Chapter Three: Ye Family’s Daughter, Xue

Night had fallen, and the moonlight was as cool as water. Its pure, silvery rays cascaded down, draping the world in a veil as pale as moon-washed silk.

Within the Leaf clan’s estate, in a cramped side chamber, Ye Zihan lay flat upon his bed, doing his utmost to remain still, fearful that even the faintest movement might aggravate his unhealed wounds.

His vacant gaze was fixed upon the canopy above, but his mind was adrift, retracing the events from five days prior in the council hall: Ye Xiang’s resolute accusations, Ye Aotian’s unthinking and unjust punishment, Ye Aozhan’s cold indifference, Ye Aojian’s unspoken helplessness, and the sneering mockery of the other disciples…

“Unfilial, am I?” Ye Zihan suddenly let out a self-deprecating laugh. When had he ever uttered those words? Why was it so easy for them to believe he had? Ye Aotian hadn’t even bothered to ask whether the accusations were true. He simply declared Ye Zihan guilty of disloyalty with a single word!

As for Ye Xiang’s so-called lesson—what a farce! To deal with someone they all deemed a useless weakling, Ye Xiang had actually summoned a second-tier Wind Hound, exerting his full strength.

Yet Ye Xiang had not expected that, though lacking in power, Ye Zihan was not without courage. Despite the beast’s frenzied assault and his own battered body, he had managed to sink his teeth fiercely into the hound’s neck!

Ye Aotian, meanwhile, had blatantly ignored the clan rule forbidding infighting among disciples—a rule that demanded any offender spend three months in seclusion. With a single dismissive phrase—“You brought this upon yourself”—he had waved aside Ye Zihan’s injuries.

Yet when it came to the rules of the clan’s trial, he clung to them with obstinate rigidity. Every word, every action, seemed calculated to drive Ye Zihan to ruin. In such a family, where was there any justice?

But then again, perhaps the clan’s trial wasn’t such a curse. If death awaited him there, it might be a form of release. Better to die at the hands of savage beasts than to end his own life and be branded a coward.

“Elemental cultivators…” Ye Zihan murmured under his breath. If only he possessed elemental source energy—any one of the five elements would suffice. With that, and his own diligence, surely he could become a cultivator of note!

On the Illusory Deity Continent, cultivators were divided into five branches according to the nature of their elemental source: Hunters of Metal, Summoners of Wood, Spiritualists of Water, Shadow Warriors of Fire, and Sealers of Earth.

No matter which path, these five kinds of cultivators were revered by all, for each profession wielded extraordinary powers.

Even at the initial stages of cultivation, they could capture beasts and subdue demons, split rocks and fell trees. When their arts reached their zenith, shattering mountains and stirring the seas was as effortless as a flick of the hand.

No one on the Illusory Deity Continent did not yearn for such power, such mastery. No one did not strive for it, or secretly envy those who possessed it.

“To succeed in cultivation is to make one’s name known throughout the land!” That simple phrase revealed just how exalted the status of elemental cultivators was in this world.

Yet, to become an elemental cultivator was no simple feat. One needed not only to be born with elemental source energy, but also to have it in abundance. Only with this foundation could one embark upon the path of cultivation.

Alas, Ye Zihan possessed no such gift. Without elemental source energy, it was impossible for him to become an elemental cultivator. Unless something changed, his destiny would be no more than that of a brawny fighter, his body merely a touch stronger than most.

A soft knock interrupted Ye Zihan’s wandering thoughts. He turned his head and, in the moonlight, saw a petite silhouette projected onto the paper door. A gentle smile appeared on his lips. “Xiaoxue? Come in.”

The door creaked open, and a delicate girl slipped lightly inside.

She was about ten years old, dressed in violet robes. In the lamplight, her features were flawless, her dark eyes bright and lively. Her fine hair was gathered into a small chignon, adorned with a butterfly bow of red thread—an ornament that perfectly set off her lovely face.

So charming at such a young age, it was easy to imagine the havoc she would one day wreak upon hearts.

The girl carried two jade bottles as she hurried to the bedside. Seeing Ye Zihan still laid up with his injuries, her heart ached. She spoke softly, “Brother…”

“Yes?” Amused by her fretful expression, Ye Zihan managed a smile. “Why is it, little one, that every time you visit you wear that look, as if I’m on my deathbed?”

“Brother, don’t say such unlucky things!” At his words, her bright eyes flashed in annoyance.

“Nothing, nothing,” he chuckled. “Come, help me with the medicine. Honestly, the medicine you brought is quite miraculous. After just two applications, most of the pain is gone. A few more times and I’ll be back on my feet, you’ll see.”

