With a single step, Han left the dense forest behind, the vast expanse of the world opening up before him once more. Stretching out as far as the eye could see was a flat, unbroken plain—no towering ancient trees, no swarms of wild beasts.


    I’m out!


    “Young Master, see? I told you I’m not a jinx,” An Lang’s smug voice chimed in through their mental link from her ghostly abode. Back in civilized lands, she couldn’t exactly strut around openly—better to stay tucked away.


    Han rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. Like we weren’t chased by beasts a dozen times?”


    “That’s not my fault!” An Lang grumbled. “Who tromps through Black Mountain without getting hounded by something?”


    Han ignored her, striding toward Black Cloud Town.


    Day seven.


    As he entered, heads turned. Word of his return from Black Mountain spread like wildfire. Han didn’t care—he made straight for the peach grove.


    Zuo Tianzheng’s mess needed a deep dive with Lu Qingmo. Knowing he’d emerge today, she’d skipped the Ghost Division, waiting for him amid the blossoms instead. When Han reached the grove’s heart, he spotted her silhouette, lost in the flowers.


    “Aunt Mo, I’m back!”


    Lu Qingmo turned, her expression calm, sizing him up. As he drew near, she rested a hand on his shoulder, checking him over.


    “Don’t worry, Aunt Mo—safe and sound, not a scratch!” Han grinned.


    After a long moment, she pulled back, nodding slightly.


    “I was worried you’d burned your lifespan to take down Zuo Tianzheng.”


    She’s got a sharp eye.


    An Lang floated out, wisely keeping mum, drifting off to a corner to cultivate. As for Lu Qingmo’s words? Oops, ears must’ve glitched—didn’t hear a thing.


    Han puffed up, all righteous indignation. “Against a guy like Zuo Tianzheng? No need to burn anything. Besides, I promised you, Aunt Mo—those lifespan tricks? Just for study, not for reckless use.”


    Not reckless at all—totally calculated burns.


    “The snail’s too vague. Tell me everything about killing Zuo Tianzheng—every detail, no skipping,” she said.


    “Alright.” Han nodded, digging into his memory. “So, I…”


    No way he’d spill the real deal about offing Zuo. Fifty years of lifespan? Don’t you dare make that up—I’ll deny it. Check me if you want—no missing years, no drained vitality.


    When he finished, Lu Qingmo fell quiet, then let out a soft sigh.


    “His target was the Sky-Mending Vine too, and you crossed paths. Talk about fate. The one who sent killers after you and Ruoyue? Him alright—Zuo Tianzheng. Good riddance.”


    Her eyes flashed with killing intent. No scolding Han for daring to slay an envoy—just pure satisfaction. Some folks, once they’d done certain deeds, flat-out deserved it.


    Sure, from their angle, Zuo had it coming. But this? Couldn’t leak—ever. Even if Zuo struck first and Han’s kill was payback, thinking that made it justifiable to shout from the rooftops? That’s a one-way ticket to the grave. Power didn’t care about your reasons, and neither did might.


    “This stays buried,” Lu Qingmo said, dead serious. “In Black Mountain, you never saw Zuo Tianzheng—or any human. His death’s got nothing to do with you. Yujing’s probably caught wind already, but you’re clean—you didn’t do a thing.”


    A guy like Zuo would’ve left soul lamps or some life-check trinket back in the capital. He drops here, they’d know there.


    Han nodded, flashing a grin. “Yeah, it’s got zero to do with me. No bad blood with Zuo Tianzheng, right? Sure, I got ambushed, but I’m betting that was the Tianmu Cult’s creeps. And the kicker?” His smile widened. “Aunt Mo, I’m just a Viscera-Refining newbie. Lord Zuo could tangle with Marrow-Washing types—me, hurt him? No way!”


    “Even if my soul realm got outed, I still couldn’t take down his crew. Viscera-Refining Small Success against Bone-Refining Peak? That’s straight-up slander. Mid-tier Day-Wandering against Zuo’s squad—and unscathed? That’s even wilder slander. Bring a top-tier sect’s golden child here—they couldn’t pull it off either!”


