Bargain

The frantic pounding on the door matched the uneven thud of Ye Chen's own heart – a weak flutter against the deep, icy ache spreading through his chest. Elder Mu's terrified shout – "THEY'RE BACK!" – cut through the lingering smells of ozone and burnt herbs like a knife. Time was up.

Ye Chen lay sprawled on the cold stone floor. Every part of him hurt. A bone-deep chill, worse than anything he'd ever felt, radiated from his core, making the air itself feel warm. His right hand, pressed against the frosty stone, was terrifying – skin weirdly see-through over dark veins, the flesh deathly pale and cold, barely moving when he tried. Breathing was a struggle, each gasp scraping lungs that felt frozen solid. He'd spent a fortune in life force saving Lao Chen. Now he faced the wolves with nothing but the cold echo of that sacrifice and a body ready to break.

On the stretcher, Lao Chen groaned softly. Color was slowly returning to his face, but a deep, unnatural chill clung to him now – a permanent mark from the void. He was alive, but the cost was written in the frost patterns on the floor and the horrifying transparency of Ye Chen's hand.

The lab door groaned open. Not Elder Mu. Ye Zhan. The Clan Lord looked exhausted, the strain of the hunt and the envoy's early arrival etched on his face. His eyes swept the room – the wrecked, buckled cauldron, the slag-scorched wall, Lao Chen stirring weakly, and finally, his son. Seeing Ye Chen, small and broken on the floor, that hand like carved ice… it hit Ye Zhan like a punch. The fury over Feng's escape, the dread of the envoys, vanished. Raw fear took over.

"Chen'er!" He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees. His hands hovered, afraid to touch the unnatural cold coming off the boy. "By the ancestors… what did you do?" His gaze flicked to Lao Chen, then back, understanding dawning with sickening clarity. "You… saved him?" He reached out, his fingers brushing the icy skin of Ye Chen's forearm. He flinched back.

"Had to be done," Ye Chen rasped, the words scraping out. He tried to push himself up, his left-hand scrabbling weakly. His right arm hung useless. "The envoys... are here?"

"At the main gate," Ye Zhan confirmed, his voice thick. "Demanding to see us now. They saw the commotion, the sealed compound… they know something happened." He looked from Ye Chen's ruined hand to Lao Chen, emotions warring on his face – gratitude, horror, desperate resolve. "Can you stand?"

Ye Chen met his father's gaze. That old fire, dim but not gone, flickered in his shadowed eyes. "Help me up," he gritted, the effort sending fresh waves of icy pain through him. "I have to stand."

Ye Zhan carefully slid an arm under Ye Chen's shoulders, lifting him. The boy weighed almost nothing, but the unnatural cold seeping into Ye Zhan's own arm was terrifying. Ye Chen's legs buckled, but his father held him firm. Leaning heavily against Ye Zhan, his right arm hanging limp and pale, Ye Chen took a shuddering breath. "Hide Lao Chen," he managed, his voice thin with cold. "The envoys... can't see him."

Ye Zhan gave a sharp nod to the guards hesitating at the door. "Take him to the deepest infirmary cell. Guard him. Tell no one he lives." As they lifted the stretcher, Ye Zhan turned back. "Chen'er… your hand…"

"Cloak it," Ye Chen whispered, barely audible. "Use your robe."

Ye Zhan swiftly pulled off his own outer clan robe, dark blue with the silver Azure Night sigil. He draped it carefully around Ye Chen's shoulders, pulling it tight to hide the horrifyingly translucent right hand tucked against his chest inside the heavy folds. Only the unnatural paleness of Ye Chen's face and the ancient, exhausted eyes peering out hinted at the damage within.

Leaning hard on his father, Ye Chen shuffled out of the ruined room. The walk to the main hall felt like marching to his own execution. Disciples and guards lining the corridors stared, shock and fear on their faces as they saw their Clan Lord supporting his frail, deathly-pale heir. Whispers trailed them like a cold wind.

The heavy doors of the audience hall swung open. Three figures in blood-red robes stood inside, stark against the Azure Night banners. Envoy Jin led them, his obsidian eyes sharp and predatory, already scanning the room. The other two radiated impatience. Their presence felt heavy, oppressive.

Ye Zhan guided Ye Chen to the Clan Lord's seat, helping him sit upright. Ye Chen looked tiny, swallowed by the carved wood and the heavy robe. He kept his right hand hidden deep inside, the unnatural cold a secret weight against his ribs. He focused on breathing, on holding his head up, on projecting a sliver of defiance through the mask of a dying boy.

