The night of Musang City was brighter than one might expect.
Lanterns lined both sides of the main street, forming an unbroken chain of light that reflected off the damp stone road, casting a cold sheen across its surface. Though the rain had stopped, water still lingered on the ground, footsteps producing faint sounds that were quickly swallowed by voices and noise.
The streets were packed with people. Taverns remained open, vendors continued their calls.
As if the poverty, hunger, and death of daylight had never existed at all.
Yun Zhan stood in the shadow at the edge of the street.
The bamboo hat was pulled low, hiding half of his fire-scarred face, leaving only a tightly set jaw exposed. He had been standing there for a long time—long enough for the lantern oil across the street to be refilled once, long enough for the night guards to shift their stance.
Not far away stood the apothecary.
The shop was small, yet meticulously kept. A medicine lamp hung beneath the eaves, its steady light casting a pale glow over those who entered and left. Some supported the sick as they went inside, then hurried out moments later with bundles of medicine clutched to their chests.
Yun Zhan's gaze lingered on that door.
Then he withdrew it, lowering his eyes to his right hand.
His knuckles were sharply defined, faint traces of dried blood still visible on the back of his hand. The stump of his severed arm was tightly wrapped in cloth; whenever the night wind brushed past, a dull ache surfaced.
It was not sharp pain.
But it lingered—long, persistent, impossible to ignore.
Yun Zhan took a slow breath.
Then he moved.
He slipped along the shadows at the edge of the street, his steps light enough to leave almost no sound. People passed by him, yet few truly noticed the one-armed youth with his head lowered.
Two city guards stood near the apothecary.
One leaned against the wall, counting coins, while the other let his gaze wander aimlessly. Musang City had long enjoyed stable order; vigilance had faded from their minds.
Yun Zhan looked away from them and fixed his eyes on the door.
He reached out carefully and pushed it open.
At once, the bitter scent of medicinal herbs rushed toward him.
Inside, the shop was quiet.
The shopkeeper stood with his back to the door, sorting herbs with practiced, steady movements.
Seeing no reaction, Yun Zhan slipped inside and gently pulled the door nearly closed behind him.
He did not approach the counter.
Instead, he walked straight toward the corner.
There sat an unremarkable wooden box, its lid half-open. Inside were prepared bundles of medicine wrapped in oil paper, edges neat and orderly. Yun Ling had been frail since childhood; over the years, Yun Zhan had often fetched medicine from the clan infirmary. Without realizing it, he had grown keenly sensitive to the scent of herbs.
He crouched slightly and extended his hand.
Just as his fingertips brushed the oil paper—
"Who's there?!"
The shout exploded without warning.
Yun Zhan's movements accelerated instantly.
He seized a bundle, rose sharply, and turned to leave.
Almost at the same moment, the counter was overturned, herbs scattering across the floor. The shopkeeper rushed out, face pale, and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Guards—catch the thief!!"
The cry burst out of the shop like a lit fuse, igniting the entire street.
Yun Zhan surged forward and slammed through the door, charging into the lantern-lit night.
"There!"
"Stop him!"
Footsteps converged from every direction.
The two guards had already drawn their blades, blocking the street with torches raised high, steel glinting coldly in the light.
"Freeze!"
Yun Zhan ignored them.
He tried to slip past, only to be forced back by a third guard cutting in from the side.
The street fell abruptly silent.
People began to retreat, whispers spreading rapidly.
"One arm?"
"He stole medicine? Is he insane—this is Musang City!"
"I saw him earlier… wasn't he the beggar?"
Torchlight formed a ring, trapping Yun Zhan at its center.
His chest heaved as he assessed his options.
The guard at the front sized him up—thin, young, clearly easy prey. Stepping forward, he raised his blade and slashed down coldly.
Yun Zhan had no intention of waiting to be taken.
He stamped forward, stone cracking beneath his foot, and his right fist shot out like a falling hammer, smashing straight into the guard's wrist.
Bang!
It was not the clash of metal.
It was the dull, unmistakable sound of bone being shattered.
The guard's face twisted in shock. His wrist collapsed completely, arm folding at an impossible angle as the blade flew from his grip, spinning across the ground.
Silence.
Then—
"That sound… bones breaking?"
"His arm—!"
Even Yun Zhan froze for an instant.
The sensation in his fist was terrifyingly clear.
This was not desperation.
Not a gamble.
It was absolute suppression—as though his body had surpassed the other by far.
The second guard roared and charged, blade cleaving downward.
Yun Zhan stepped in instead of back.
He sank his shoulder and drove his elbow forward.
Crack!
The man's chest caved in. His body lifted from the ground like a kite with its string severed, slamming into the wall with bricks tumbling down. When he slid to the ground, he did not rise again.
The street erupted into chaos.
Yun Zhan stood where he was, breathing heavily.
He looked down at his right arm.
The muscles tightened, then relaxed. Veins surfaced beneath his skin, yet there was no tearing, no backlash. He could hear it—his bones humming faintly.
A solid, unfamiliar sensation spread through his body.
He recalled something an elder body cultivator once said—
After tempering the flesh comes the tempering of bone.
"Could it be… my state has truly advanced?"
The third guard's face had gone pale. He gripped his blade but no longer dared step forward.
Yun Zhan did not linger.
He turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.
People recoiled instinctively, afraid the one-armed youth might suddenly snap and crush their skulls with a single punch.
Shouts and collisions followed as he forced his way through, his figure soon swallowed by a dark alley.
—
Not long after.
To the south of the city, a group of iron riders arrived at the apothecary.
The lamps were bright.
And yet, the space felt unnaturally still.
Several cultivators dressed in plain robes stood at the counter, their auras restrained. Though they said nothing, the mundane clamor of the city seemed shut out entirely.
Sweat beaded across the shopkeeper's brow.
The young man at the front surveyed the overturned shelves, pausing briefly.
He did not speak.
Instead, he lifted a hand, fingers shifting slightly.
An invisible ripple spread outward. The air quivered, brushing past shelves, floor, and walls alike.
The man frowned faintly.
"Direction."
The word was calm.
But it brooked no refusal.
—
Before the ruined shack.
Yun Zhan burst inside, confirmed no one had followed, then slammed the door shut. He slid down against it, breath ragged.
He looked at his trembling right hand.
Then at the medicine bundle soaked with sweat.
Yun Ling was still burning with fever. He unpacked the medicine, preparing to feed her.
Suddenly—
The muffled thunder of hooves sounded outside.
Yun Zhan's heart sank.
These were no ordinary pursuers.
A cold voice drifted through the night.
"Come out."
"Last heir."