Zhi Xuan remained silent for a moment, the roar of the wind at an altitude of thousands of feet seemingly the only music accompanying the youth's bitter confession. He did not turn, but the corner of his eye caught the shadow of Yun Che prostrating with pure sincerity—a sincerity he rarely found even among the great cultivators who spoke sweet words of virtue.

  "Rise," Zhi Xuan’s voice resonated at a lower frequency, carrying a vibration that forced Yun Che to straighten his back. "I have no need for your worship. On the path of cultivation, your prostration will not strengthen your foundation, and your tears will not sharpen your sword."

  "Once you arrive in Qinghe," Zhi Xuan continued, his voice cold and flat. "Remember to always guard what you possess, for if you cultivate only to seek immortality, you will lose everything you have now."

  The Seven Star Boat sliced through the last clump of clouds before Qinghe City finally appeared on the horizon. From this height, the city looked like an expanse of neatly arranged wooden boxes beside a river that meandered like a silver dragon. Kitchen smoke rose from thousands of mortal dwellings, creating a thin mist that mingled with the warming morning sunlight.

  "We will land on the edge of the forest, one li from the city gates," Zhi Xuan stated. He moved his fingers, and the boat began to dive with a deadly elegance.

  As soon as the deck touched the dew-covered ground, Zhi Xuan waved his sleeve. The majestic boat instantly shrank to the size of a thumb and vanished into his Sea of Consciousness. Yun Che and Yun Xi stood with unsteady legs, breathing in the air that no longer carried a dark scent, but rather the smell of damp earth and hay familiar to mortal life.

  "I will help you no longer," Zhi Xuan began coldly. "Find your own way, strive hard, and leave this remote Southern Region one day if you have gained the ability."

  Zhi Xuan turned his body, his back to the two teenagers who remained frozen. His black-and-white robe seemed to swallow the morning light falling through the trees. Without a single word of farewell to human ears, his figure blurred, merging with the shadows of the forest as if he had never truly been there.

  "Senior!" Yun Che cried out, his hand reaching into the empty air. But only the whistling wind answered him.

  Yun Xi gasped beside him, fumbling at the ground beneath her feet and finding a cloth bundle. "Brother, look!"

  Yun Che shifted his gaze for a moment, quickly kneeling to pick up the parcel. His eyes widened in disbelief; the stack of gold coins felt real enough to bring tears to his eyes. "This... this is..."

  "These are gold coins!" Yun Che trembled, his fingers tracing the cold metal shimmering in the dawn light. "Not just one or two... this is enough to buy a residence and start a new life in Qinghe without ever fearing hunger."

  Yun Xi covered her mouth with both hands, her tears falling silently. "Brother... Senior Gu... he truly isn't a Devil as they say. A Devil would not provide a path for ants to stay alive."

  Yun Che pressed the cloth bundle to his chest, his eyes staring intently toward the forest where Zhi Xuan had vanished. "He gave us strength through the flower, he gave us wealth through the bandits' bags, and now he gives us roots in the mortal world through this gold. Xi’er, listen well..."

  Yun Che gripped his sister’s shoulders tightly, his gaze now as deep as the ocean. "The world may call him a Devil, but to us, he is the Sky itself. We must not waste a single piece of this gift. We will enter Qinghe, hide our strength, and become as strong as possible."

  "But Brother," Yun Xi whispered while wiping her tears. "If one day the world truly surrounds us, what can two ants like us do?"

  Yun Che stood tall, his aura as a First Ember practitioner rippling softly. "Then we shall become ants that bite elephants, just as he said. If the world wants our heads, then the world must know that ants can bring down the stars."

  He looked down, staring at his clean palms—the Crimson Flame he had obtained felt real. Yun Che clenched his fists tight. In his soul, he swore; if one day he managed to transcend mortal dust, he would seek out the man in the black-and-white robe, not to seek vengeance for the world's fear, but to prove that the seeds planted by the Devil did not grow in vain.

