When Jia Tao’s gaze drifted to the side and collided with that familiar figure, his mind seemed to rupture in a single, violent instant. All the fear he had been suppressing, the caution drilled into him by years of survival, shattered like brittle glass. The presence of Commander Qi, the weight of authority, the danger of the courtyard… all of it vanished from his awareness.

  In that heartbeat, everything aligned with terrifying clarity. The face. The aura. The source of every nightmare and every sleepless night. Hatred flooded him so fiercely that it drowned reason itself, burning away hesitation, calculation, even instinct for self-preservation. His breathing turned ragged, vision narrowing until only one figure remained in the world.

  “CHEN MOOO!”

  The shout tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. His fingers curled until his nails bit into flesh, blood welling unnoticed as his body moved ahead of his mind. Without thought, without restraint, without a single glance at Commander Qi or any care for what would follow, Jia Tao launched himself forward, fist drawn back, driven purely by a rage that had waited far too long for this moment.

  Seeing this, Chen Mo merely shook his head, his expression calm to the point of indifference. He was not here to negotiate, nor to seek forgiveness, and certainly not to untangle old grievances. To him, Jia Tao’s tragedy amounted to nothing more than collateral damage, so insignificant it scarcely deserved a memory. If blame had to be assigned, then it lay with Jia Tao himself for being weak and na?ve. What did that have to do with him?

  As for friendship, loyalty, or love, Chen Mo regarded such notions with thinly veiled disdain. In a world where strength dictated truth, the weak had no right to cling to sentimental illusions. To be powerless was to gamble with death itself. A wrong step, a wrong place, a wrong moment, and one’s fate was sealed. That was the law of this world, simple and absolute.

  He lifted his hand casually, as if brushing away a speck of dust.

  In the next instant, before Jia Tao’s foot could even leave the ground, his body burst apart soundlessly, flesh and bone dissolving into a cloud of blood mist that scattered and vanished into the air. No scream, no struggle, no trace remained. Jia Tao was erased from the world, as though he had never existed at all.

  Commander Qi had never imagined such decisiveness. Not even in his worst nightmares had he envisioned a living person dissolving into a soundless cloud of blood mist before his eyes. There was no clash, no cry, no warning. One heartbeat Jia Tao existed, the next he was gone, erased so cleanly it left the mind reeling.

  A chill crawled up Qi’s spine and sank deep into his bones. If Chen Mo could do this without the slightest hesitation to someone who had once called himself a friend, then what did that make him? Less than nothing. An insect whose life or death depended entirely on a fleeting thought.

  The terror in Commander Qi’s heart surged to a new height. He finally understood, with horrifying clarity, that his own life was far more worthless than Jia Tao’s in Chen Mo’s eyes. One wrong word, one misplaced intention, and he too would vanish just as quietly, without even the dignity of a scream.

  Chen Mo leaned back into his seat, movements unhurried, as if the blood mist from moments ago had never existed. His gaze settled on Commander Qi with a faint, unreadable smile.

  “Commander Qi,” he said calmly, “who else from the Silver Crane Martial Hall slipped through your net? Perhaps some old acquaintances of mine were among the survivors. As you can see, I am a nostalgic person. If fate allows it, I would like to meet them again.”

  Qi’s mouth twitched. His face was still pale as paper, and inwardly he cursed bitterly. Nostalgic? What a joke. Still, he did not dare let even a trace of sarcasm leak into his voice. He steadied his breathing and answered truthfully.

  “My lord, the Silver Crane Martial Hall was exterminated thoroughly. No one escaped in open battle. Only those confined in its dungeons, like that boy just now, survived temporarily and were later used for interrogation.”

  He paused, then continued carefully, “The only group that managed to escape unscathed consisted of Zhang Qiang, a peak Muscle Refining expert, and a young woman named Li Yuxue. In addition, the alchemist elder Zhou Henge also survived. They are all currently in the capital, under the protection of His Highness, the Second Prince.”

  As the names left his mouth, Qi felt the pressure in the air subtly change, like a calm lake concealing a descending abyss.

  Chen Mo fell into deep thought, the calm on his face cracking just a little.

  Damn it… of all people, it had to be this bunch.

  Zhang Qiang was troublesome but predictable. Muscle over brain, strength with a ceiling. He could be dealt with when the time came. The alchemist elder was even less of a concern, a man who hid behind furnaces and formulas.

  But that girl…

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

  That annoying little bitch…

  If she was still alive, then trouble was inevitable. Not because of her current strength, but because of what fate seemed to enjoy doing with people like her. Survivors. Witnesses. Seeds watered by hatred and coincidence. Give them time, give them a stage like the Immortal Recruitment, and the world itself would bend to push them forward.

  And knowing his luck, she would definitely appear there.

  He could already picture it. A tragic backstory polished by rumors, tears sanctified by the crowd, all blame neatly dumped on his head. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong accusations. Reason would be irrelevant. Strength would be questioned. Enemies would be born without consent.

