Dawn was breaking.
A cold fog, like a pale shroud, hung heavily over the massive training ground of the Zhenbei Estate. The bluestone-paved ground was slick with a thin layer of frost from the night before.
With every step, a faint, teeth-setting crunch of cracking ice echoed in the air.
In a corner of the training ground, far away from the elite guards in the center who were shouting drills and radiating surging vital energy, a skeleton-thin figure was throwing clumsy punches at the cold air.
His movements were stiff. Sluggish. Almost comical.
Every punch was accompanied by an uncoordinated wobble of his body, as if he might topple over at any moment from his own awkward motions.
Sweat, mixing with the freezing morning fog, slid down his sallow, sunken cheeks and dripped onto the cold bluestone pavement. It stained a small, dark patch of moisture that was instantly refrosted by the chill.
It was Qin Lie.
He wore the coarse, washed-out linen tunic issued only to the lowest-ranking estate guards. It hung loosely over his emaciated frame, exposing wrists so thin they looked pathetic, with bluish-purple veins clearly visible beneath the skin.
Over and over, he repeated the most basic straight punch, his movements as raw as a child who had never touched a weapon. His eyes were vacant, tinged with a numbness bordering on dullness. Only occasionally, the fleeting microsecond his fist struck the empty air, a faint, razor-sharp, utterly ice-cold gleam flashed deep within his sunken eye sockets—so fast it felt like an illusion.
"Hah... hah..."
Stifled gasps squeezed out from between his chapped lips, sounding gratingly harsh and horribly out of place in the empty, freezing corner.
In the center of the training ground, squads of guards were drilling in uniform military formations. Sword blades flashed, and their roars rolled through the thin mist as vital energy surged—resembling a pack of fierce, roaring beasts. They formed a stark, agonizingly brutal contrast with the lonely, dying figure in the corner.
"Tch."
An undisguised sneer came from nearby, thick with disdain.
Three burly guards wearing brand-new leather armor and carrying standard-issue longswords stood with their arms crossed, leaning casually against a weapon rack. Their gazes swept over Qin Lie as though appraising a pile of reeking garbage.
The leader of the group had a face full of fleshy bulges and a vicious scar across his corner eye. He was Wang Biao, a guard captain and a trusted confidant of Zhao Gui.
"Look at that! That's our precious Young Lord!"
Wang Biao raised his voice on purpose, lacing it with exaggerated mockery so that it carried clearly through the lulls in the guards' shouting drills. It drew sidelong glances from several nearby squads of drilling guards, their expressions varied: some gloating, some numb, and a few carrying a trace of unperceived pity.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Beside Wang Biao, a sharp-faced, monkey-cheeked guard chimed in immediately, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Ain't that the truth! I heard he nearly kicked the bucket in the woodshed yesterday? How come this early in the morning he ain't playing corpse under the covers, but instead came out here to make a fool of himself?"
"Practicing punches?"
Another guard, short and stout as a tree stump, split his mouth in a wide grin to reveal a full set of yellow teeth.
"Looking like this limp noodle? A gust of wind could blow him away! Ha! If you ask me, he's just tired of living and wants to go down early to meet his short-lived mother!"
The vicious words, like poison-tipped ice picks, brutally stabbed into the fragile figure in the corner.
Qin Lie's body trembled slightly, whether from the cold or from the venomous curse. The punching motion grew even more visibly sluggish and stiff.
With agonizing effort, he turned his head. On his sallow face, he squeezed out a ingratiating smile that was uglier than crying. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but a violent fit of coughing cut him off, doubling him over. His frail spine arched like a boiled shrimp.
"Trash is trash!"
The fleshy folds on Wang Biao's face quivered, a ferocious glint burning brighter in his eyes. He pushed past his two cross-armed underlings and strode toward Qin Lie in the corner. His heavy leather boots slammed against the frosted bluestone flags with a dull *thud, thud*, sounding like the tolling of a death knell.
"Is a training ground any place for a consumptive ghost like you?"
Wang Biao towered over him, looking down as if peering at an ant. His spittle practically sprayed onto Qin Lie's face, reeking of stale wine and garlic breath.
"Get back to your doghouse and play dead!"
"Stop hurting our eyes out here! Bad luck!"
With that, his palm—broad as a cattail-leaf fan—swept toward Qin Lie's frail shoulder with a vicious gust of wind, showing no mercy whatsoever!
If this blow landed squarely, given Qin Lie's current "weak" state, he would undoubtedly fly off like a broken sack and suffer fractured bones!
Some guards nearby stopped what they were doing and averted their gazes in dismay.