  After the two youths departed toward the gates of Qinghe City, silence once again reigned over the forest outskirts. However, that silence broke as the shadows behind an old banyan tree lengthened unnaturally, forming a tall silhouette that solidified back into Zhi Xuan's physical form.

  He had not truly gone; he had merely erased his presence from mortal senses. His sapphire eyes watched the dust left by the receding footsteps of the Yun siblings.

  "Sentimentality is poison to your sword, Zhi Xuan," Ruo Xianxue’s voice echoed within his mind, carrying a sharp, cynical tone. "You gave them gold? Why not just build them a palace while you're at it? Remember, you are a fugitive sought by all the great factions, not a philanthropist handing out blessings."

  Zhi Xuan did not answer immediately. He walked slowly toward the riverbank, staring at his reflection in the clear water. The slaughter pillar pattern on his temple throbbed subtly, contrasting with his facial expression, which was now calmer after the Mark of the Annihilator had been moved into the Heavenly Trifold Reincarnation Cauldron.

  "That gold is but useless metal to me," Zhi Xuan whispered, his voice nearly swallowed by the gurgling water. "But to them, it is the wall separating life from despair. The Heavenly Dao is so cruel, why must I mimic the attitude of the Heavens?"

  Zhi Xuan washed his hands in the stream, letting the cold water erase the lingering scent of death from the bandit valley. He rose, his robe which was wet at the hem drying instantly as he triggered a small amount of spiritual essence. His gaze shifted toward the sturdy walls of Qinghe City in the distance.

  "Now it is time for me to enter the bustle of humanity," Zhi Xuan said flatly. "Now, to find a place to fully focus on the Nirvana Ancient Puppets."

  Zhi Xuan waved his hand and placed the Ghost Hood back on his head, immediately blurring the perception of those around him. Zhi Xuan's footsteps brought an awkward silence as he trod the path toward the gates of Qinghe City.

  The Ghost Hood he wore worked like a veil of mist; though his body was visible, to the eyes of the city guards and passersby, he was merely a vague figure not worth remembering, like dust blown by the wind or a passing tree shadow. Qinghe was a city living off the remnants of ancient trade route glory. The scent of spices, the sweat of porters, and the aroma of cheap wine filled the air.

  Along the streets, mortal merchants shouted, hawking glassware and woven fabrics. None realized that amidst the crowd busy with their stomachs, a butcher who had shaken the pillars of the great factions' power was walking calmly.

  "Look, that man is so tall!" said one young girl walking with her friend, carrying stones to grind wheat. "He’s nearly six chi tall; who is he? He looks quite ordinary."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Who knows," replied the girl beside her, her eyes narrowing before looking away. "Perhaps just someone who eats a lot of bamboo; no wonder he's that tall."

  "Lin, are you dreaming in the morning?" the first girl's laughter echoed amidst the hustle and bustle. "Eating bamboo? How absurd, maybe he just enjoys exercising."

  Zhi Xuan continued walking without turning, letting the mortal conversation pass like the rustling of wind through a bamboo grove. Behind the Ghost Hood, a thin, cold smile curled. The mortal world was so naive; they judged a person's existence only by their physical height and appearance, unaware that the figure they just mocked carried an essence capable of bringing down these city walls with a single breath.

  He navigated narrow alleys away from the main market, seeking places where the scent of life began to fade, replaced by the smell of rotting wood and the silence of neglected dwellings. His steps stopped in front of an old two-story building at the end of a dead-end alley, leaning against the mossy western city wall.

  Here, only a few mortals remained, drifting in and out, appearing drunk and enjoying an enticing drink. Zhi Xuan’s footsteps halted at the threshold of an old tavern whose signboard was tilted and decaying, barely legible under years of dust.

  In this squalid place, city laws seemed not to apply, replaced by the law of the mortal jungle run by drunks and thieves. Two stout men in filthy clothes emerged from the creaking tavern door, their steps staggering, spreading the sharp aroma of cheap wheat wine into the morning air.

