Outside the peach grove, the night air hung still.


    “Second Uncle, Junior Brother Lin sent word—they’re over…” Jiang Yingyu began, pointing eastward.


    Jiang Hengchuan nodded. “Let’s link up with them, then.”


    “And call me Master.”


    “Right, Second—er, Master.”


    As the trio walked, Jiang Yingyu’s curiosity bubbled up. “Master, this Uncle Lu—was she the dao seed who had that accident back in the day?”


    “Yes,” Jiang Hengchuan confirmed. “If you ever cross paths with folks from the Impermanence Hall, your first priority is self-preservation. If you’ve got strength to spare, don’t go easy on those crooked cultivators.”


    “Those twisted freaks see us orthodox sects as their mortal enemies.”


    “Got it—wipe out evil, no mercy!” Jiang Yingyu declared. Then he hesitated. “Master, our Jiang family and Uncle Lu… we’re not on bad terms, right?”


    “No such thing,” Jiang Hengchuan said, shaking his head. “It’s all old history—no grudges, no one’s at fault. Don’t overthink it.”


    He glanced at Wang Zai, who’d been lost in thought. “I’ve brought you to see Junior Sister Lu. From here, your personal business is your own—I won’t step in, and I can’t.”


    “A word of advice: she’s not one to change her mind easily.”


    “Thanks, Uncle Jiang,” Wang Zai said with a slight nod. “Did you get a read on the guy next to her?”


    “Visceral realm martial artist, early twenties, soul cultivation unclear,” Jiang Hengchuan replied. “But sticking around her place this late? He’s gotta be tight with her.”


    “We’re all Xuandu Temple folks—some lines shouldn’t be crossed, and can’t be. Otherwise, with her temperament, she might never come back to the temple.”


    Privately, Jiang Hengchuan found it odd. In his memory, Lu Qingmo was aloof—rarely mingling with men unless necessary, let alone late at night.


    As a Yin Spirit cultivator, he could tell Han’s presence in the grove wasn’t a one-off. His traces were everywhere.


    Had a decade-plus changed her that much?


    “Rest assured, Uncle Jiang, I know my limits,” Wang Zai said smoothly.


    “Senior Brother Wang,” Jiang Yingyu piped up, narrowing his eyes, “you tagged along with Master to see Uncle Lu—what’s your angle?”


    He’d clocked it earlier: Jiang Hengchuan had planned to meet Lu Qingmo solo, sending the others to find lodging. But Wang Zai had asked to join, and with his status as a dao seed, Jiang obliged—dragging Jiang Yingyu along too.


    Wang Zai smiled and shook his head. “No angle—just admiration for Uncle Lu, that’s all.”


    Jiang Hengchuan stayed quiet. He saw right through Wang Zai.


    Lu Qingmo had been gone from Xuandu for fifteen years, stuck at Manifestation realm—her fame long faded. Wang Zai’s age? Fifteen years ago, he was still a kid learning his letters.


    Anyone still fixated on her was either an enemy, a friend, or after something obvious.


    The three drifted off, each wrapped in their own thoughts.


    Inside the peach grove, Lu Qingmo turned to Han.


    “Since the royals are sending people to investigate, they’ll probably hit Tai Bai Martial Hall tomorrow.”


    Her tone was firm. “Stay put—don’t wander off. Keep within Bai Tian’s sight so the royal folks can’t pull anything rough.”


    Han nodded. He got it. He’d hashed this out with Lu Qingmo and Bai Tian plenty over the past two days.


    They had a game plan, rehearsed in his head a dozen times—no room for panic.


    “Lord Zuo’s gone—what a tragedy,” Han said, deadpan. “Should I send a wreath tomorrow?”


    “Don’t stir the pot,” Lu Qingmo warned. “Once this news spreads, who knows how big the ripple will be.”


    That jogged Han’s memory. “Before that riverside martial bout, Zuo Tianzheng promised he’d take his pick of talents back to Jade Capital—straight into the Emperor’s Academy.”


    “Now? Looks like he’s breaking that promise.”


    No one left to head back—he’d be checking into the underworld instead.


    Back then, no one saw this coming. The ambush hadn’t even happened yet; Han never imagined it’d end like this.


    Zuo Tianzheng didn’t have to sweat picking talents anymore. Whether anyone went back was up to the incoming royals now.