A flash of cruel satisfaction crossed Wang Biao's eyes. Steward Zhao had made it clear: as long as he didn't kill the fellow, any way of "looking after" this Young Lord was fine! It would be best to leave him permanently bedridden!
Just as that calloused hand, imbued with the strength of a 3rd Layer Martial Artist, was about to touch Qin Lie's shoulder—
A figure shot forward from the side like an agile leopard!
"Stop!"
A sharp cry rang out, carrying the unique edge of youth and a trace of hard-to-conceal tension.
An arm, clad in the same coarse guard tunic but looking neat and clean, thrust itself horizontally right in front of Wang Biao's thick wrist!
*Bang!*
With a muffled thud, the difference in strength was stark; the young guard was jarred back two steps. A stabbing pain shot through his arm, and his face flushed red instantly, but he gritted his teeth hard and refused to retreat a single step, blocking directly in front of Qin Lie.
His lean yet straight spine stood like an unyielding spear.
It was Lin Feng.
His chest heaved violently, but his eyes locked onto Wang Biao without backing down an inch.
"Captain Wang!" Lin Feng's voice trembled slightly from agitation and exertion. "This is the training ground! The Young Lord... the Young Lord is also a master of this estate! You can't do this!"
"Master?"
Wang Biao's hand had been blocked aside. He froze for a split second, then burst into a deafening roar of laughter as if he had heard the greatest joke in the world, the flesh on his face vibrating wildly.
"Hahahaha! Master?"
He pointed past Lin Feng at Qin Lie, who was still hunched over and coughing heartrendingly, spraying spittle as he spoke.
"Open your dog eyes and look!"
"What the hell is this thing?!"
"A piece of trash whose fiancée publicly broke off their engagement, a good-for-nothing who can't even crawl out of the woodshed!"
"A shattered dantian, completely severed meridians—not even worth as much as a stray dog!"
"Does he deserve to be called a master?!"
His two underlings immediately burst into even more unbridled, mocking laughter.
"Exactly! Lin Feng, was your head caught in a door?"
The sharp-faced guard pointed right at Lin Feng's nose, screeching mockingly.
"Stick your neck out for a piece of trash like this? Why don't you take a piss and look at what you are!"
"A cheap bone who's dirt poor and relies on charity from the estate just to stay alive!"
"What are you acting all high and mighty for?"
The short, stout guard stepped forward aggressively, his thick finger practically jabbing into Lin Feng's face as spit flew.
"Get lost! Don't stand in Captain Wang's way of teaching this trash a lesson! Or we'll deal with you too!"
The vicious words sprayed like venomous snake drool.
The drilling noises on the training ground had completely stopped at some point. All eyes focused on this tiny corner.
The air grew stagnant, leaving only the arrogant abuse of the three men and Qin Lie's suppressed, racking coughs.
Lin Feng's face cycled from red to white, then to pale cyan. His body trembled slightly from extreme rage. The arms blocking the front of Qin Lie remained as immovable as iron stakes welded into the ground.
"Captain Wang!"
He took a deep breath, his voice turning bizarrely calm, laced with a desperate, reckless resolve.
"No matter what state the Young Lord is in now!"
"The blood flowing in his veins is the blood of the Zhenbei Estate!"
"It is the blood of the true, legitimate master of this house!"
"As estate guards, for you to commit insubordination is disloyalty!"
"To bully the weak is injustice!"
"Neither the rules of the estate nor the laws of Daxia will tolerate such impudence from you!"
Every word was clear and fell like a heavy hammer!
Like a stone dropped into a stagnant pool, it sent silent ripples spreading across the quiet training ground.
The expressions of quite a few guards shifted. Looking at Lin Feng's slender yet unyielding back, and at his face still bearing adolescent innocence yet now filled with stubborn defiance, something buried deep within their hearts by power and numbness seemed to be gently stirred.
The roaring laughter on Wang Biao's face froze. Then, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he completely lost his temper!
"You little bastard!"
The scar on his face twisted with rage, turning purplish-red and ferocious.
"You're fucking looking to die!"
A fierce aura belonging to a 3rd Layer Martial Artist burst forth without reservation, resembling a man-eating tiger ready to pounce.
He took a ferocious step forward! The bluestone flags groaned under the pressure.
His cattail-fan-like palm swept forward with a wind that tore through the air—no longer a push, but all five fingers splayed out like iron hooks, wielding enough force to crush bone as it lunged straight for Lin Feng's throat!
If this strike landed squarely, Lin Feng would either be dead or severely crippled!
