A sharp "slap!" sliced through the tranquil Taibai courtyard, where the stillness carried a faint, honeyed sweetness. The sound jolted the silence, startling even the moon hanging high above.


    Bai Ruoyue pressed one hand behind her, pinning down a bold hand that had wandered to the full, firm curve beneath her clothes, stirring trouble through the fabric. She lifted it away, snapping out of her dreamy haze. Tilting her head slightly, she couldn’t bring herself to meet Han’s gaze, instead nestling her face into the crook of his neck.


    "Little Junior Brother, you’re such a bully," she muttered, her voice muffled against his skin.


    "Your hand’s still up to no good. How could you pinch my…" She trailed off, too flustered to finish, her cheeks flaming.


    But Han hadn’t meant to tease her. It was practically scientific—when kissing someone, a guy’s hands get restless, instinctively looking for something to do. Pure reflex.


    Han reined himself in, one arm circling Bai Ruoyue’s slim waist, the other gently tracing her back—so smooth it might as well be jade. Jade, indeed, he mused.


    "Senior Sister, stop overthinking," he said softly.


    "Mm," she hummed, her reply barely a whisper, her heart bubbling with quiet joy. Whatever unease or frustration had lingered before was long gone.


    It’s only fair for Little Junior Brother to look after me, she thought. He’s so capable, and that makes me happy. But he’s such a rascal—never behaves himself. Where’d he even pick up these sneaky moves? He even bit my tongue!


    Then, out of the blue, Bai Ruoyue asked, "Little Junior Brother, before you came to the martial hall, did you go see Ao Xuanwei?"


    "…"


    How’d you guess? Han wondered. And is now really the time for that?


    As if reading his mind, Bai Ruoyue explained, "You’ve been near her, haven’t you? I can smell her on you."


    "Ao Xuanwei just dropped off some medicinal seeds for me," Han said quickly. "We’re just friends—nothing shady. It was a simple chat. Things got a little cozy, sure, but it was barely a graze. A millimeter’s still a gap, right?"


    Bai Ruoyue let it drop. She rolled over to lie beside him, moonlight spilling across her face, casting her features in a gentle glow.


    "Little Junior Brother, are you going to leave with Aunt Mo someday?"


    "I don’t know. Aunt Mo hasn’t mentioned me going with her."


    "Senior Sister, you’re only eighteen—no need to rush. By the time you hit my age, you’ll outshine me, no question."


    As he spoke, Han reached out and pinched her cheek.


    Bai Ruoyue swatted his hand away, muttering, "No manners at all. I’m your Senior Sister, you know."


    "If I’m still stuck in the Visceral Realm at twenty-two, I might as well call it quits on life."


    Was that a dig at me? Han thought, catching her subtle shade.


    Gazing at the moon perched high in the sky, he said, "Life’s long yet short. To the gods, our whole existence might just be a blip, like a mayfly’s day. Senior Sister, don’t weigh yourself down with pointless worries."


    His mind flicked to the Moon Goddess, who’d once said she hoped he’d still be kicking when she woke from her slumber. It hinted at her endless lifespan—or maybe she just figured Han wasn’t likely to die of old age.


    "I’ve got it under control," Bai Ruoyue assured him. "I won’t burn myself out. The Water of Life we absorbed way back gave us a huge well of vitality, tucked away in our bodies. Training like this just taps into it—no harm done."


    "Still, you’re using up that power," Han countered. "What if you need it badly someday? Plus, keeping it in you helps nourish your body over time."


    "Got it," she said.


    Time drifted on, the vibe between them relaxed and easy, a comfortable calm settling in.


    "You should head back," Bai Ruoyue said at last. "It’s getting late."


    Han’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Senior Sister, how about I crash at the martial hall tonight? I could keep tabs on you—make sure you’re behaving."


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    He said it with mock seriousness, like it was his sacred duty.


    Bai Ruoyue’s face flushed. "Who needs you playing watchdog? Get going already."


    You staying here? Yeah, right—like I don’t know what you’re scheming!


    Han sighed, a touch of regret in his eyes, but he left the Taibai Martial Hall. No choice—he couldn’t go against her wishes.


    Before stepping into the peach grove, Han took a moment to prep, masking his scent. Couldn’t be too careful.


    "You’re back," Lu Qingmo greeted him. "Junior Brother Song sent word."


    "Is it about those two divine materials, or the Heavenly Saint Revival Elixir?"


    "The materials," Lu Qingmo replied. "But first, about the demon attack on the village. The Ghost God Division’s been digging into it these past few days. I checked the place out myself—there’s definitely signs of an evil cultivator’s handiwork. It’s not some made-up story."


    "The Black Cloud Guards who chased the culprit are back too," she added, pausing. "They didn’t catch the guy, but I questioned them myself. They saw traces of the evil cultivator, no doubt."


    So far, that part of the story held up—no holes there.


    "The evil cultivator’s real," Han said, "but something’s been nagging at me these past few days."


    "What’s that?"


    "If that Manifest Saint cultivator who ambushed me was really an evil demon, why didn’t he use any demonic techniques?"


    Han shook his head. "If he were a demon, he could’ve killed me and bolted—too fast for you to catch, Aunt Mo. Why bother hiding his moves? And what kind of demon worries about blowing their cover during a hit like that?"


