Yan Li woke to the dull and itching burn of his wound, the skin beneath the bandage hot and watery with seeping blood. He sat up slowly, his teeth clenched, as a sharp pull reminded him of the wound under his ribs. He forced himself upright, every move making the pain worse.
The clan infirmary was quiet at this hour, dawn hadn't broken yet, and the infirmary stood empty. He fumbled for fresh bandages and turmeric paste to dull the pain. The infirmary was dark, lit only by a few lanterns that had burned throughout the night. He walked around the room with effort, steadying himself against the wall.
The old medic walked in just as he reached for more bandages. She took the bandage from his trembling hand. The old woman was known as the healing hand around the clan. She slowly peeled the bloodstained dressing. "The cut missed your kidney. You sure are lucky." The old women said gently. "But be cautious boy, luck won't save you twice."
As he rested in the infirmary, Yan Li began to carefully review the events of the ambush. At the time, fear and adrenaline had clouded his thoughts, but now, with a quiet room and a clear mind, the details surfaced like blood seeping through bandages. There were many inconsistencies, details that didn't sit right. The technique the masked men used, their movement and timing weighted on his mind. Their footwork mirrored the Yan clan's [Storm Steps] almost perfectly, a technique reserved for inner disciples. No outsider should know it, let alone execute it so cleanly. And one of the masked men had a hidden sigil on his shoulder: a crimson sparrow etched into the leather strap. To most, it would've been meaningless, but Yan Li had spent years in the clan library, poring over records, manuals, and banners. That sigil belonged to the Meng clan. Not just any member, but one of their elites.
His thoughts were still racing when the infirmary's door slid open.
Elder Yan Chong stepped inside without a word. He walked up to the bed, calm and composed, and dropped something onto the sheets with a dull thud.
A mask.
"Recognize this?" he asked quietly, his tone unreadable.
No explanation. No accusations. Just a silent implication.
Yan Li's stomach dropped.
The elder gave him a long, unreadable look before speaking again. "The Patriarch has summoned you. Get ready."
Yan li change to a fresh robe, brushing the dust from the cloth with absent mind. The robe still reeked of blood and turmeric. He tied the sash tighter than usual, gritting through the pain, he followed Elder Yan Chong through the winding halls of the inner compound.
As he entered the Patriarch hall, the room was cool and still, lit by only a few oil lamps. At its center sat Patriarch Yan his figure half-shadowed beneath a sprawling map of the borderlands.
The Patriarch didn't speak at first. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin, his eyes fixed on the map. When he finally did speak, his voice was quiet but heavy with meaning.
"The Du clan are quite daring. Their envoys were seen near the Marshbound Vale."
Yan Li's jaw tightened. The Du Clan had no claim there.
The Patriarch turned his gaze to him at last. "You'll go there."
Yan Li looked up, startled.
"Your task will be retrieve fireleaf essence, your mother's condition has been getting worse and she isn't the only patient. The usual stores have run dry. We need fresh sap, harvested before the leaf curls."
Yan Li's heart clenched.
"Second—hunt the Crimsonbone Tiger rumored to prowl near the northern ridge." The Patriarch's eyes narrowed. "Slay it, and return with its fangs. Doing so will earn you contribution tokens—and restore our clan's waning prestige in the outer courts."
Then silent surfaced until the Patriarch leaned slightly, and said "Complete both tasks, and you'll be granted full access to the second floor of the library."
Yan Li blinked. That level was restricted to elders and core members.
"A test?" he asked carefully.
"A chance," the Patriarch replied. "Prove your loyalty with results."
Yan Li bowed low, fists clenched. "I will not fail."
After leaving the hall, Yan Li made his way to the clan library. With the Patriarch's words still echoing in his mind, he moved past the first floor's familiar shelves and into the deeper stacks, searching for anything that could aid his upcoming tasks. He selected a few books; the Eastern Herbal, treatise on Mountain Beasts to teach Liam Village's children and prepare for his mission. At the end of the shelves a particular book attracted his gaze. One of the few book written in the olden script. [Forge of bloodsteel] the pages within were scattered with diagrams and margin notes, written in an elegant, angular hand, it looked like a diary more than a normal book. He added it with the other book and exited the library with the book allowed now, thanks to the Patriarch's permission.
The road to Liam Village was quiet, the familiar trail stirred something deep within him. For the next few days, he returned to his old rhythm: teaching the younger children, helping the elders write letters, and reading the borrowed texts during quiet hours. He even read small excerpts from [Forge of Bloodsteel], though its contents were cryptic—more memoir than manuals.