Envoy Jin's thin lips curled into a cruel smile. "Clan Lord Ye. Punctual. We appreciate that." His gaze raked over Ye Chen, lingering on the pallor, the exhaustion, the oversized robe. "And the Young Prodigy honors us. Looking… unwell. Too much pressure from your gamble?" The mockery was clear, probing.

Ye Zhan stepped forward slightly, shielding Ye Chen. "The Young Master has been ill, Envoy Jin. But he endures. The tribute you demanded—"

"Half," Envoy Jin cut him off, the smile vanishing. "We got half at dawn. We're here for the rest. And" his obsidian eyes locked onto Ye Chen, "for the clan's promised boon. We're… curious."

Ye Zhan's jaw tightened. "The remainder is being gathered, Envoy. It needs—"

"Sunset is now, Clan Lord," Envoy Jin stated flatly, nodding towards the high windows where the last sliver of sun bled on the horizon. "Our initial seven-day grace was a courtesy. Courtesy withdrawn." His obsidian eyes hardened. "The unnatural disturbance that shook this compound hours ago. The sealed gates? The frantic energy radiating from these walls? Did you think the Scarlet Moon envoys stationed nearby would be blind or deaf to such chaos?" He took a step closer, his presence pressing down. Waiting seven days became an unnecessary risk. We decide the timetable, Clan Lord Ye. Not you."

"We see no tribute," he continued, the threat implicit. "We see only… delay. And weakness." His gaze flickered pointedly towards the hidden shape of Ye Chen's right arm. "Perhaps the Young Master's 'talent' flickered out? Perhaps the hand offered in wager… is already forfeit?"

Silence stretched, thick with tension. Ye Chen felt his father's barely contained rage, the clan's fear. He knew the tribute wasn't ready. He knew Envoy Jin smelled blood. He lifted his head, meeting Envoy Jin's gaze. His voice was a thin, cold whisper, yet it cut through the silence with surprising clarity. "The spark remains, Envoy." He deliberately coughed, a weak, rattling sound. "The delay... was unforeseen. Poison. Within our own walls." He paused, letting the implication hang – the clan, wounded, still had teeth. "The traitor... is dealt with." He leaned forward slightly, as if mustering strength. "Our request is passage... and escort. To the Black Vale."

The oversized robe shifted slightly as he leaned. He didn't reveal the hand, but he let the deep chill radiating from his concealed arm pulse outwards, just for a second. A wave of unnatural cold washed towards the dais. The braziers flanking it flickered violently. The nearest envoy flinched, unease flashing across his face at the sudden, inexplicable drop in temperature.

Envoy Jin's obsidian eyes narrowed, not with fear, but sharp, recalculating interest. This cold wasn't elemental ice. It felt like… emptiness. Like the void between stars. And the boy's pallor, his weakness… it seemed like it wasn't just sickness.

"The Black Vale?" Envoy Jin asked, the cruel smile returning, wider, predatory now. "A graveyard. Where qi dies. Why would you seek passage there?"

Ye Chen met his gaze unflinchingly, the void's chill his hidden anchor. "Knowledge," he breathed, each word costing him. "Lost secrets. For better elixirs." He held the envoy's obsidian eyes, the ancient will beneath the exhaustion unmistakable. "For the Scarlet Moon's benefit."

Envoy Jin studied him for a long, silent moment. The tension was suffocating. Finally, he chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Knowledge in a graveyard. Poetic." He tapped a long fingernail against his chin. "Very well. The tribute remainder is due… in three days. Not a grain less." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "And for this… boon… the Scarlet Moon grants passage. Escorted passage. To safeguard the Young Prodigy's… valuable health." His smile showed teeth. "You leave in two days' time."

He turned sharply, red robes swirling. "Five days, Clan Lord. Fail, and we collect more than ore." His gaze swept over Ye Chen one last time, lingering on the hidden arm, the unnatural pallor, the ancient eyes. "Rest well, Young Master. The Vale… is not kind to the weak." With that, he strode out, his envoys following, leaving behind a chilling silence and the heavy scent of doom.

Passage to the Black Vale, under the eyes of wolves. But the cost of that little show, of channeling even a sliver of the void's aura and forcing out clear words through the ice, had been huge. He felt the frost creeping further up his hidden arm. Dawn tomorrow wasn't just a departure; it was a journey into the heart of the very darkness he carried, escorted by enemies.