Eager to leave the mountain, Han and An Lang didn’t linger or detour for more treasure hunts. This trip had already yielded plenty beyond the Sky-Mending Vine—rare finds and crafting materials aplenty. They were content.


    “Young Master, do you think something might go wrong when we head out?” An Lang mused.


    Smack!


    Han lightly tapped her head.


    “Ow! What was that for?” An Lang yelped, clutching her head with a pout.


    “Stop jinxing us! Can’t you wish for something good?” Han shot her a sidelong glare. “Enough with the accidents. Let’s just get out safe and sound.”


    “I was just saying…” An Lang mumbled.


    By midday, Han halted abruptly, his gaze fixing on a direction with a complicated expression.


    “What a coincidence,” two voices said in unison—Han’s, and another from the spot he was staring at.


    “What’s so coincidental?” An Lang asked, craning her neck but seeing nothing where Han looked.


    Han pinched her cheek, exasperated. “You really are a jinx! Maybe you should study curse techniques instead!”


    “Young Master, don’t think ghosts don’t have tempers!” An Lang flailed, trying to retaliate, but Han easily subdued her.


    “Quit messing around. You actually called it this time.”


    “I called it?”


    Han didn’t move forward, standing still. Moments later, An Lang’s expression shifted too—she sensed something and finally grasped what Han meant.


    Three figures emerged through the dense trees, stepping into view of the man and ghost.


    “Han?”


    “Lord Zuo.”


    The reason for Han’s “what a coincidence” and his pause was none other than Zuo Tianzheng—the very man who’d spotted him too.


    Among the trio was a Day-Wandering Peak cultivator. An Lang instinctively covered her mouth. Did I really jinx this? But I think my mouth’s pretty sweet…


    Zuo Tianzheng’s demeanor was calm as he sized up Han and An Lang. “I’d heard you entered Black Mountain too,” he said slowly, “but I didn’t expect you’d make it this deep. This place is dangerous. Reaching here at Bone-Refining Realm is impressive. Han, you truly are Black Cloud Town’s prodigy.”


    Zuo had indeed considered running into Han in Black Mountain, but as they ventured deeper into this Marrow-Washing beast-infested zone, he’d given up hope. No way a Bone-Refining cultivator, even a genius, could handle Marrow-Washing foes. Coming here seemed like suicide. So, he’d shifted focus to hunting the Sky-Mending Vine.


    Their slower pace came from relying on a broad-search artifact, unlike Han’s laser-focused trek straight to his target. Han had been roaming the depths for days while Zuo’s group only now crept into this area—and with little to show for it beyond some minor spiritual plants, trivial next to the vine.


    Yet finding Han here? It struck Zuo as fate’s whimsy. No trace of him in the outer zones when he’d hoped to meet, and now, in the depths where he’d abandoned that thought, here Han was. A twist of dark pools and bright blooms.


    Black Mountain’s core wasn’t vast. With their perception ranges, the odds of crossing paths on an exit-entry route were at least sixty to seventy percent.


    “Just luck,” Han said with a faint smile. “Got through without tangling with anything too nasty. Nothing compared to your strength, Lord Zuo.”


    Zuo glanced at An Lang, clocking her ghost-taming nature but dismissing her. A petty spirit, no threat.


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    “You’re remarkable, Han,” Zuo said. “Across the realm, you’re a top-tier talent. Great Qi and His Majesty need people like you. I sincerely invite you to join the royal family. Serve the Emperor, and I’ll personally recommend you—granting access to the Heaven-Bearing World-Suppressing Scripture and the Emperor’s Divine Fist. His Majesty would nurture you with the highest honors, paving your way to power. A marquis title would be yours when you rise. What do you say?”


    The Heaven-Bearing World-Suppressing Scripture was the Qi Bai clan’s bedrock—an unrivaled secret art, famed across the world, a straight shot to immortality. The Emperor’s Divine Fist, meanwhile, was their peerless technique. Great Qi’s founder had forged the dynasty’s vast domain with those fists, piling up a body count of powerhouses to cement its bloody renown.


    Lu Qingmo had mentioned these tidbits to Han in passing. Whether the Qi Bai clan hid more secret arts was anyone’s guess, but these two alone had swept the realm, securing their elite status.


    “Lu Qingmo may have taught you techniques, but I know you haven’t joined Xuandu Temple,” Zuo continued. “Come to the royal family. Whatever Xuandu offers, we can match—better, even. The royal family’s the true master of Great Qi! And with Xuandu as the state religion, joining us aligns with them too—no strain on your bond with Lu Qingmo. Han, I hope you’ll think it over.”