One morning, an elder mentioned finding a cow torn apart near the southern edge of the forest. Another day, a hunter spoke of strange claw marks on trees too far north for comfort.
Then, just before dusk, a scout stumbled into the village square, half-starved, bloodied and wit eyes filled with fear.
"There were monsters," he rasped, grabbing at anyone who would listen. "Not one. Not ten. A whole herd. Like an army... marching through the woods…"
Even though many thought he was crazy, some whispered of an omen. They started locking their doors early. Yan Li heard every word, but kept to his routine, quietly adjusting his lessons to teach the children indoors.
At the end of the week, he returned to the clan grounds. As he crossed the training field, he was greeted by a sharp, youthful voice.
"Senior Brother Yan Li!"
It was Yan Tei, a younger disciple with too much energy and far too many questions.
"You're back! Did the Patriarch really summon you? What was it about? Was it about the Du Clan?"
Yan Li gave a tired smile. "Too many questions."
"But spar with me! Just one round. Elder Yan Ju gave me a new form to try! I've been practicing it for days."
Reluctantly, Yan Li agreed.
The duel began light-hearted. Yan Tei had spirit, if not discipline. But halfway through the exchange, Yan Li froze. The boy lunged with a technique he was familiar with—Moon Reflection, a technique used by many in the outer hall.
The grip was flawed. The stance was rushed. It was a flawed version of the [Sea-Engulfing Sword Art].
Yan Li caught the boy's wrist, twisted, and pinned him down with one swift maneuver.
"Where did you learn that?" he asked, his voice low.
Yan Tei blinked, confused. "Elder Yan Ju taught us. He said... it is were the revised version."
Yan Li let go, his mind racing.
"Show me your inner energy technique," he said quietly, straightening his posture.
Yan Tei hesitated. "Which one?"
"The [Giant Wave Scripture]," Yan Li replied, eyes sharp.
The younger disciple hesitated, but Yan Li's tone left no room for argument.
Taking a deep breath, Yan Tei closed his eyes and drew in his qi. His fingers traced the opening seal, his stance aligning with the first phase of the scripture. The energy that stirred around him was wrong. Not weak if anything, it was forceful but it surged without rhythm.
The flow was inverted. The breathing was mistimed. More troubling—one of the core meridian transitions had been replaced with a different path, one that could potentially damage the practitioner's internal channels over time.
"That's not the Giant Wave Scripture," Yan Li said coldly. "Not the original."
Was this a fluke? Or was Elder Yan Ju teaching flawed versions of the clan's inner techniques on purpose?
Yan Tei looked up, confused and defensive. "But that's what we've been taught! Elder Yan Ju said the older version was inefficient—that this one was 'refined'."
A knot formed in Yan Li's gut. Something was wrong. Were the outer disciples being fed scraps while the inner halls grew fat with secrets? Was this negligence... or conspiracy?
He helped Yan Tei up, masking his unease with a calm smile.
"Well done," he said quietly. "But next time, don't trust every move you're taught. Some techniques don't need refining."
As the sun dipped behind the cloud curtain, Yan Li knew one thing for certain—his mission to Marshbound Vale had just become far more complicated.
The moon hung low, swollen and amber behind drifting clouds. Its light poured over the tiled rooftops of the Yan Clan's outer compound, as Yan Li read through [Forge of Bloodsteel] the diary's pages whispered of horrors
"To temper true bloodsteel, the furnace must be fed with kin-blood—willing or no."
A shadow fell across the text.
Elder Yan Chong stood over him, tossing a vial of thick black liquid made from fireleaf essence. Elder Chong was not a man of many words, after warning Yan libthe dangerous of the vale he was leaving when Yan li asked "Why teach flawed techniques to outer disciples?"
The elder chewed bitterleaf, considering. "A sword with a cracked hilt still cuts—just not in the hand you expect" hint about bloodsteel.
A roar split the night, the ground trembled as if the Vale itself were shaking. A sound shaking the soul of every being that heard it—low, vast, and ancient, like the earth itself crying out in pain. Birds scattered from the trees in panicked bursts, and somewhere in the distance, the sentry bells rang once before falling eerily silent.
Elder Yan Chong didn't flinch. "The Patriarch's 'tests' always serve two purposes. Remember that, boy."
He left Yan Li with the diary, the extract, and a truth sharper than any blade.