cousin."
Yang Wei froze, his hand on the door. He slowly turned his head. The cripple was still sitting, his head bowed, his expression hidden. The words were polite. Respectful, even. But in the context of the humiliation he had just delivered, the simple, calm "thank you" was not an act of submission. It was an act of defiance. It was the boy refusing to be broken.
A flash of pure, frustrated rage crossed Yang Wei's face. He let out a sharp "Hmph!", turned, and slammed the door shut behind him.
Yang Kai stared at the parcel. Slowly, he unwrapped it. Inside were two soft, white steamed buns, still warm, filled with savory, minced meat. The rich aroma made his head swim.
He devoured the first bun in three bites. As he started on the second, his mind began to work, piecing things together through the fog of his hunger and fear.
His First Aunt had sent this. Why? Pity? No. He remembered their conversation in the garden. She was an alchemist. A strategist. She did not deal in pity. She dealt in investments.
He had given her valuable information. Consider it an investment, she had said, giving him the Spirit-Dew Tea. This… this was not a gift. It was a signal. A quiet reminder. Their transactional relationship was still open. The door to her garden was not closed to him. He had lost his primary source of information when he left the Grinder, but she, the woman who knew the clan's every secret, had just reminded him that she was still a potential partner.
She wasn't helping him. She was cultivating an asset.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold hall. He was a tool. A disposable source of information that she was keeping just sharp enough to be useful.
It was a terrifying thought.
But it was also the first glimmer of hope he'd had in three days. He wasn't completely alone. He had a single, fragile thread connecting him to a person of power. A thread he had to nurture, to strengthen, lest it snap.
And to do that, he needed more information. Something valuable enough to trade for another conversation in her garden. Something worthy of her attention.
His mind went to the one person who had shown him a sliver of kindness without wanting anything in return. The giant laborer from the Grinder.
Xiong.
The decision was born of pure desperation. The Dregs was a lawless, dangerous place, the festering wound on the underbelly of Fallingstar Town. But it was also where the whispers were loudest.
He left the estate through a small, unguarded servant's gate in the southern wall, the same wall that formed the northern border of the Dregs. The transition was jarring. One moment he was in the empty, decaying order of the Yang Clan compound; the next, he was plunged into a chaotic maze of mud-slicked alleys, leaning shacks, and the overwhelming stench of unwashed bodies and cheap, sour wine.
Here, his Yang Clan robes, faded and worn as they were, marked him as an outsider. Hostile, hungry eyes followed him from every shadowed doorway. He kept his head down, his heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his ribs, and tried to walk with a purpose he did not feel.
He remembered Xiong mentioning that many of the out-of-work laborers gathered near the town's only major tavern, the Silent Pavilion Inn. It was his only lead.
He found the inn near the Market Square. It was a large, ramshackle building, its sign a faded painting of a one-armed swordsman. He didn't dare go inside. Instead, he lingered in a nearby alley, trying to make himself invisible, searching the faces of the men coming and going.
He saw him after only a few minutes. Xiong's massive frame was unmistakable. The big man was leaving the tavern with two other laborers, his face grim.
Yang Kai's courage almost failed him. But the memory of the watery congee and his aunt's pitying gift pushed him forward. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the alley.
"Xiong!" he called out, his voice thin and reedy.
The three men stopped, turning to look at him. Xiong's eyes widened in surprise.
"The clan pup," he rumbled, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I thought they'd have you locked back in your cage by now. What are you doing in the Dregs? This is no place for a little master."
"I… I need to talk to you," Yang Kai said, acutely aware of the curious stares of Xiong's companions.
Xiong studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp and appraising. He seemed to see the desperation radiating from Yang Kai. He grunted and nodded to his friends. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up."
The other two men shrugged and ambled off, leaving Yang Kai alone with the giant.
"Talk, then," Xiong said, crossing his massive arms. "But make it quick. It's not good for your health to be seen talking to me."
"I need information," Yang Kai said, getting straight to the point. "You said the Rat's Nest was recruiting. That they were smuggling goods."
Xiong's expression hardened. "That's dangerous talk, boy. Not the kind of thing you should be asking about."
"The Governor is squeezing my clan to death," Yang Kai said, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "I need to find something. Anything. A weakness. You said they were running goods through the Whispering Shadow Forest. What are they smuggling? Where are they going?"
Xiong was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching Yang Kai's face. "Why should I tell you? What's in it for me?"
It was the question Yang Kai had been dreading. He had nothing. No money. No power. No influence. He looked down at his own soft hands. He had only one thing to offer. The very thing he had just been given.
He reached into his robes and pulled out the second steamed bun, still wrapped in its cloth. It was his only other meal for the day. He held it out to Xiong.
"This," he said, his voice barely audible. "It's filled with meat."
Xiong stared at the offering. He looked at the soft, white bun, then at Yang Kai's thin, desperate face. He didn't laugh. He didn't sneer. A slow, sad smile touched his lips. He reached out and gently pushed Yang Kai's hand, and the bun, back towards him.
"Keep your food, boy," he said, his voice softer than Yang Kai had ever heard it. "You need it more than I do."
He sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. More guts than sense." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "Listen close, because I'm only saying this once. The Rat's Nest… they're not just smuggling beast parts out. They're smuggling things in. Food. Wine. But also… blasting powder. From the Blacksand Quarries far to the west. They're selling it to the Governor's mining camp. Imperial Survey Camp 7."
It was the confirmation he needed. The secret he had traded to his aunt was true.
"But that's not the real secret," Xiong continued, his eyes glinting. "The real secret is why. Why does the Governor need so much blasting powder? He's not just digging for Aethel-Iron anymore. That venture was a failure. My cousin works as a laborer at the camp. He says Master Lin, the Governor's Array Master, is using the powder to clear a path deep into the mountain. They're trying to reach something. An old, collapsed shaft in the foothills. A place my grandfather used to call... the Forgotten Road."
The Forgotten Road. The name meant nothing to him, but it felt heavy with significance.
"Thank you, Xiong," Yang Kai breathed, the words filled with a desperate, overwhelming gratitude.
"Don't thank me," the big man grunted, straightening up. "I didn't do it for you. I did it because I hate the Governor more than I fear him. Now get out of here. Before your clan name gets you killed."
Xiong turned and walked away, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys of the Dregs.
Yang Kai stood there for a moment, clutching the warm bun in his hand. He had done it. He had his next thread.
The Forgotten Road.
It was a name. A destination. A new piece of the puzzle.
And it was the first secret that was truly, entirely his.
[Cycle of the Azure Emperor, Year 3472, 7th Moon, 15th Day]