Lin Feng stood at the edge of the Tianyu Palace's western gate, the morning sun casting long shadows over his blood-stained robe. The Jade Pendant hung warm against his chest. Its runes faintly glowing since its activation in the archive, flooding his mind with Qi-powered irrigation blueprints. The court's judgment was behind him—his waterwheel had spun, silencing Prince Zhao's treason charges and earning him a chance to save the drought-stricken western provinces. Emperor Tianlong had granted him a small village to govern, a foothold to prove his worth. But Zhao's furious glare and Sect Master Yun's lurking Crimson Claw Sect promised trouble. Su Mei's icy support and Li Xiyue's jasmine-scented aid lingered in his thoughts, their motives unclear. The west was his battleground now, and he'd build or break it there.
He clutched a scroll of blueprints—qi arrays to channel spiritual springs through waterwheels, reviving barren fields. His engineer's mind buzzed, mapping canals and gear ratios, but his crippled meridians meant he'd need allies to execute it. The pendant's voice was silent, but its warmth urged him forward. A horse-drawn cart waited, loaded with wood, jade, and a single Qi crystal from Li Xiyue's latest delivery. Her words—"My gold's on you"—rang hollow, her smile too sharp. Elder Mo had warned of Yun's reach, and Lin Feng's wounds ached, a reminder of the sect's blades.
The journey west was rough, the road baked dry under the relentless sun. Lin Feng's cart rattled, guarded by two palace soldiers, their eyes wary. By midday, they reached Qingshui Village, a cluster of mud huts surrounded by cracked fields. Villagers stared, gaunt and desperate, their whispers of the "cripple prince" cutting deep. Lin Feng dismounted, ignoring the pain in his ribs. "I'm here to fix the drought," he said, his voice firm. "Who'll help?"
A wiry elder, Chen Lao, stepped forward, his face weathered. "Words are cheap, prince. The river is dead. What's your plan?" Lin Feng unrolled the blueprints, showing Qi-powered channels to draw water from underground springs. Chen's eyes widened, skeptical but curious. "If this works, we're yours," he said. "If not, you're just another noble with promises."
Lin Feng set to work, directing villagers to dig trenches based on the pendant's blueprints. The Qi crystal hummed, slotted into a makeshift waterwheel frame. By dusk, the array sparked, water trickling into a test canal. Villagers gasped, hope flickering, but the flow stopped, the crystal dimming. Lin Feng cursed under his breath—his lack of Qi was a wall, even with the blueprints. The pendant pulsed, tracing faint fixes in his mind, but he needed more time.
A scream shattered the calm. Bandits in black masks charged from the hills, their low-Qi condensation auras flaring. "Zhao's gift!" one shouted, swinging a blade. Line Feng's heart raced—another sabotage. He grabbed a shovel, deflecting a strike, but a bandit's Qi blast knocked him back, pain searing his wounds. The soldiers fought, outnumbered, as the villagers scattered.
A white flash cut through the dust. Su Mei appeared, her sword slicing a bandit's arm, blood spraying. Her icy aura froze in the air, and she spun, knocking out two more with precise strikes. "Move, Prince!" she snapped, parrying a blade aimed at him. Lin Feng rallied, swinging the shovel to crack a bandit's skull. The last fled, cursing, as Su Mei's glare burned after him.
"You followed me?" Lin Feng panted, clutching his side.
Su Mei sheathed her sword, her eyes sharp but soft. "Someone has to keep you alive. Zhao's hired these scum-likely on Yun's orders." She glanced at the stalled waterwheel. "Your toy's got potential. Don't waste it." She vanished into the dusk, her words a spark in his chest.
Lin Feng returned to the array, the villagers watching warily. Chen Lao approached, grim. "Bandits hit every week. You bring water, or we're done." Lin Feng nodded, resetting the crystal. The pendant's glow guided his hands, adjusting the array's runes. It spun, water flowing for a minute before sparking. "Close," he muttered, hope rising.
Night fell, and a cart rolled into Qingshui. Li Xiyue stepped down, her dark silks glinting, a crate of jade and two qi crystals at her feet. "You're alive, prince," she said, smiling. "My trade routes need your water. These should help." Her jasmine scent sharpened Lin Feng's suspicion, but the crystals glowed steadily.
"Why keep betting on me?" he asked, his voice hard.
"Profit," she said, her eyes glinting. "And a prince who fights is worth more than gold." She left her motives in a riddle.
Elder Mo arrived at midnight, in his armor creaking. "Zhao's bandits are Crimson Claw's dogs," he said, tossing a small scroll. "Your mother's notes have array tweaks. Use them, but watch that merchant girl." Lin Feng unrolled it, finding rune adjustments matching the pendant's blueprints. His mother's words read: "Will shape the flow."
Lin Feng worked through the night, carving new runes, the pendant's heat steadying him. The array hummed, the water flowing long-two minutes—before sparking. Villagers cheered, Chen Lao nodding. "You might do it, prince," he said.
But dawn brought hoofbeats. A Crimson Claw messenger rode in, scroll in hand. "Prince Zhao demands Qingshui's tribute, or his men burn it," he sneered. Lin Feng gripped the pendant, its glow flaring. Zhao's sabotage wasn't over, and Yun's shadow loomed. He'd finish the waterwheel, save Qingshui, and make them choke on their threats.