Chapter 1: Serpent's Tongue Grass

The autumn sunlight spilled warmly over the earth, painting the mountain ridges with a golden hue. The breeze was gentle, carrying with it the dry rustle of fallen leaves. Amidst the mountains, a young boy lay quietly on the ground.

He appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, his clothes tattered, his body covered in wounds, eyes tightly shut, his face pallid and utterly devoid of color. Clutched in his hand was a small blue-green herb, its leaves edged with a hint of crimson, resembling a snake’s tongue. Judging by his appearance, it seemed he had fallen from the mountain and lost consciousness in his attempt to harvest this herb.

A breath of wind stirred, dropping a leaf onto the youth’s face. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to the azure sky and drifting white clouds above. The breeze caressed his cheeks gently, bringing a sense of comfort, though his black eyes reflected only emptiness and confusion.

“Damn!” With a sudden start, the boy sat up, clarity returning to his gaze. He glanced down at the herb still gripped in his hand—its crimson-tipped leaves like a snake’s tongue—and let out a sigh of relief.

“Fortunately, the Serpent’s Tongue Grass is still here. With this, there’s hope for my illness.” He carefully tucked the herb into his breast, a faint smile of relief gracing his lips. As he struggled to his feet, a wave of pain crashed over him, forcing a muffled groan from his lips.

He stood rigid for a long moment, waiting until the pain dulled. Gritting his teeth, he staggered toward the edge of the mountains.

...

Liuzhou City lay in the southern reaches of the Kingdom of Qingshui, built by the waterside and ringed by mountains, its scenery renowned for its beauty. Along its bustling streets, taverns and teahouses stood side by side, the city thronged with life and noise.

A disheveled figure approached from beyond the city gates, one hand pressed to his chest, his steps unsteady, his clothes in tatters, skin exposed and covered with wounds. As he paused at the gate, gazing at the crowds flowing through the streets, he felt as though he had returned from another world.

He had spent more than half a month scouring the wilderness for the Serpent’s Tongue Grass, narrowly escaping death several times, battered and bruised. But at last, he had found the herb with crimson-edged leaves. With a few more common medicinal ingredients, he could concoct a remedy and finally live like a normal person, free from the shadow of death.

This thought brought a brilliant smile to his face, and he quickened his pace toward the heart of the city.

At the city’s center stood the Ye family estate, grand and imposing, sprawling across a hundred acres, with thousands of gates, pavilions every few steps, ornate towers, and a servant staff numbering in the thousands.

The boy lived within these walls. Yet, he bore not the surname Ye, but Yin. His name was Yin Tianfang. Entering through a side gate, he made his way to his humble quarters.

“Why’s that wild brat come back looking so battered?” muttered a servant as he passed.

“Who knows? He’s a wild one, after all—no manners, probably off causing trouble again. He’s been gone so long, I thought he’d died out there,” another replied, with a hint of malice.

“Hush, keep your voice down. He’s still the master’s grandson. It’s not our place to talk like that,” cautioned a third.

“Master’s grandson or not, plenty in this house wish he’d just drop dead. His very existence shames the Ye family. Roaming about instead of staying quietly at home—has he no sense of propriety?”

Yin Tianfang walked on in silence, their words ringing clear in his ears. He’d heard such things all his life. To the entire Ye family—and even the servants—he was a disgrace.

The Ye family was the undisputed overlord of Liuzhou City. It was said the current patriarch had once apprenticed under an immortal, gaining great power and founding a vast, illustrious household.

...

Fifteen years ago, however, a scandal befell the Ye family. The family head’s daughter bore an illegitimate child and vanished soon after the birth. No one knew who the father was. Though the Ye family tried to suppress the news, such things could not be hidden forever; the entire city soon knew. Out of fear of the family’s influence, people spoke of it only in whispers, but the story became a favorite topic in private.

That child was none other than him.

Yin Tianfang had never met his mother, nor did he know who his father was. From childhood, he lived under the weight of scorn and ridicule, suffering the contempt of others. To make matters worse, years ago he had fallen ill with a strange disease that left him under constant threat of death.

Most would have given in to despair. But Yin Tianfang did not. He was driven by a stubborn resolve—to live, to find his parents, and to demand of them, face to face, why they had abandoned him.