    “If anyone says I did it, I’d have to ask—what kind of genius do you take me for? I’ve got a smidge of talent, sure, but it hasn’t bloomed into that kind of strength yet. People can’t just throw accusations around. I’m just a kid still finding his feet!”


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Lu Qingmo nodded. “You’re making a solid case. If you hadn’t told me yourself, I’d never buy it.”


    Who’d believe a guy training less than six months could pull this off? Nobody. Zuo didn’t believe it even as he bit the dust. Lu Qingmo played it cool now, no shock in sight—she’d already worked through it. When Han first snail-called her with the news, that long silence? Her mind had been a storm. Sleepless night, reeling from the hit. Now, she’d settled—at least enough to fake calm. Couldn’t let Han think she was some small-timer, right?


    “I’ve got one worry,” Han said, shifting gears. “What if Zuo sent a message out before he went down?”


    “No need to stress that,” Lu Qingmo said with a faint smile. “Black Mountain’s cut off from the outside—most signals don’t make it. Your snail’s a freak exception—I still can’t figure out how it works, it’s that weird. Zuo was a Bone-Refining martial guy, not a cultivator. Fancy, instant messaging tricks? Out of his league. This place is a haul from Yujing—their comms gear needs a Sanctified cultivator to spark it up. His guards? Probably still clueless, waiting for him to stroll back with the Sky-Mending Vine.”


    As a Xuandu disciple, even her messages to a junior in Yujing lagged a day. Zuo’s crew couldn’t beat that.


    “Good,” Han said. With that, the envoy hit was locked down tight as it could get.


    “Hand over what you got from Zuo.”


    “Sure.” Han passed it over.


    Lu Qingmo wasn’t after it—she just double-checked for trouble. All clear.


    “Zuo’s dead, Yujing’s gonna stir,” she said. “Factions are piling into Black Cloud Town, the Mountain God’s rumbling, and they’ll send someone to dig into this. Zuo’s death won’t go unprobed.”


    “Will they mass soul-search?” Han asked.


    Lu Qingmo mulled it, then shook her head. “Suzhen Palace and others hit Black Mountain too—no way they’d pull that card. Too many players, too much heat to handle. When you fought Zuo, no outsiders saw, right?”


    Han shook his head, dead certain. “Not a soul.”


    Zuo’s crew moved slow compared to Han, sure, but other factions’ Bone-Refining types lagged harder. Han was fastest—pinpoint target, solid strength, and a bag of tricks. Zuo’s trio trailed close, laser-focused on the vine, no distractions, and decent muscle. Other Bone-Refining folks lacked Zuo’s juice—slower was normal. They wouldn’t just barge into Marrow-Washing beast turf either.


    “Then you’re golden. No proof, too many threads—Yujing’s investigators won’t dare overreach,” Lu Qingmo said. “Just no clue who they’ll send. Whoever it is, Black Cloud Town’s not the same sandbox Zuo rolled into. He could’ve ruled the roost back then—not anymore.”


    Han smirked. “True that.”


    The Mountain God? Han wasn’t sweating it. In the old days, Black Mountain shenanigans wouldn’t slip past it, but times had changed.


    “Once we’re out of here, don’t breathe a word about Zuo’s death to anyone,” Lu Qingmo warned. “Forget it happened—forget the guy. Act like you’re clueless. Maybe give Baitian a heads-up so he’s braced, but that’s it—not even Ruoyue. It’s not about trust—fewer in the loop, better. They’re young, green.”


    “Got it.”


    Han handed back the three treasures Lu Qingmo had lent him, then broke into a grin. “Enough downer talk, Aunt Mo. I hit all seven spots the Mountain God flagged—guess how it went?”


    He’d skimped on details earlier, sticking to the Zuo clash. Preceding stuff? On hold—nailing the kill cleanup took priority.


