Wang Ben woke to pain and sunlight.
The wounds from yesterday's fight had been cleaned and dressed, but they still pulled with every breath. His left forearm was the worst, the sword cut deep enough to require a physician's attention before healing pills could finish their work. Lesser injuries marked his ribs, his shoulder, his right thigh where a demonic cultivator's strike had nearly found its mark.
He lay still for a long moment, cataloguing the damage while the morning sun traced patterns across his ceiling. The compound was quieter than usual. No servants moving through the corridors, no distant clatter of training weapons. Just the heavy silence of a household holding its breath.
[SYSTEM RECOVERY ASSESSMENT: Host sustained moderate injuries. Healing progression nominal with current treatment.]
[Note: Demonic qi contamination from combat contact minimal. No lasting corruption detected.]
The contamination warning was new. The System had analyzed the demonic cultivators' qi signatures during the fight, cataloguing patterns that might prove useful later. Wang Ben had felt the wrongness of their energy during the brief exchanges, the rot that corruption left in its wake.
He forced himself upright, ignoring the protests from healing muscles, and reached for his clothes. Through the window, he could see guards positioned along the compound walls. Twice the normal number, their formations tight and alert. His father's work, no doubt.
The main hall was nearly empty when he arrived. Only Wang Tian and Patriarch Wang Tiexin sat at the central table, speaking in low voices that fell silent as Wang Ben entered.
"You should be resting." Wang Tian's concern was evident, though he made no move to send his son back to bed. "The physicians said at least two more days before strenuous activity."
"I'm not planning anything strenuous." Wang Ben took a seat across from them, noting the documents spread between the two older cultivators. Reports, from the look of them. "What's the situation?"
Patriarch Wang Tiexin studied him with ancient eyes. At seven hundred and twenty years old, the core formation cultivator had seen countless crises come and go. His weathered face showed neither alarm nor dismissal.
"The City Lord's people are investigating," the Patriarch said. "Cultivation combat in the merchant district drew attention. Three witnesses came forward, and there are questions about the demonic presence."
"Xue Feng."
"His name hasn't been confirmed publicly, but the description matches. A corrupted young master with demonic allies." Tiexin's expression hardened. "The city hasn't seen such open hostility since the clan war. Some are asking uncomfortable questions about why the Wang Clan attracted this attack."
Wang Ben absorbed that. The politics of visibility. His family had risen from near-ruin to prominence, allied themselves with powers that made enemies nervous. Now those enemies were striking back.
"What are we telling them?"
"The truth, carefully framed." Wang Tian leaned forward. "A remnant of the Xue Clan sought revenge for their family's fall. We defended ourselves. The demonic backing suggests external involvement, but we have no proof of who provided it."
No proof. But Wang Ben remembered what Xue Feng had said during the fight. Words that had seemed like boasting then, but carried darker implications now.
He found a quiet corner of the compound gardens after the morning briefing, a stone bench beneath a flowering plum tree where he could think without interruption.
Xue Feng's words replayed in his memory. Not the taunts or the threats, but the slips. The moments where anger had loosened his tongue.
"The Bastion made sure you'd never get what you needed."
"They're not just watching, Wang Ben. They're strangling you slowly."
The material shortages. The shadow-drinking crystal that had been systematically acquired before he could reach it. The expedition companies paid to stop running harvests. He'd suspected coordination, but Xue Feng had confirmed it.
[ANALYSIS: Subject Xue Feng's statements during combat provide additional data points]
[Cross-referencing with previous observations: Material Exchange records show 23 contracts traced to Golden Phoenix Finance. Expedition company suspensions correlate with Crimson Bastion delegate arrivals. Subject's specific knowledge of array project suggests intelligence sharing.]
[Conclusion: Crimson Bastion coordination with demonic faction highly probable. Estimated confidence: 89%]
[Strategic implication: Resource denial was deliberate targeting, not coincidental market conditions]
Eighty-nine percent. Not certainty, but close enough. The Crimson Bastion had lost delegates in Redstone City, lost investments in the Xue Clan. They wanted answers and revenge, and they'd found a willing tool in Xue Feng.
But how much did they share with him? And how much of what he revealed was strategic misdirection versus genuine anger?
Wang Ben turned the questions over in his mind. The Bastion was a distant power, operating through intermediaries and political pressure. Xue Feng was immediate and violent. Both were threats, but of different natures. The demonic cultivation that twisted Xue Feng's features was consuming him from within. He wouldn't last long at this rate. The corruption was too aggressive, too unstable.
Which meant he would attack again. Soon. Before his borrowed power burned him out entirely.
Three streets away, in a compound that had once housed more than twice its current population, Dao Zhen received the same news from a very different perspective.
"The Wang Clan was attacked." First Elder Dao Qingshan's voice was measured, careful. At nearly four centuries old, the core formation cultivator had learned the value of caution. "Xue Feng, apparently. With demonic allies."
Dao Zhen stood at the window of what had been his father's study, looking out at gardens that needed tending and walls that needed repair. The Dao Clan compound showed its decline in small ways. Fewer servants. Delayed maintenance. The quiet absence of voices that had once filled its halls.
