Chapter 3: The Hidden Enemy
Night fell over Linyuan City, but in the Qin family compound, sleep was elusive for many.
In the main residence's most opulent chamber, Madam Wang paced before a window overlooking the moonlit gardens. Her usual composure was gone, replaced by a simmering rage that made the air in the room feel heavy.
"That little bastard," she hissed. "How dare he? How dare he steal Yue's moment?"
Qin Yue sat at an ornate table, his hands clenched into fists. The jade cup before him was cracked from the force of his grip. "Ice Phoenix Palace. Of all the sects, why them? And why him?"
"It's a fluke," Madam Wang said, though she didn't sound convinced. "That woman sensed his strange condition and got curious. That's all. She'll forget about him the moment she returns to her icy mountain."
"But Deacon Li noticed too," Qin Yue pointed out. "He said he'd report to the Qingyang Sect. What if they also become interested?"
Madam Wang stopped pacing. Her eyes, always calculating, grew sharp. "Then we must ensure they lose interest. Permanently."
Qin Yue looked up. "Mother?"
"Three months," Madam Wang said softly. "Su Qinghan said she'd take him if he reaches Body Tempering Level 6 in three months. But what if he doesn't reach it? What if he doesn't reach anything ever again?"
Understanding dawned in Qin Yue's eyes. Then a slow smile spread across his face. "An accident. During training. These things happen, especially to... fragile individuals."
"Exactly." Madam Wang moved to a lacquered cabinet, opening a hidden compartment. She withdrew a small black token—different from Qin Feng's bronze one. This was jet black, with a serpent coiled around a dagger. "The Shadow Kill Pavilion owes me a favor. For the right price, they can make any death look natural."
Qin Yue's eyes widened. "You'd hire assassins? Within the city?"
"Not within the city," Madam Wang said. "Your uncle has already agreed to send Qin Feng to the Blackwind Mountain Range to 'search for herbs to regulate his constitution.' A thoughtful gesture from a concerned family. Tragically, the mountains are dangerous. Spirit beasts, unstable terrain, bandits..."
She didn't need to finish.
"When?" Qin Yue asked.
"Soon. Before he has time to make any real progress. Before anyone else takes notice." Madam Wang placed the black token on the table. "I'll contact them tomorrow. They'll want payment upfront—fifty low-grade spirit stones as deposit."
"A small price to remove a stain on our family's honor," Qin Yue said.
Mother and son shared a look of perfect understanding.
---
In the Family Head's Study
Qin Xiaotian sat at his desk, but he wasn't working. Before him lay an open ledger, but his eyes were unfocused, seeing not numbers but the memory of a boy standing straight in the ancestral hall.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter."
Qin Fu slipped inside, bowing. "Family Head."
"Well? What did you find?"
The old servant hesitated. "I watched Young Master Feng return to his woodshed. He didn't go out again. But earlier, when he came to the hall... the guards said he moved strangely. Faster than he should have."
"How much faster?"
"They said it was like he... teleported. One moment at his door, the next past them. They tried to stop him, but couldn't lay a hand on him."
Qin Xiaotian leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. "Teleported? No, that's impossible for someone without cultivation. But something has changed. Su Qinghan saw it too." He sighed. "My brother's son. For years, I've let Wang Shi push him down, telling myself it was for the family's stability. But today..."
He trailed off, then made a decision. "Prepare a care package. Three Body Tempering Pills, a copy of the basic Qin family cultivation manual, some spirit herbs. Deliver it to him tonight. Anonymously."
Qin Fu bowed. "Yes, Family Head."
"And Qin Fu?"
"Yes?"
"Keep an eye on him. Discreetly. If Madam Wang or her children make any moves against him... inform me."
Qin Fu's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "Understood."
After the servant left, Qin Xiaotian opened a drawer and took out a faded painting. It showed a young man—Qin Xiaoyun, his brother—standing with a woman of ethereal beauty. The woman held an infant. Qin Feng's mother.
"Who were you?" Qin Xiaotian murmured to the painting. "And what did you leave in your son?"
---
In the Woodshed
Qin Feng sat cross-legged on his straw mattress. The care package from Qin Xiaotian lay beside him—he knew it was from his uncle despite the anonymity. The Body Tempering Pills glowed with soft light in the darkness, each containing concentrated spiritual energy that could help a normal cultivator break through a minor level.
But for Qin Feng, they were useless. His blocked meridians couldn't process the energy.
Or could they?
He picked up one pill, studying it with his Star Pupil Art. He saw the energy patterns within—a complex web of wood and earth elements, designed to gently stimulate the body's natural refining processes.
An idea occurred to him.
The Nine Dragons Devour the Heavens Art didn't use external spiritual energy. It refined internal essence—from blood, from food, from the very cells of the body. But what if he could use the pills differently?
Instead of trying to absorb their energy through meridians, what if he broke them down physically and let his body digest them? The energy would be released slowly, naturally, as his body metabolized the components.