    With so many factions flooding Black Cloud Town, the local prodigies had options aplenty. The Emperor’s Academy was off the table, but other paths were open.


    Zuo Tianzheng’s favor had once been a golden ticket—now it was more like a leash holding them back.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Good or bad for them? Too early to tell.


    “Aunt Mo, your Senior Brother Jiang hit Yin Spirit at his age—how’s his talent stack up in Xuandu?”


    “He didn’t just break through,” Lu Qingmo said. “He was a true disciple back in the day, made a name for himself. He’s a couple years older than me.”


    “I’ve been out of the loop on temple gossip, but he probably reached Yin Spirit years ago. When I left, he was already at Manifestation peak. With his talent, cracking the Yin Spirit barrier? Three years, tops, barring any mishaps.”


    “Dao arts are brutal—forming a Yin Spirit’s tough, but merging your soul into the Yellow Spring? That’s a whole other beast. Even for true disciples, it’s no overnight feat.”


    “He’s likely gone far in Yin Spirit, but Yellow Spring? No telling when—or if—he’ll get there.”


    “Across the world’s lineages, tons of true disciples get stuck at the Yellow Spring gate for decades—some never cross it. That’s normal.”


    Han blinked. “Yellow Spring’s that hard?”


    “Insanely hard,” Lu Qingmo said, her face grave. “Anyone who gets that far is no slouch—all top-tier talents. But reaching Yellow Spring isn’t just about talent anymore. It takes time—tons of it—and it’s a near-death gamble.”


    “Xuandu’s past true disciples? Not many hit Yellow Spring, and even fewer go beyond. You might not see one surpass it across multiple generations.”


    Of course, those masters lived long enough that even if generations of disciples flopped, the lineage wouldn’t break. Rare, but not a crisis.


    “Bai Tian’s a True Blood warrior now,” she added, “but without a massive stroke of luck, he could grind twenty years and still not touch the Thorough Earth barrier. Odds are, he’s stuck there for life.”


    “The road’s rough,” Han sighed. He knew the higher you climbed in cultivation, the steeper it got.


    But Lu Qingmo’s master had secluded himself for eighteen years and failed to break through, and now a Xuandu dao seed like Jiang, a decade into Yin Spirit, was still there.


    When geniuses like that struggled, it painted a stark, intimidating picture of late-stage cultivation.


    Geniuses? Everyone at that level was one.


    The Yellow Spring gate didn’t care—it was built to stop them cold.


    Han pondered, then asked, “Anyone ever blaze through those stages fast?”


    “Oh, sure,” Lu Qingmo nodded. “Most famous lately? The Purple Sky Heavenly Lord. Youngest of the ten immortal-realm masters on the Mountains and Rivers Life List. His rise is legendary.”


    “Yin Spirit to Yellow Spring? Took him just a few years to smash that wall.”


    “Nice—precedent’s set,” Han said.


    Lu Qingmo raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”


    Han straightened up, dead serious. “Since it’s been done, when I blast through those gates at lightning speed, the world’ll just have to deal with it.”


    “…Confidence is a virtue.”


    Night passed. By the time Han hit the martial hall, Shen Yu was waiting at the door. She bolted over the second she spotted him.


    “Little Junior Brother! Some officials are here for you!”


    Right on schedule—and fast too.


    Han kept his cool, even tossing in a puzzled look. “Officials? What for? They got a job for me or something?”


    “No clue,” Shen Yu said, shaking her head. “Master’s with them now—head straight to him.”


    She leaned in, whispering, “These guys aren’t small fry. Even Master’s treating them super serious.”


    “Weird,” Han muttered. “Officials Master takes that seriously? I wouldn’t know them.”


    Up the stairs he went, stepping into the room. Four people sat inside.


    Bai Tian was one. The others? A white-haired old man with closed eyes, a stern, imposing guy radiating authority, and a sharp-eyed young dude.


    “Master.”


    “You’re here,” Bai Tian said, jumping in with intros. “You three, this is my disciple, Han.”


    “Han, these are envoys from Jade Capital. This is Elder Bai, royal blood. This is Commander Yang from the palace guard, and his top student, Young Master Jin.”


    Han greeted each one politely. Elder Bai and Yang oozed power—stronger than Bai Tian’s True Blood flex. Veteran Yin Spirit or True Blood, no question.