    Han’s smile never wavered, listening intently, though his heart stayed unruffled. Xuandu’s gifts, the royals can match? They gave me a partner! Can you hand me one too? Great Qi’s got nothing for me—not even an elephant, let alone a match!


    “I’ve long admired the royal family,” Han said smoothly. “But my future’s already set by Chief Lu’s plans. I’ll have to disappoint you, Lord Zuo—my loss, I suppose. Still, I was born and raised in Great Qi. Even if I don’t join the royals, my heart’s with the nation. If Great Qi ever needs me, I’ll give my all to help.”


    His words rang earnest—no trace of deceit. He was a Qi man, loyal to his homeland against outsiders, no question. But aiding Great Qi didn’t mean aiding the royals. Great Qi belonged to all its people!


    Zuo stared at Han for a long moment, then sighed. “Fair enough. To each their own. I won’t force you.”


    At that, the man to Zuo’s right lowered his gaze, poised to act. But a flicker in his peripheral vision shifted his expression. The ancient mirror in his hand—ignored while they focused on Han—now showed something new.


    “Pity, such a pity,” Zuo said, shaking his head. “Han, I had high hopes, but this choice…”


    The man tapped Zuo’s shoulder, cutting him off, and nodded at the mirror.


    Zuo turned, saw the change, and fell silent. His face hardened as he snatched the mirror, double-checking it. Han’s brow twitched. What’s going on? What’s the deal?


    Zuo’s gaze locked onto Han, his earlier calm replaced by a fiery intensity that made Han uneasy. What’s he staring at?


    “Han, in Black Mountain, did you come across a vine-like treasure?” Zuo asked, describing it roughly.


    Han’s expression didn’t shift, but his pulse quickened. That sounds way too much like the Sky-Mending Vine. Wait—he’s after it too?


    “Nope, haven’t seen it,” Han said flatly. “I’m just Viscera-Refining Realm—weak sauce. Getting this far was pure luck. How could I stumble on something a big shot like you needs?”


    Zuo’s grip tightened on the mirror, knuckles whitening, eyes flickering as he weighed something. “Hand over your spatial pouch and ring. Let me check.”


    His demand was blunt—rude and harsh.


    “Lord Zuo, are you in your right mind?” Han shot back. “How does a Yujing envoy like you spit out something like that? Great Qi’s laws protect every citizen’s private property!”


    The people’s belongings are sacred and untouchable! Han’s tone shed all pretense of respect.


    “Give me the pouch,” Zuo said, his face chilling.


    “Do it, and I’ll give you a chance.”


    “A chance?” Han sneered. “Another shot at ambushing me? No thanks—I’ll pass on that kind of ‘chance,’ Yujing envoy, royal lackey.”


    He laid it bare, no more masks. The ambush reeked of Zuo’s handiwork, and meeting here in Black Mountain’s wilds? Han didn’t buy that Zuo would just let him stroll by. Lawless lands bred sin, unleashing the beast in men’s hearts—especially now that Zuo’s target seemed to be the Sky-Mending Vine too, and he’d sniffed something out.


    Could Han hand it over? Hell no! There was one vine, he’d nabbed it fair and square—it was his.


    “Ambush?” Zuo gave a low chuckle. “What’re you on about? I’m not following.”


    “I suspect you’ve stolen His Majesty’s treasure. Cooperate.”


    “And if I don’t?”


    “Hah.” Zuo’s laugh grew louder. “Then I’ll have to offend you. No daylight here, no Lu Qingmo—and you? Just a Viscera-Refining runt. Prodigy? Pfft.”


    The last word dripped with mockery. A genius who hadn’t grown was worthless.


    Han’s face went cold, dropping all facades. “Viscera-Refining still beats you stagnating at Bone-Refining. Heard you had an accident, left you busted up. Wonder what part’s broken? If you’re sick, get it fixed!”


    Zuo’s smile vanished, his expression darkening. “You know a lot, huh?”


    “Take him. Slap his mouth.”


    At his command, the Bone-Refining Peak cultivator to his left sprang forward. The air cracked, shadows blurred—he materialized beside Han in a flash, too quick for normal eyes, unstoppable force in tow. The gust alone could shred flesh, cratering the ground.


    Boom!


    Fist met palm in a thunderous clash. The Bone-Refining fighter flew back faster than he’d come, smashing through an ancient tree.


    In that split second, Han’s soul had leaped out. Before him, a rainbow-hued handprint lingered, fading after repelling the attacker.


    He swept a glance over the trio, ignoring their stunned looks, and spat two words: “That’s it?”