"And Wang Tian saved them." It wasn't a question.
"Foundation establishment against late-stage qi condensation. The outcome was inevitable." Qingshan moved to stand beside his young patriarch. "The Xue remnants fled. No one fell on the Wang side."
No one fell. Dao Zhen felt the words like a knife between his ribs. When his clan had faced annihilation, when demonic cultivators had attacked their compound, they had lost their Patriarch and Grand Elder. They had signed away fifty years of autonomy to survive.
The Wang Clan lost nothing.
"They say the Phantom Gate protects them." The words tasted bitter.
"Rumors." Qingshan's tone was cautious. "Nothing confirmed. But the whispers persist."
"Father whispered the same thing, before he died. That Wang Ben had connections we couldn't match. That fighting them was foolish." Dao Zhen turned from the window, facing the elder who had become his regent in all but name. "Was he right?"
"Your father was wise in many things." Qingshan met his gaze steadily. "The vassalage agreement was harsh, but it preserved the clan. Sometimes survival requires accepting terms we find distasteful."
"Survival." Dao Zhen laughed, and there was no humor in it. "We lost everything that mattered. Father. Grandmother. Our independence. Our pride. And now we watch while the Wang Clan draws the attention of powers beyond this city and survives without a scratch."
"They didn't escape without cost. Young Wang Ben was injured."
"Injured. Not killed. Not crippled. Not forced to sign away his clan's future." Dao Zhen moved to the desk, where reports of the attack lay spread across dark wood. "Tell me, First Elder. When does our patience become pathetic?"
Qingshan was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before.
"Your father asked me a similar question, once. When he was young and the clan faced different challenges. I told him what I'll tell you now." The old cultivator's eyes held four centuries of accumulated wisdom. "Patience becomes pathetic when it serves no purpose. But patience that builds toward something? That is strength in disguise."
"And what are we building toward?"
"That, young patriarch, is for you to decide." Qingshan bowed slightly. "But I would counsel caution. The powers circling the Wang Clan are not things we want drawing attention to us. Let them fight their battles. Let them bleed for their prominence. When the dust settles, we will still be here. Stronger than we were. Ready for whatever comes next."
Dao Zhen said nothing. He watched the First Elder leave, then turned back to the window, to the gardens that needed tending and the walls that needed repair.
We lost our Patriarch and Grand Elder, he thought. They gained protectors we can't even name.
The unfairness of it burned like acid in his chest.
Shen Ruoxi arrived at the Wang compound in the late afternoon, announced by a servant who seemed uncertain whether to be relieved or terrified by her presence.
Wang Ben met her in the receiving room, his wounds hidden beneath fresh robes. She looked the same as always: beautiful, dangerous, radiating the casual superiority of someone who had lived millennia and feared nothing in this provincial city.
"You survived." She circled him slowly, predatory grace in every movement. "I'm told the fight was entertaining."
"Entertaining isn't the word I'd use."
"No, I suppose it wouldn't be. You were the one getting chased across rooftops." Something that might have been amusement flickered in her ancient eyes. "My brother is aware of what happened. He finds it... interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"Xue Feng was backed by forces that should have known better than to move against someone under our observation." Ruoxi settled onto a cushion with liquid grace. "Either they didn't know, which suggests gaps in their intelligence. Or they knew and attacked anyway, which suggests confidence that concerns him."
Wang Ben considered that. "The Crimson Bastion."
"Among others." She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "You've drawn quite a collection of enemies for someone so young. Most qi condensation cultivators your age are still learning which end of a sword to hold."
"I didn't choose these enemies."
"No? You chose to help your father recover. You chose to involve yourself in the clan war. You chose to accept my brother's bargain." Her smile was sharp as broken glass. "Choices have consequences, Wang Ben. The enemies are simply the cost of the path you've walked."
She wasn't wrong. Every decision he'd made since the System awakened had pushed him further from the obscurity that might have kept him safe. He'd traded anonymity for power, caution for capability. Now the bill was coming due.
"Will your brother intervene?"
"Against Xue Feng?" Ruoxi laughed, musical and cold. "A broken young master with failing demonic cultivation? That's beneath his attention. But the forces behind him..." She paused, considering. "That depends on what they do next. Attacking you was acceptable. Attacking our investment would be... unwise."
Investment. Not friend, not ally, not anything remotely personal. Wang Ben was a resource, and the Shen siblings protected their resources.
It should have felt degrading. Instead, it felt clarifying. He knew exactly where he stood with them. No pretense, no false warmth, no expectations beyond the transactional.
"I need to complete the array." Wang Ben met her ancient gaze directly. "The longer I'm delayed, the more time enemies have to maneuver."
"Agreed." Ruoxi rose, her movements fluid as water. "The materials you need will be available soon. My brother is... arranging things. Focus on the work. Let us worry about the vultures circling overhead."
She left without ceremony, disappearing into the late afternoon shadows as quietly as she'd arrived.