She giggled. “Of course! These are third-tier elixirs I snuck out of the pharmacy—their effects are naturally extraordinary.”

She carefully lifted his robe, and at the sight of his bruised and battered torso, her heart throbbed with pain. “That Ye Xiang is too much. Not only did he frame you, he hurt you like this! Next time I see him, I won’t let him off!”

Ye Zihan laughed softly, warmth welling in his heart. In this family—perhaps even in the world—his little sister, Ye Zixue, was the only one who truly cared for him.

Seven years ago, when Ye Zixue was three, their mother, Xiao Ting, finally succumbed to illness, her body too frail to endure. She left behind only her two children—and a peculiar birthmark.

The birthmark itself was a curiosity. Most were mere blotches or marks, but his was a strange design: on his left forearm, eight pitch-black magatamas arranged in a circle, within which was a pale red five-pointed star, at the very center a delicate flame of vivid red.

Odd as it was, no one paid it any mind.

After their mother’s death, their father, Ye Aozhan, changed as well. He buried himself in cultivation, ignoring both family affairs and his own children. Ye Zixue at least sometimes received guidance and praise during her training, but Ye Zihan was usually met with cold indifference or, at best, averted eyes.

Yet for all that, Ye Zihan felt blessed to have his sister, and even, in some small way, envious.

Ye Zixue was a prodigy unseen in the Leaf clan for a century, born with both fire and earth elemental energy—mastering both the arts of summoning and sealing, and graced with dazzling talent.

She had begun training at age five, and in just five years had advanced both arts to the peak of the Yin-Yang stage. Before long, she would break into the Three Talents realm—a pace so rapid it bordered on terrifying.

Ye Zixue’s reputation was not limited to the Leaf clan. Among the four great houses, her name was equally renowned. Her strength was unmatched among her peers, and the family cherished her, lavishing every resource upon her. She could command the winds within the clan, her every wish fulfilled.

Yet for all her gifts, Ye Zixue was neither arrogant nor spoiled, unlike so many others. Aside from her devoted cultivation, she spent nearly all her free time with Ye Zihan, and the bond between them was extraordinary.

Watching his sister diligently tending his wounds, Ye Zihan felt a wave of melancholy. She was a peerless genius, blessed with two elemental energies and prodigious talent, as though the heavens themselves favored her—a future of limitless promise.

But as for himself, setting aside talent, he lacked even the most basic elemental source. In every match against his peers, he was soundly defeated. Even when facing juniors, he often came away the loser. Such weakness made the label of “good-for-nothing” only just.

He was not lazy, nor did he shirk his training. Yet without elemental energy, all effort was futile. No matter how resolute his will, how tenacious his practice, it availed him nothing.

Sometimes, no matter how much you give, you receive nothing in return.

For this, Ye Zihan could only give a wry smile—there was nothing else he could do.

Ye Zixue, noticing the shadows in his eyes, paused in her work. As if sensing what weighed on his heart, she said softly, “Brother, don’t think such things. None of this is your fault…”

“But my weakness is an undeniable fact,” he sighed.

“Who says you’re weak? I saw you fight Ye Qi’s Night Wolf to a draw!”

Ye Zihan couldn’t help but laugh. “I was utterly powerless before his Night Wolf—how was that a draw?”

“I say it was, so it was.” Ye Zixue stuck out her tongue. “Don’t worry, Brother. If anyone tries to bully you, just tell me! I’ll teach them a lesson. Hmph, anyone who dares bully my brother must have grown tired of living!”

He gazed at her, amused by her childish seriousness, and pressed his hands together in mock salute. “Then I’ll rely on Lady Ye, the heroine, to defend me.”

“You’re welcome!” she replied, waving her hand as if she’d already accomplished the feat. She resumed tending his wounds with meticulous care.

“All right, it’s late. The medicine’s applied. You should go rest, little one—you have training tomorrow,” Ye Zihan said after a while, once she’d finished.

“No, I want to sleep with Brother tonight.” Tidying his clothes and quickly packing up the medicine bottles, Ye Zixue leaped onto the bed and snuggled under the covers before he could protest.

Ye Zihan stared, helpless, at his little sister as she clung to his arm. A moment later, he could only smile.

Despite his fall from grace, Ye Zixue had not grown distant. On the contrary, she gave him even more care and affection. With a sister like this, what more could a man wish for?

Outside the chamber, the moonlight remained as gentle as water, spilling softly upon this restless continent.