It was unorthodox. Possibly dangerous. Pills were meant to be dissolved by spiritual energy in the dantian, not stomach acid.
But he had Dragon Veins now. And the first dragon's inheritance had given him more than just techniques—it had given him a new understanding of his body as a universe unto itself.
He made his decision.
Placing a pill in his mouth, he didn't swallow it whole. Instead, he crushed it between his teeth. Bitter taste flooded his mouth, followed by a warming sensation. He swallowed the fragments.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then heat bloomed in his stomach. Not the gentle warmth of normal digestion, but a fierce, burning heat. The pill's energy, released all at once without the moderating effect of spiritual absorption, was like setting a fire in his gut.
Pain shot through him. He gasped, doubling over.
But even as the pain came, his Dragon Veins reacted. They began to pulse, drawing the wild energy from his digestive system, pulling it into the silver pathways. The energy was raw, violent, but the Dragon Veins tempered it, refined it, transformed it into something usable.
Sweat poured down Qin Feng's face. His body trembled with the strain. This was reckless. Stupid even.
But it was working.
He felt the energy spreading through him, strengthening muscles, densifying bones, cleansing tissues. It wasn't the smooth progression of normal cultivation—it was brutal, agonizing advancement.
When the worst of the pain passed, he checked his body. His physical strength had increased noticeably. He flexed a hand, feeling power coiled in his muscles. If he had to guess, he was now solidly at Body Tempering Level 4. Maybe even brushing against Level 5.
One pill. One agonizing, dangerous experiment.
He looked at the remaining two pills. Then at the cultivation manual.
He opened the manual—the basic Qin family Body Tempering method. It described exercises, breathing techniques, meridian circulation patterns. All useless to him.
But as he read with his Star Pupil Art active, he saw something else. Between the lines, in the flow of the ink, in the very intent behind the words, he saw principles. The principle of gathering energy. The principle of refining essence. The principle of strengthening form.
He wasn't learning techniques. He was learning the Dao behind the techniques.
And with his Dragon Veins and his connection to the Celestial Void Star Dragon, he began to adapt those principles.
He stood, beginning a simple stance from the manual—the "Mountain Rooting Stance," meant to connect a cultivator to earth energy and build stability.
But as he settled into the stance, he didn't try to connect to earth energy. Instead, he focused on the space around him. On the stability of space itself. The Void-Step inheritance had taught him that space wasn't empty—it had structure, tension, a kind of "fabric."
He rooted himself not in the earth, but in the fabric of space.
The effect was immediate and profound. He felt immovable, as if he had become part of the universe's foundation. A fly landed on his arm, and he felt not just the touch, but the minute disturbance in the air the fly had caused, the vibration of its wings through space.
This was beyond anything in the manual.
He moved through other stances, adapting each one. The "River Flowing Fist" became the "Void Current Fist"—not mimicking water, but mimicking the flow of spatial dimensions. The "Wind Tracing Palm" became the "Star Trajectory Palm"—tracking not air currents, but the mathematical certainty of celestial motion.
He wasn't learning Qin family techniques. He was creating something new. Something that belonged to the dragon path.
Hours passed. The moon climbed higher.
He was drenched in sweat, muscles burning, but exhilarated. This was cultivation. Not the borrowed power of external energy, but the unlocking of his own latent potential.
He was about to try the second pill when a sound caught his attention—a sound only his enhanced senses could pick up.
Footsteps. Multiple sets. Outside the compound wall. Moving with practiced stealth.
He extinguished his single candle and moved to the wall, peering through a crack.
Three figures in dark clothing moved through the shadows of the neighboring alley. They weren't ordinary thieves—their movements were too coordinated, too efficient. They paused at the Qin family's rear gate, examining the lock.
One of them turned slightly, and moonlight caught his face. A scar ran from forehead to chin, pulling one eye into a permanent squint. The man's eyes held the dead, flat look of a professional killer.
Qin Feng's blood ran cold.
He didn't need to hear their conversation to know who they were after.
The Shadow Kill Pavilion. Already?
He had expected moves against him, but not this soon. Not assassination attempts the very night after the ceremony.
The scarred man produced a set of tools and began working on the lock. In moments, there was a soft click. The gate swung open silently.
They were inside the compound.
Qin Feng's mind raced. He could raise an alarm. But would anyone believe him? Or would they assume he was causing trouble again?
He could fight. But three professional assassins, likely all at Body Tempering Level 5 or higher...
Or he could run.
But running from his own home? Letting killers chase him through the night?
No.
He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. The Void-Step inheritance whispered in his mind. Space was not a barrier to those who understood it.
He looked at the wall of his shed. Not as an obstacle, but as a suggestion.
Focusing, he reached out with his new spatial sense. He felt the wood, the gaps between molecules, the empty spaces within the material. He didn't try to break through. He tried to... step through.
It was harder than moving through open air. The space within solid matter was compressed, tangled. But it was still space.
He took a step.