"Captain Wang! Cripple him!"
"Show him what the rules are!"
The two underlings shrieked and howled with savage grins. A few muffled gasps rang out around them. Several veteran guards instinctively wanted to step forward, but were forced back by Wang Biao's ferocious glare.
Lin Feng's pupils constricted to pinpricks! The shadow of death enveloped him instantly!
Instinctively, he wanted to retreat, but right behind him stood the Young Lord, who could barely stand straight from coughing!
*I cannot retreat!*
A fierce glint flashed in his eyes! He clenched his teeth shut, preparing to take the blow head-on!
Just as that terrifyingly powerful claw was about to graze Lin Feng's throat—
A withered, thin hand, stained with mud and sweat, trembled out from behind Lin Feng with a sickly, powerless motion, like the final struggle of a drowning victim.
Weakly, it rested upon Wang Biao's tree-trunk-thick wrist.
"Cough... *cough cough*... Cap... Captain Wang..."
Qin Lie finally stopped coughing.
With agonizing effort, he lifted his head. His sallow face was completely drained of color, his lips quivering, his eyes unfocused and brimming with terror and supplication. His body shook violently like a candle in the wind.
That hand resting on Wang Biao's wrist was cold, emaciated, and devoid of the slightest strength, resembling the last withered leaf on a late-autumn branch.
"Don't... don't hit him..."
"It's... it's my fault..."
"I... I'll leave right now..."
"Right now..."
His voice was weak and disjointed, heavy with wheezing and a tearful sob, humble to the point of dust.
Wang Biao's hand, lunging toward Lin Feng, froze abruptly in midair!
That thin, ice-cold hand on his wrist felt like a magot clinging to a bone, causing him immense discomfort. What enraged him even more, however, was Qin Lie's posture of ultimate humility and cowardice!
It felt like a basin of icy water, dousing his surging vital energy and murderous intent, making it impossible for him to execute his fully powered claw strike.
To land a heavy hand on a Young Lord who was this much of a "piece of trash," this "cowardly," and this "sensible"—especially in full view of everyone—even with Steward Zhao backing him up, would ultimately be... far too ugly!
The fleshy folds on his face twitched violently a few times, a fierce light flickering uncertainly in his eyes, before finally melting into an even thicker wave of disdain and disgust.
"Bah!"
He jerked his arm away violently, tossing Qin Lie's withered hand aside as if shaking off a filthy rag!
The force of it threw Qin Lie off balance, causing him to stagger and nearly crash to the ground. Fortunately, Lin Feng reacted swiftly, catching him by the arm just in time.
"Get lost!"
Wang Biao pointed toward the exit of the training ground as if shooing away flies, his voice laden with impatience and contempt.
"Take this eyesore of a piece of trash!"
"Right now! Immediately! Get the hell out of my sight!"
"If I ever see either of you in this training ground again—"
With a savage grin, he flexed his fists, his knuckles letting out a teeth-gritting crack.
"—I'll break your damn legs!"
"Still not moving?!" the sharp-faced guard barked harshly.
"Waiting for Captain Wang to treat you to a fist sandwich?" The short, stout guard stepped forward, balling his fists.
Lin Feng supported Qin Lie's crumbling body, feeling the faint tremors running down his arm. He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the boundless humiliation and rage boiling within him. Without glancing at the three men again, he lowered his voice:
"Young Lord, let's go."
His voice was low, yet carried an undeniable firmness.
Half-supporting, half-carrying Qin Lie, using his own body as a prop, he walked step by arduous step toward the exit of the training ground. His steps were heavy, his back appearing exceptionally frail in the cold morning fog, yet radiating an unspeakable defiance.
Behind them came the unbridled laughter of Wang Biao and his men, the complex and unfathomable gazes of the surrounding guards, and the cold frost frozen upon the bluestone pavement.
Stepping out from the shadow of the training ground's tall arched gateway and away from the suffocating bustle and malice, the weak morning sunlight finally begrudgingly spilled a few rays over the two of them, bringing a trace of insignificant warmth.
Only then did Lin Feng's tense body relax slightly. He turned his head slightly to look at the Young Lord, who was still being supported by him with his head lowered and breath weak, and asked in a low voice:
"Young Lord, are you alright?"
His voice carried concern and a trace of hard-to-conceal exhaustion.
Qin Lie did not answer immediately. He kept his head lowered, the messy, blood-stained locks of hair covering most of his face, revealing only a lean, pale chin. His body still seemed to tremble slightly from the cold and weakness.
After a moment, an extremely faint voice, almost too quiet to hear, squeezed out from between his chapped lips.