    Back when Lu Qingmo was at her peak, even an elder from the Impermanence Hall had dared to openly snipe her, fearless of Xuandu Temple’s wrath. Killing a nobody like Han? No need to play coy in a "sure-kill" setup.


    "Plus, maybe I’m not the sharpest at sensing these things, but I didn’t pick up a whiff of evil cultivator vibes from that black-robed guy—start to finish."


    "Hiding his techniques just means he’s hiding his identity," Han reasoned. "He didn’t use any flashy signature moves even when he died. His goal’s obvious—he couldn’t afford to be recognized."


    Evil cultivators don’t hide who they are. In moments like that, they’re the loudest ones in the room.


    "You’re onto something," Lu Qingmo agreed, then relayed Junior Brother Song’s update.


    "The Earth Divine Stone and Celestial Gold Dust popped up on the market three times in the fifteen years I was away from Jade Capital. Different buyers snapped them up each time."


    "Who?"


    "Xuandu Temple, the Wei Family of Wei Province, and…" She paused. "The imperial family."


    Han’s eyes narrowed, brushing past the first two. "Who’d the imperial family hand those materials to? Any leads?"


    Lu Qingmo shook her head. "No way to trace that. It’s buried in imperial secrets."


    "The Xuandu monk who bought them already used them up," she added.


    "That’s enough for me…" Han’s gaze shifted toward the Governor’s Mansion.


    Zuo Tianzheng was already the prime suspect. This news only tightened the noose. Over the past decade-plus, the Earth Divine Stone and Celestial Gold Dust might’ve surfaced more than three times across the world, but narrow it to Jade Capital and Black Cloud Town? The list shrank to one.


    Jade Capital. Divine materials. The imperial family. Zuo Tianzheng’s past probing of Han, his years of hustling, his obsession with restoring his broken body—all the pieces fit.


    Sure, this wasn’t airtight proof. Plenty of excuses could explain it away. But to Han, ironclad or not, it didn’t matter.


    "The Wei Family’s a top-tier clan, practically owns Wei Province," Lu Qingmo said. "They’ve got no ties to Black Cloud Town, and they keep a low profile. No chance they’re involved."


    Han suddenly tossed out a question. "Aunt Mo, what’s the penalty for killing an imperial envoy?"


    Lu Qingmo glanced at him, hesitating before answering, "Death—or nothing at all. He’s the emperor’s golden boy. Kill him openly, without cause, and even Xuandu Temple can’t shield you. But a quiet, traceless kill? Could pin it on the Heavenly Mother Sect."


    Han nodded. "Lord Zuo’s life sure is precious—way more than a nobody like me."


    "Whatever you’re planning against Zuo Tianzheng, talk it over with me first," Lu Qingmo warned. "Make it airtight, flawless—a clean strike."


    Han shot her a mock-shocked look. "Aunt Mo, what’re you talking about? Killing this, killing that—I’m lost here. I’m not up to anything. Black Cloud Town’s under Great Qi’s laws, your turf. I’m a model citizen!"


    "Lord Zuo’s an imperial envoy, heaven-sent. I respect him too much to mess with him. Aunt Mo, let’s not stir up trouble with divisive talk."


    Lu Qingmo caught the sarcasm instantly and rolled her eyes. "Oh, you’re the clever one, aren’t you? Master of words."


    In Black Cloud Town, Han was a "law-abiding" saint. How could he possibly step out of line?


    Han found a spot to cultivate, soaking in the moonlight as his thoughts raced.


    If you want my life—and Senior Sister’s—then get ready to lose yours. I’m coming for it.


    Those who kill will be killed. No matter how lofty your status, death levels the playing field.


    When his session wrapped up, Han pulled out a magic vessel—a Fire-Gathering Pot. Inside was the Pure Yang Flame he’d snagged months ago. The first yang fire he’d claimed was finally getting its moment.


    This pure yang blaze wasn’t the strongest, but it could still boost his soul’s Day Roaming stage and martial Bone Refining practice. He should’ve refined his soul with it right after hitting Day Roaming, but the Yang Earth Fire had delayed things.


    Now, with the Yang Earth Fire mastered, swallowing and refining the Pure Yang Flame would supercharge it—and amplify the flame’s own power. Fully healed, the time was ripe.


    Under Lu Qingmo’s watch, Han began consuming the strange fire.


    Boom!


    A primal surge—way fiercer than when he’d tackled the Phoenix Fire—erupted, nearly blasting him off his feet. Flames roared upward, spreading everywhere, engulfing him in a blazing cocoon.


    If Lu Qingmo hadn’t intervened, an ordinary peach grove would’ve been ash in seconds under that inferno. This wasn’t playing with firecrackers anymore—it was a missile launch.


    From outside, the grove glowed red, painting the sky in crimson—a jaw-dropping sight. Heat rolled off in waves, like a scorching hellscape. The air dried out, the ground cracked under the blaze.


    Yang fire was the opposite of yin—raw heat, explosive, blindingly bright, pure masculine force. Amid this constant, violent upheaval, Han slowly refined the Pure Yang Flame, enduring the soul-searing agony.


    He was fired up—literally and figuratively.