  His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest.

  Who knows what nonsense she’ll pin on me. Some tragic injustice, some fabricated moral debt…

  Chen Mo exhaled slowly, irritation coiling in his chest like a stubborn knot.

  Why does it feel like this world is deliberately trying to make my life harder?

  As if the heavens themselves were bored, arranging old names to resurface, stitching grudges together, testing how far he could go before snapping the threads entirely.

  His gaze sharpened.

  Troublesome or not, fate had made its move.

  And Chen Mo was never one to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

  Chen Mo cast those thoughts aside, sweeping them to the darkest corner of his mind. Troubles could wait. Grudges could ferment. When the time came, he would deal with them cleanly.

  For now, there were more immediate matters.

  Xu… and that so called second prince.

  If the news of the legacy was to be buried, then it would be buried with them. One shovel at a time. One corpse at a time. No need to rush the order.

  He lifted his gaze to Commander Qi, his eyes calm but heavy enough to crush hesitation.

  “What are you waiting for?” Chen Mo said flatly. “Send that letter to your master. Now.”

  Qi jolted as if struck by lightning. His heart raced, but he did not dare linger even half a breath.

  “Yes, yes, my lord. This subordinate will write an urgent letter immediately.”

  Chen Mo nodded faintly. “How long before it reaches him?”

  Qi swallowed. “At most a week, my lord. We use carrier pigeons and relay points. It will not exceed seven days.”

  “A week…” Chen Mo murmured.

  He leaned back, fingers tapping softly, a slow and steady rhythm, like a countdown only he could hear.

  “Good,” he said at last. “That’s enough time.”

  Enough time for rumors to ferment.

  Enough time for greed to blind.

  Enough time for Xu and the second prince to step exactly where he wanted them.

  The board was set. The bait already dangling.

  Now, all that remained was to watch who bit first.

  Commander Qi wasted no time. Under the dim lamplight of his study, he penned an urgent letter with trembling precision, reporting a coincidental discovery in the wilderness: the remains of Chen Mo, found near a secluded site bearing unmistakable traces tied to the long sought legacy. Between the lines, he planted urgency like poison, strongly advising that Lord Xu come in person, claiming the location was unstable, dangerous, and could not be entrusted to anyone else. Once sealed, the letter was dispatched through the fastest relay, its wings beating greed into the night.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Before dawn, a plain carriage slipped quietly out of the city gates. No banners. No escort. Inside sat Commander Qi, stiff as a corpse, and Chen Mo, calm and unreadable, gazing at the receding walls with indifferent eyes. The city behind them faded into silence as the road stretched toward the wilderness, toward buried lies, and toward a trap patiently opening its jaws.

  A month earlier, Xu Haoran had only recently moved into the capital, taking up residence in the Second Prince Sheng Zhen’s mansion. This came after the two had already met in secret and reached a cooperation agreement regarding the legacy. On the surface, they were allies. Beneath that surface, neither side ever relaxed their guard.

  As the Immortal Recruitment drew closer, Sheng Zhen’s unease steadily grew. Chen Mo had vanished for two years without a trace, and the capital was the inevitable crossroads. If Chen Mo appeared during the recruitment, Xu Haoran might seize the opportunity, abandon their agreement, and act alone to monopolize the legacy.

  Sheng Zhen simply could not allow that.

  Inviting Xu Haoran to stay in his mansion was both courtesy and confinement. Under the same roof, every movement could be observed, every message delayed, every intention weighed. Xu Haoran understood this perfectly the moment he accepted the invitation. He knew Sheng Zhen did not trust him and never truly had. Yet refusing would only deepen suspicion and invite immediate conflict.

  Thus, the two “partners” stayed close in the capital, bound by cooperation, restrained by distrust, each waiting for Chen Mo to surface, each ready to turn on the other the instant the balance shifted.

  Xu Haoran would have never proposed cooperation in the first place had he known that an urgent letter from Commander Qi was already racing toward him through the relay points.

  At that time, he had truly given up on finding Chen Mo.

  Two full years of fruitless searching had drained both patience and resources. The wilderness had yielded nothing, the leads had gone cold, and even Xu Haoran had been forced to accept a bitter conclusion: if Chen Mo still lived, the capital was his final destination. The Immortal Recruitment was the only net wide enough to catch him.

  That was precisely why Xu Haoran chose compromise.

  By aligning himself with the Second Prince, he secured influence, shelter, and proximity to the capital’s currents. Even if the legacy surfaced, even if Chen Mo appeared, Xu Haoran believed he would still have time. Time to maneuver. Time to strike. Time to claim everything in one decisive move.

  Had he known that Commander Qi had already “found” Chen Mo’s remains, had he known the legacy was supposedly exposed and guarded, Xu Haoran would have never stepped into Sheng Zhen’s mansion willingly. Cooperation would have been unnecessary. Worse, it would have been a shackle.