"Tha... thank... you..."
His voice was hoarse, sounding like sandpaper scraping against wood, heavy with the weakness of one who had barely cheated death.
Lin Feng was slightly stunned, a pang of inexplicable sourness tightening his chest. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately just tightened his grip on the arm supporting Qin Lie and muttered:
"It's nothing. Young Lord, let me walk you back to your courtyard first."
Qin Lie offered no response, simply letting Lin Feng support him as he dragged his floating feet deeper into the estate, heading toward that most remote and dilapidated corner.
The morning estate was already waking up.
Winding corridors and artificial rockeries intertwined. Servants and maids hurried past from time to time, all wearing looks of astonishment when they saw Qin Lie in such a disheveled state supported by Lin Feng. Immediately, they lowered their heads—either pretending not to see and hurrying away, or giving a wide berth while pointing and whispering, dodging them as though avoiding the plague.
Those gazes—curious, pitiful, disdainful, gloating—struck them like invisible needles.
Lin Feng straightened his back, striving with his own body to shield Qin Lie from those piercing stares.
He could feel the Young Lord's body tightening even further, the lowered head burying itself deeper still.
Only that arm he was supporting—beneath the withered wrist and ice-cold skin—seemed to have... something throbbing faintly?
Was it his imagination?
Lin Feng shook his head, pushing the thought away.
Passing through several sets of desolate moon gates and bypassing an overgrown, abandoned garden, those two low, dilapidated adobe houses finally appeared at the end of his vision, like a scar forgotten by the bustling estate.
"Young Lord, we're here."
Lin Feng stopped in his tracks, carefully guiding Qin Lie to the entrance of the small courtyard.
Qin Lie finally lifted his head slowly. His face remained a sickly sallow, sweat mixing with dust to leave dirty streaks across his cheeks. His eyes were unfocused, carrying deep exhaustion and... a lingering trace of fear?
He glanced at Lin Feng.
That gaze was complex and ambiguous—gratitude? Numbness? Or something else entirely?
Lin Feng couldn't quite read it.
"Tha... thank you..."
Qin Lie offered his hoarse thanks once more, his voice even weaker than before, as though he might stop breathing at any second. He broke away from Lin Feng's support, steadied himself by grabbing the cold adobe courtyard wall, and wobbled to a stop under his own power.
Though still frail, at least he hadn't collapsed again.
"You're too kind, Young Lord." Lin Feng hastily bowed. "You... you should get some rest."
He hesitated, looking at Qin Lie's figure that seemed capable of being knocked over by a gust of wind, but ultimately said nothing more. He bowed once more, then turned and strode away, his steps carrying an oppressive heaviness.
Not until Lin Feng's figure completely vanished at the end of the overgrown garden path did Qin Lie slowly loosen his grip on the courtyard wall.
He maintained that weak, hunched posture, but beneath his lowered eyelids, within those eyes that had just looked unfocused, terrified, and numb, all pretense melted away like the receding tide!
Leaving behind only—
A deep pool of frozen eternity!
Ice-cold! Sharp! Bottomless!
Where was there even a shred of weakness or fear?!
He slowly straightened his back. Though still emaciated, his spine was as straight as a peerless murderous blade pulled from a tattered scabbard!
Just now on the training ground, Wang Biao's murderous claw strike, Lin Feng's desperate back blocking his path, the cold, disdainful, gloating stares of everyone around him...
Scene after scene cut through his mind repeatedly like cold razor blades!
Hatred!
Like dormant volcanic magma, it surged frantically beneath the ice sheet, threatening to burst straight through his chest!
He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles gave a faint *crack* and his nails dug deep into his palms, bringing a sharp, stinging pain.
A wisp of breath—infinitesimally faint, yet heavy and razor-sharp—flashed across his clenched knuckles.
It was even more solid and distinct than it had been last night in the courtyard!
"Wang Biao..."
"Zhao Gui..."
"Qin Xiao..."
Name after name squeezed out from between his teeth like poison-tipped ice picks, carrying bone-deep murderous intent.
He slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping past the low courtyard wall toward the towering main hall deep within the estate—the symbol of power and status.
His eyes were as cold as knives.
The corners of his mouth slowly curved upward, forming an arc that was chillingly cold and wildly insane.
He unclenched his tightly balled fists, lingered no longer, turned around, and pushed open the creaking, dilapidated courtyard gate.
His figure vanished into the dim shadows of the doorway, like a wounded lone wolf temporarily retreating to lick its wounds while waiting for... the moment to bare its fangs!