    Jin, the young guy, was Bone Refining realm in martial arts. Soul cultivation? Couldn’t tell.


    “I’m Jin Zhan,” he said, his bright, piercing gaze locking onto Han like it could unravel every secret.


    Han met it with a calm, knowing look.


    What’re you staring at?


    “Brother Zhou, you went into Black Mountain a few days back?” Jin asked.


    “Yeah,” Han said straight. “Got out two days ago. Something up?”


    “What’d you go in for?”


    “Fought some beasts to sharpen my martial skills, hunted for spiritual plants and treasures to boost my cultivation.”


    Every word was true—beast battles, treasure hunts, all real.


    “You know what happened to Zuo Tianzheng?”


    “He’s dead.”


    Han was an honest guy—answered what he knew.


    “How’d you know?” Bai Tian cut in, frowning. “I just heard it from Elder Bai and them—where’d you get it?”


    “Last night, Senior Jiang from Xuandu Temple dropped by Aunt Mo’s place,” Han explained. “Said the Ghost God Division’s gotta help investigate and find the killer. I was there, heard it all.”


    Jin mulled that over, then pressed, “You went in before Lord Zuo. Did you run into him in there?”


    “Nope,” Han shook his head.


    “For real?”


    “No point in lying. I heard later—Lord Zuo went in with two Bone Refining guys and a Day Roaming one. Way stronger than me. Even if they entered after, they’d probably outpace me.”


    “Black Mountain’s huge. If they passed me, how’d I catch up to bump into them? I’m just a Visceral realm martial artist.”


    Jin didn’t push back, switching tracks instead. “Heard you and Hall Master Bai’s daughter got ambushed by some unknown Manifestation cultivator once?”


    “Whole town knows that story,” Han said.


    “Any guesses who sent them?”


    Jin’s eyes stayed glued to him.


    Han didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze head-on. “Evil cultivators, Heavenly Dragon Sect, and…”


    He dropped the last name. “Lord Zuo.”


    “Preposterous!” Commander Yang barked. “Zuo Tianzheng was the Qi Emperor’s envoy—why would he stoop to something so vile?”


    “I believe Lord Zuo wouldn’t either,” Han said smoothly. “But back then, in Black Cloud’s setup, only three outfits could’ve sent a Manifestation cultivator.”


    “Just going by the facts for my guess.”


    “Commander Yang,” Bai Tian interjected, “my disciple’s just being straight with you—why get riled up? He’s answering everything, cooperating fully. No holding back.”


    “Hall Master Bai’s right,” Elder Bai said, cracking his eyes open slightly and nodding.


    No blood tie between him and Bai Tian—same surname, different roots. No rule said a royal family’s name was off-limits to the masses.


    Yang clammed up, saying no more.


    Jin nodded. “Brother Zhou’s a straight shooter, no doubt.”


    “We’re just here because you’re the only one who came out of Black Mountain from the same day as Lord Zuo. Had to check in, that’s all. He was His Majesty’s envoy—can’t let him die without answers.”


    “I get it,” Han said. “Lord Zuo busted his hump for Black Cloud’s stability and growth since he got here. I admired him for it.”


    “Now that he’s dead in there, we’ve gotta get to the bottom of it.”


    “Glad you see it that way,” Jin said, shifting gears. “Day before you went in, you and the Ghost God Division’s Head Lu hit up the Yun family. Day you went in, Yun Yuannan met with you both. What was that about?”


    “Aunt Mo—Head Lu’s nominal disciple is Yun Yuannan’s daughter,” Han replied. “Those two days, it was about taking her on as an official disciple.”


    “Because of that, Yun Yuannan gave me some pointers for my trip—helped me score big in there.”


    He and Lu Qingmo had synced up with Yun Yuannan—everyone’s story matched tight.


    “Can you recall your route through Black Mountain?” Jin asked.


    “Who’d remember that?”


    What a dumb question—Black Mountain was a sprawling maze, most of it looking the same. No landmarks, no markers—who’d track their path?


    Trying to trip me up, huh?


    Han played ball, answering everything thrown at him.


    Dead guy’s the VIP, right?


    No embellishments, no tricks—just plain, simple truth. No fancy wordplay to throw them off.


    More you say, more you risk.


    Try to outsmart them with clever talk, and you might spill more than you mean to.


    Honest Han, that’s me.