The mocking and derision of others was nothing—those could not kill him. The real threat was the inexplicable sickness. Technically, he was a Ye family member, but his treatment was far worse than that of the young masters, even beneath some servants. He had no money for doctors, but the keeper of the library pitied him. At night, Yin Tianfang would sneak into the library, poring over medical texts in search of a cure.

His perseverance paid off. After much searching and many failed attempts, he found a folk remedy—the main ingredient, Serpent’s Tongue Grass.

Now, with the herb in hand and the remaining common ingredients easily obtainable, he was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming healthy at last.

“Let them laugh. Once I’m cured, I’ll leave this wretched place and never return. I’m sick of their faces—utterly revolted,” he thought, quickening his steps.

“Isn’t that Yin Tianfang, the wild brat?” A youth in embroidered robes lounged in a pavilion nearby. His attendant, clad in blue, spotted the ragged boy and whispered in his master’s ear, “Something’s odd about him.”

“What could be odd about him?” The robed youth glanced at Yin Tianfang with a look of disdain.

“Just a moment, young master. I’ll find out.” The attendant grinned, then darted over to block Yin Tianfang’s path.

“What’s got you so happy, boy? Share it with me—I could use a laugh,” the attendant jeered.

“Move aside—I have no time for you,” Yin Tianfang replied, frowning.

“I won’t. What will you do about it?” the attendant retorted brazenly.

Anger flashed across Yin Tianfang’s face, but he was in no mood for confrontation. He sidestepped, attempting to pass, but the attendant seized his clothing, nearly sending him sprawling.

“What do you want?” Yin Tianfang turned, eyes blazing.

The attendant only grinned, undeterred. Suddenly, his gaze landed on the youth’s chest—during the tussle, a corner of the Serpent’s Tongue Grass had slipped into view. Greed glinted in the attendant’s eyes.

That herb was rare indeed—even when available, it fetched a high price.

“What’s that in your shirt? Show me.”

“None of your business,” Yin Tianfang snapped, hastily tucking the herb out of sight and turning to leave.

“Stop!” the attendant called. Yin Tianfang ignored him, walking faster. The attendant lunged, grabbing his shoulder and snarling, “Didn’t you hear me? Do you not understand human speech?”

“Hmph, I understand you well enough. But are you human? You’re nothing but a dog!” Yin Tianfang shot back, his tone icy.

“Well said!” The robed youth approached, clapping mockingly. “But even as a dog, he’s still above you. You’re nothing but the shameful spawn of a shameless mother—what do you think you are?”

“Young master, he has Serpent’s Tongue Grass,” the attendant whispered to his master. The youth’s eyes lit up. Yin Tianfang’s heart sank.

“Hand it over,” the robed youth demanded, his tone brooking no refusal.

“Ye Tianxing, don’t push me too far!” Yin Tianfang growled, his fists clenched in his sleeves, knuckles white.

“Push you? I’ll push as far as I like—what will you do? If you know what’s good for you, hand over the Serpent’s Tongue Grass and spare yourself some pain.”

“In your dreams!” That herb was his lifeline—giving it up was tantamount to giving up his life. Yin Tianfang shouted defiantly and turned to leave.

“Fine, you refuse the easy way, you’ll get the hard!” Ye Tianxing’s eyes turned cold. He stomped forward, seized Yin Tianfang by the shoulder, and slammed him hard to the ground.

The impact nearly knocked the wind from him. Before he could recover, a foot pressed down on his chest.

Ye Tianxing looked down at him, voice cold and indifferent. “This is the Ye family. My surname is Ye; yours is Yin. Whatever I want, you’d better deliver with both hands if you want to live in peace. Never forget your place here—you’d best behave like the dog you are and beg for scraps!”

The attendant hurried over, rummaged through Yin Tianfang’s clothes, and retrieved the crimson-edged herb, respectfully handing it to Ye Tianxing.

“A fine specimen—aged Serpent’s Tongue Grass, rare even in the markets. Excellent.” Ye Tianxing laughed heartily, then strode off with the attendant.

“Ye Tianxing, you’ve gone too far! From this day forth, I, Yin Tianfang, am your mortal enemy!” Yin Tianfang glared after them, his eyes burning with fury, voice hoarse with suppressed rage...