    “I’d bet it went well,” she said.


    “Smart as ever, Aunt Mo. Check this.” Han pulled a jade box from his spatial ring, easing it open.


    Lu Qingmo’s heart skipped, breath catching—then she froze, staring at him. “What am I looking at? An empty box?”


    “Haha!” Han laughed bright. The box was bare.


    “Oops, wrong one.” He swapped it out fast. This time, something nestled inside—something Lu Qingmo knew cold, a sight she’d dreamed of countless times.


    The Sky-Mending Vine.


    “Mission accomplished. Snagged it from a demon clan’s turf.”


    Lu Qingmo gazed at the vine, speechless, thoughts swirling. Han chuckled. “Don’t zone out, Aunt Mo.” He handed it over. “Keep it safe—lose this, and good luck finding another. With it, the Heavenly Saint Soul-Reviving Liquid’s in reach.”


    “Nice work,” she said softly, her demeanor warming. “You must’ve dodged a lot of bullets for this.”


    She stashed the vine quick, barely glancing at it, her eyes lingering on Han instead. A smile crept up. “That jittery kid who used to bow and scrape before me? Now he’s a lone wolf pulling off stuff even I couldn’t. Looking back, I’m glad Ruoyue dragged you to me.”


    She hadn’t expected this—teaching a kid on Ruoyue’s plea would pay off this big. Thank goodness Ruoyue wouldn’t let up back then. Sweet girl—worth every bit of doting.


    “Gotta thank Senior Sister, yeah,” Han agreed. “Without her, we wouldn’t be here.”


    Back in the day, only a handful in Black Cloud Town rated a meet with Lu Qingmo—fresh-on-the-path Han sure wasn’t one.


    “Tell me about your mountain trip—take your time,” she said, eager for the seven-day scoop, worried he’d taken lumps.


    “Well, it all starts with An Lang’s big jinx mouth…”


    “Young Master, I can hear you!” An Lang’s indignant voice cut in. “Talking smack behind my back? Not cool!”


    “I’m no gentleman,” Han shot back. “I’m a sage. And why’re you eavesdropping?”


    “Hmph, fine—I’m out.”


    Lu Qingmo smiled, waiting for Han’s tale.


    “Not much danger, really. You know me, Aunt Mo—folks call me the Great Strategist.”


    “Great Strategist?”


    “Uh… a fancy way of saying super smart.”


    “So, after I went in…”


    By the time he wrapped up, a good chunk of time had passed—talking his head off took effort.


    “Didn’t expect the Spirit Fusion Method you snagged earlier to tie in like this,” Lu Qingmo marveled. “Every bite and sip’s got its fate, huh? Borrowing strength—smart move.”


    “When I first got it, Aunt Mo, you sounded like you knew the Light Fox Clan?”


    She nodded. “Xuandu’s got records on Black Mountain’s demon clans. The Light Foxes are mild, sharp-witted, open to enlightenment—no beef with humans.”


    “Spot on.”


    “Strong-arming the Moon-Chasing Wolves without wiping them out? Good call,” she said. “The Mountain God lets those disrespectful clans hang around for a reason—Clan Leader Yun said as much. Going all-out to crush them might’ve rubbed the God wrong. They’re weak anyway, stuck in Black Mountain, checked by the Light Foxes—no threat to you. No point pissing off the God over them.”


    “Same page,” Han said. Two Sanctified demons? No sweat—crossing them didn’t faze him.


    After hashing it all out, Han leaned in closer. “Aunt Mo, guess what? The Sky-Mending Vine wasn’t my only haul.”


    “You mean the Sky Serpent Vine, Control Stone, unnamed flower, and such?”


    “Those are rare goodies, no doubt—solid haul.”


    Han shook his head, all mysterious. “Nah, nah. Those are nice, but next to my other score? Small potatoes.”


    Lu Qingmo perked up. “What is it?”


    He locked eyes with her. She glanced away, then back, hooked by two words.


    “Origin Stone.”