Evening found the Wang family gathered in the private quarters, a modest meal spread before them that none of them touched with much appetite.
Wang Chen slept in Li Mei's arms, blissfully unaware of the tensions that filled the room. The infant had grown over the past months, his small face developing features that reminded Wang Ben of their father. A miniature Wang Tian, innocent and vulnerable.
"He'll come back." Wang Tian's voice broke the silence. "Xue Feng. Whatever demonic power is sustaining him won't last forever. He'll attack again while he still can."
"How long?" Li Mei held Wang Chen closer, her concern barely masked.
"Days. Perhaps a week. The corruption was extensive. He's burning through his remaining lifespan to fuel that borrowed strength." Wang Tian's expression was grim. "When he returns, it will be with everything he has left."
Wang Ben thought about the demonic cultivators who had fought alongside Xue Feng. The ones he'd wounded in the streets, the one his father had killed. They'd been expendable, tools to be used and discarded. Xue Feng himself was just a more elaborate tool, a revenge-seeking weapon pointed at the Wang Clan by forces that didn't care if he survived.
"The compound defenses need strengthening." Wang Ben looked to his father. "And we need to assume he won't attack alone. The demonic faction backing him has resources. If they're coordinating with the Crimson Bastion..."
"Then we're facing enemies on multiple fronts." Wang Tian nodded slowly. "I'll speak with the Patriarch about additional formation work. The clan has resources we haven't fully utilized."
"What about Wang Chen?" Li Mei's voice was sharp with maternal fear. "The servants? The household staff? They're not cultivators. They can't protect themselves."
"We'll increase the guard rotations. Set up warning formations in the residential wings." Wang Tian reached out, placing a hand over his wife's. "I won't let anything happen to our family. Any of our family."
Wang Ben watched his parents, seeing the fear they tried to hide from each other. His mother, holding an infant she couldn't protect with her stagnant cultivation. His father, restored to strength but facing enemies that multiplied faster than he could defeat them. His baby brother, too young to understand why the adults were scared.
This was what he was fighting for. Not abstract notions of power or advancement. This. His family, gathered together despite the darkness pressing in from all sides.
"I'll finish the array as quickly as possible." Wang Ben's voice was steady despite the weight in his chest. "Once the first favor is complete, the Shen siblings might be more inclined to act directly. Until then, we defend ourselves and wait for the right moment to strike back."
"And if that moment doesn't come?" Li Mei asked.
"Then we create one."
Later, alone in his quarters, Wang Ben sat by the window and watched darkness settle over the compound.
The watching sensation was still there. Multiple presences now, layered like shadows within shadows. Some were the Crimson Bastion scouts that had observed them for weeks. Some were Xue Feng's remaining allies, tracking the compound's defenses. Some were forces he couldn't identify, drawn by the chaos like predators to blood in the water.
[OBSERVATION: Surveillance density has increased 340% since yesterday's combat]
[Analysis: Attack has elevated host profile significantly. Multiple faction interests now actively monitoring Wang Clan compound]
[Categories identified: Hostile elements include Xue Feng remnants and probable Crimson Bastion affiliates. Neutral observers include City Lord's intelligence, unaffiliated cultivators, and merchant interests. Unknown signatures number at minimum three distinct patterns not matching known categories.]
[ASSESSMENT: Host visibility has reached critical threshold. Anonymity no longer viable defensive strategy]
Critical threshold. Wang Ben understood what the System was telling him. He'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. From now on, everyone who mattered would know his name, know his capabilities, know his connections.
Some would see him as a threat. Some as an opportunity. Some as a tool to be used, like Xue Feng was being used.
[Pattern projection: Subject Xue Feng's next assault will incorporate lessons from today's failure]
[Estimated changes: Larger force composition, improved tactical coordination, possible hostage-taking strategy targeting non-combatant family members]
[Recommendation: Prepare contingencies for civilian evacuation. Identify secure locations beyond compound boundaries]
Hostage-taking. Wang Ben felt ice settle in his stomach. Of course. Xue Feng wanted him to suffer, wanted to destroy what he loved before killing him. What better way than to take Li Mei? Or Wang Chen?
He thought about his mother's cultivation, stagnant at early-stage qi condensation. About servants who couldn't fight back. About a baby who couldn't even walk yet.
The price of visibility. Every advantage came with costs. Every ally created new enemies. Every victory planted seeds for future defeats.
But the alternative was worse. Hiding in obscurity while his family declined, while his father's restoration went unused, while the System's knowledge rotted inside him. He'd chosen this path, and he would walk it to the end.
Whatever that end turned out to be.
Outside his window, the night deepened, and the watchers continued their patient vigil. Somewhere in the city, Xue Feng was licking his wounds and planning his next assault. Somewhere further away, Crimson Bastion strategists were adjusting their calculations. And somewhere in the space between, forces Wang Ben couldn't name or understand were taking notice of a seventeen-year-old cultivator who knew far more than he should.
The shadows were converging. All he could do was prepare for the moment when they finally struck.
END OF CHAPTER 67