Dogs Who Bark at the Throne

The knock came not with hesitation this time—but force.

A heavy fist, pounding on the splintered wooden door in the dead of night.

"Lin Xun!"

"Come out, you disgraceful dog!"

The voice was sharp, clear, and amused. The kind of laughter that filled the halls of privileged sons who had never bled.

Lin Feng opened his eyes calmly.

He had been meditating—legs crossed, shadow Qi gently threading into the shattered roots of his new body. Already, subtle transformations had begun. His hearing had sharpened. His sense of direction had returned. His blood no longer burned from fatigue.

The boy Lin Xun was gone.

But the body was still weak. Not yet ready for real battle.

Still...

He stood.

Let them bark.

The door creaked open on its own.

No invitation needed.

Lin Rui stood at the threshold, surrounded by his sycophants—three from the inner branch, two guards in half-armor behind him. A lantern swung from his hand, casting dancing shadows across the mud-caked floor.

"You've grown brave," Rui sneered. "Or stupid."

He took a step inside. His companions followed.

"After the show you put on at the ceremony, the elders are furious. My uncle's name is being dragged into whispers because of you. And here you sit, like a rat in the dark, pretending the shadows are your allies."

He grinned.

"I came to fix that."

Lin Feng didn't respond immediately.

He looked each of them over, slowly. Calculating.

Lin Rui: peak Body Tempering. Muscles bloated from overconsumption of energy pills. Fast, but untrained.

The others were lower.

All bark.

"If you've come to kill me," Lin Feng said, voice quiet, "do it quickly."

"Kill you?" Rui laughed. "I wouldn't waste the effort."

He dropped the lantern. It shattered.

Fire spread quickly.

Within seconds, the straw bedding caught flame. Smoke rose into the ceiling beams.

"I'll just say you burned to death by accident," Rui said. "Clumsy trash with no cultivation… who'd question it?"

Lin Feng didn't move.

The flames licked higher.

The room darkened, orange light dancing across the warped walls.

Rui turned to leave.

"Let it be a warning," he spat. "Next time you show your face in front of the elders, it won't be fire waiting—it'll be a blade."

But as he stepped across the threshold—

A voice behind him.

"You're right."

He paused.

"About what?" he snapped.

"About the fire," Lin Feng said softly.

"It is a warning."

The shadows surged.

Not from the corners.

From beneath them.

Like a pulse from the floor, like something ancient breathing beneath the dirt.

The flame at Rui's feet dimmed, bent sideways—as if recoiling.

And then the light snapped out.

Darkness flooded the room, swallowing the smoke, swallowing the guards, swallowing sound itself.

"What—" one of the cousins began, but his voice died mid-word.

From the ceiling above, black tendrils dropped like silk threads—silent, coiling, alive.

One wrapped around a wrist. Another a neck. Another a leg.

And then—

Snap.

A muffled crack of bone. A thud. A body dropped.

The guards drew their swords. Too late.

One swung wildly.

His blade hit nothing.

Then his scream cut short as his body was dragged into the floor.

Rui stumbled backward, eyes wide.

"What are you—" he gasped.

The air turned cold.

And then Lin Feng stepped through the darkness, his eyes faintly glowing with that impossible ink-black light.

"The last time someone tried to kill me with fire," he said, "they called it a rebellion."

He reached out.

His fingers grazed Rui's shoulder—and the boy froze.

Every instinct screamed. His knees buckled. His limbs refused to move.

"W-What are you?" he choked.

Lin Feng leaned closer.

"I am the shadow beneath your throne. The silence behind your scream. The sovereign buried beneath your lies."

He pushed him gently.

Rui crumpled.

Not dead.

But unconscious. Broken from the inside—spiritually struck. Shadow Qi had entered him and scattered the balance of his core.

It would take weeks to recover. Maybe longer.

By then, the fear would already rot his courage.

The flames vanished.

The shadows pulled back into the floor like mist retreating at dawn.

Only Lin Feng remained standing. Five bodies lay scattered across the room, groaning, unconscious, or worse.

He exhaled slowly, a thin trail of black mist curling from his lips.

Too much energy used. Too quickly.

He wasn't ready for prolonged battle.

But the message was sent.

The next morning, the Lin Clan buzzed.

"Lin Rui's injured?"

"He won't wake up?"

"And the others too?"

"They said it was poison—no, demons—no, some kind of inner backlash…"

No one knew.

But all of them looked sideways when Lin Xun passed.

He walked alone.

Same robes. Same dirt. Same blank expression.

But no one mocked him.

Not today.

Not after what happened to Lin Rui.

In the clan's inner chamber, Elder Qian slammed his fist against the table.

"This is blasphemy! That boy is cursed! The Spirit Stone malfunctioned because of him—now he strikes noble heirs in the night? We must exile him immediately!"

The Patriarch listened in silence.

At length, he raised a hand.

"Let him be."

Qian's face twisted.

"But—!"

"If he is cursed, we'll let the curse expose itself."

"If he is something else… we watch. And we wait."

His voice grew quieter.

"The shadow root has returned. And with it, so will the vultures."

Far away, deep beneath a mountain tomb, a black lotus bloomed in silence.

Its petals curled once.

Twice.

Then split.

And from within, an old name stirred.

"Lin Feng…"

"I see you."