The world twisted. For a heartbeat, he was neither here nor there, but in the between—a place of silver light and swirling patterns. Then he was on the other side of the wall, standing in the moonlit courtyard.
The Void-Step, pushed beyond its basic application.
The three assassins had reached the main courtyard now. They were scanning the compound layout, likely looking for the woodshed.
Qin Feng made a decision. He wouldn't wait for them to come to him.
Moving with the silent grace the Void-Step allowed, he circled around, coming at them from behind. His Star Pupil Art showed him their energy levels—all Body Tempering Level 5. Experienced, but not overwhelmingly powerful.
He needed to even the odds.
Picking up a pebble, he threw it at a ceramic pot thirty feet away. The pot shattered with a loud crash.
The assassins spun toward the sound. "What was that?"
"Check it."
One assassin moved toward the sound. The other two remained, watching different directions.
Good. One isolated.
Qin Feng followed the lone assassin, shadowing him through the Void-Step's shortened distances. The man reached the broken pot, knelt to examine it.
Now.
Qin Feng stepped from behind a tree, appearing right behind the man. Before the assassin could react, Qin Feng brought his hand down in a chop to the back of the neck—not using brute force, but targeting a specific point his spatial sense showed him was a nexus of energy flow.
The assassin crumpled without a sound.
One down.
But the noise of the falling body was enough. "Lao San?" one of the remaining assassins called.
No response.
"Trouble," the scarred man—apparently the leader—said. "Spread out. Find him."
They moved with renewed caution. Qin Feng melted back into shadows, his spatial sense giving him an awareness of their positions even when he couldn't see them.
The second assassin moved toward the garden. Qin Feng circled ahead, waiting behind a decorative rock. As the man passed, Qin Feng reached out, not to strike, but to disrupt.
His fingers touched the assassin's shoulder, and he pushed—not physically, but spatially. He gave a tiny, focused shove to the space around the man's center of gravity.
The assassin stumbled, off-balance. Before he could recover, Qin Feng was on him, a precise strike to the temple. The man went down.
Two down.
"Damn it!" The scarred leader had seen the second fall. He drew a blade—dark, non-reflective, probably poisoned. "Show yourself, boy! Or do you only attack from shadows?"
Qin Feng stepped into the open. "You came to kill me. Why would I fight fair?"
The scarred man's eyes narrowed. "You move well for a cripple. But movement alone won't save you."
He attacked. His blade moved in a blur, cutting through the air with practiced efficiency. Qin Feng dodged, using Void-Step to shift inches where feet would normally be needed. But the assassin was good—each dodge was followed by another attack, a relentless onslaught.
Qin Feng realized he couldn't keep dodging forever. He needed to end this.
He focused on his spatial sense, on the Void-Step's deeper principles. The assassin's blade came at his throat. Instead of dodging, Qin Feng reached out—not for the blade, but for the space around the blade.
He twisted.
To the assassin, it seemed like his blade suddenly veered off course, as if hitting an invisible barrier. His balance shifted forward.
In that moment of surprise, Qin Feng struck. A palm to the chest, backed not just by muscle, but by the power of nine Dragon Veins.
The sound was like a drumbeat. The assassin flew backward, crashing into a stone bench. He groaned, trying to rise, but his chest was caved in. Broken ribs, probably damaged organs.
He looked at Qin Feng with disbelief. "Not... possible..."
Then his eyes went blank.
Silence returned to the courtyard, broken only by the sound of Qin Feng's breathing.
Three assassins. Dead or unconscious.
He searched them, finding the black token with the serpent and dagger. The Shadow Kill Pavilion. And in the leader's pocket, a small purse containing twenty low-grade spirit stones—partial payment, likely.
But more importantly, he found a note. Brief, written in coded script. But Qin Feng's Star Pupil Art saw through the code, revealing the true message:
Target: Qin Feng, cripple. Make it look like training accident. Payment: 50 stones deposit, 50 on completion. Client: Wang.
Wang. Madam Wang.
He'd known she hated him. But this... This was beyond hatred. This was extermination.
Footsteps approached—guards, finally alerted by the noise.
Qin Feng made a quick decision. He pocketed the token and note, then arranged the scene. He dragged the two unconscious assassins to join the dead leader, making it look like they had fought each other. A falling out among thieves, perhaps.
When the guards arrived, torches held high, they found Qin Feng standing over three bodies.
"What happened?" the captain demanded.
"They broke in," Qin Feng said, his voice convincingly shaken. "I was practicing late. They fought... over loot, I think. Killed each other."
The guards looked skeptical, but the evidence supported his story—three dead men in black, no obvious wounds on Qin Feng, a scene of violent struggle.
"We'll take them to the family head," the captain said.
As they carried the bodies away, Qin Feng returned to his woodshed. But he didn't sleep.
He sat in the darkness, the black token in one hand, his bronze dragon token in the other.
The game had changed. It was no longer just about humiliation, about being the family outcast.
It was about survival.
And Qin Feng had just discovered he was very good at surviving.
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