  But fate, as always, had already turned the board upside down.

  While Xu Haoran sat in the capital weighing alliances and suspicion, a single letter was closing the distance, carrying news that would shatter his carefully chosen compromise and force his hand once more.

  Seven days later, Xu Haoran finally broke the seal on the urgent letter sent by Commander Qi.

  He read only halfway.

  His expression sank like a stone dropped into dark water. In the next breath, Xu Haoran abruptly rose to his feet, the chair behind him toppling soundlessly, and then he vanished from the Second Prince’s mansion in a blur of motion, tearing through the air at breakneck speed.

  There was no time to question the letter’s authenticity.

  If the legacy was truly there, hesitation meant loss.

  He had to reach the location first.

  As long as he seized the legacy before Sheng Zhen reacted, everything else was irrelevant. By the time the Second Prince realized what had happened and gave chase, Xu Haoran would already be gone, swallowed by the vast wilderness. Even if Sheng Zhen later tried to sabotage him by enlisting other Innate experts, it would change nothing.

  An Innate Master who chose to disappear was a ghost.

  If Xu Haoran did not wish to be found, then in this world, no one would ever find him.

  It was not long before Xu Haoran’s sudden disappearance alerted Sheng Zhen.

  From the very beginning, Sheng Zhen had never truly trusted him. Every movement, every visit, every exchange had been quietly watched. The moment Xu Haoran slipped out of the mansion without a trace, the thin thread of vigilance snapped.

  Sheng Zhen’s expression twisted with fury.

  “Where did that bastard run off to?” he roared. “Investigate. Now.”

  The entire residence stirred into motion.

  Before much time passed, his assistant returned and reported in a low voice that Xu Haoran had received a sealed letter shortly before vanishing. Their spies had already traced its origin. With high probability, it had been sent by one of Xu Haoran’s subordinates stationed in Jian City.

  The moment Sheng Zhen heard this, his heart sank.

  He did not linger to hear more.

  With a cold snort, Sheng Zhen stepped forward and disappeared from the hall, chasing after Xu Haoran without hesitation. He could already guess what had driven that old fox to break their fragile cooperation.

  The immortal legacy.

  If Xu Haoran monopolized the favor of the immortals, the balance would shatter completely. Power, status, succession, even his life would be thrown into chaos.

  Sheng Zhen could afford many things.

  But he could not afford that.

  Two days later, Zhou Henge learned that the Second Prince had quietly left the capital.

  The news struck his heart like a cold needle.

  An unease he could not suppress coiled in his chest. He knew Xu Haoran too well, and he knew his own master, Sheng Zhen, even better. If the confrontation between those two Innate experts took an unexpected turn, the consequences would not stop with them. Should Sheng Zhen fall or even be seriously wounded, Zhou Henge was certain of one thing.

  Lord Xu would never spare him.

  Nor would he spare the Li family.

  The capital would become a slaughterhouse wearing silk robes.

  Zhou Henge did not hesitate any longer. Cloaked and low-key, he rushed toward the Li family residence, his mind already turning like a calculating abacus. Survival always favored those who prepared early. If disaster came, he needed a way out, a shield, or at the very least a bargaining chip.

  When he arrived, the Li residence was quiet.

  Within the inner courtyard, Li Yuxue was immersed in her cultivation.

  Her breathing was steady, her posture firm, muscles taut like tempered steel beneath smooth skin. Faint ripples of internal force surged through her body in disciplined cycles. Only moments ago, she had successfully broken through to the middle stage of Muscle Refinement.

  At such a young age.

  The progress was astonishing.

  Even her uncle, a veteran of the martial path, had been left in awe when he sensed her stabilized realm. Watching from afar, Zhou Henge’s eyes flickered with complicated light.

  Talent like this… if guided properly, could become either a lifeline or a blade.

  And in times like these, Zhou Henge needed both.

  Zhou Henge didn’t waste a second. He appeared before Li Shao and Zhang Qiang as if materializing from thin air. Both men froze for a heartbeat, startled, before instinctively cupping their hands in greeting.

  “Elder Zhou…” Li Shao began, but Zhou cut him off sharply.

  “There’s no time for formalities. Pack your things. Bring Little Yuxue. Come with me—now.”

  Li Shao’s face paled, his mind racing. “Elder… what’s the matter?”

  Zhou Henge’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “I will explain later. Right now… we may be in grave danger. We need to disappear, hide, and stay safe until the Immortal Recruitment officially begins.”

  Without waiting for further questions, Zhou Henge turned, his movements precise and urgent. Li Shao and Zhang Qiang exchanged a tense glance, then hurriedly followed, gathering their belongings.

  Within moments, the small group slipped through the twisting alleys of the capital, vanishing into an unknown corner where no one could find them. The city carried on in oblivion, but the shadow of danger now stretched over them like a coiling serpent.