  "I told you, Lao Hai! Never bet on that cripple’s rooster!" shouted the older man, spitting on the ground, his face flushed red from alcohol. "My three silver coins are gone in one bet, damn it!"

  The man beside him, called Lao Hai, laughed hoarsely until he coughed. "You’re the fool, Da Niu! That rooster looked mighty, but its spirit shriveled since the duck pecked it last month. You should have saved your silver to buy another glass of Scorched Wine here. At Old Mo’s tavern, at least your drunkenness is real, unlike your luck!"

  "Pah! Old Mo and his rotten tavern are both heading to the grave," Da Niu replied, wiping his mouth with a dirty sleeve. "Look at the roof; it’ll collapse on the drunks' heads soon. If it weren't for it being the cheapest price in all of Qinghe, I'd rather sleep in a pigsty!"

  Lao Hai nudged his friend’s shoulder, his red, bleary eyes narrowing as they passed the tall figure of Zhi Xuan, veiled by the Ghost Hood. To their alcohol-clouded eyes, Zhi Xuan was merely like a wooden post standing in the middle of the road.

  "Heh, look at that," Lao Hai whispered, his voice raspy. "Another stranger entering this dead end. Tall as hell, but his clothes... looks like a poor wanderer looking for a cheap bed."

  "Forget it, don't mind others," Da Niu grumbled, pulling his friend’s hand to keep walking. "Anyone who comes to Old Mo’s, whether a stranger or a ghost, only has one goal: to escape the outside world. Let’s go, I need to sleep before my wife starts nagging like a mountain tiger!"

  The laughter and grumbles of the two men gradually faded behind the bend of the stifling alley. From inside the tavern, the sound of a breaking porcelain glass was heard, followed by an old, weary, and hoarse voice.

  "Get out! If you don't have any more coins, don't you dare touch that bottle!" shouted a voice from within. "I run a tavern, not a charity house for living corpses!"

  A moment later, a middle-aged man with a battered face was thrown out of the tavern door, falling face-first onto a pile of wet straw right at Zhi Xuan's feet. The man moaned, clawing at the dirt as if searching for missing coins.

  "Just one more cup, Old Mo... I beg you..." wailed the ousted man, sobbing. "My wife and child are gone, my house is seized... only your wine can make me forget I’m still breathing!"

  "Then just stop breathing, it’s cheaper!" snapped the voice from inside with a heartless, biting tone.

  Zhi Xuan stood like a statue, watching the scene from behind the Ghost Hood. He looked at the fallen man—a human who had lost everything and now only worshipped soul-destroying liquid.

  "Ruo Xianxue," Zhi Xuan whispered in his mind, his voice as cold as cracking ice. "Look at them. They scream about suffering as if the world owes them, while they themselves destroy their own Wheel of Life with their own hands."

  "Mortals are an endless joke, Zhi Xuan," Ruo Xianxue replied with a low laugh that crawled along the walls of the Sea of Consciousness. "They fear death, yet they run toward destruction every day. But isn't this the kind of place you seek? A place where no sane person will notice what you build in its cellar?"

  Zhi Xuan did not answer. He stepped over the man still wailing on the straw and pushed open the heavy tavern door. As he entered, the scent of stale wine, dust, and rotting wood greeted him like an embrace from an old tomb.

  Behind a wooden counter blackened by oil stains, an old man with messy white hair was wiping a glass with a cloth that was no less filthy. He did not look up when Zhi Xuan entered, merely continuing his work with a dull, mechanical motion.

  "Wheat wine, ten copper coins. Strong wine, twenty," Old Mo said expressionlessly. "If you're just looking for shelter from the heat, please leave. I have no room for beggars."

  Zhi Xuan stepped closer, each footstep on the decaying wooden floor making an eerie creak in the silence of the empty tavern. He did not take out copper coins, but instead placed a gold piece on the counter.

  CLINK—!

  The sound of precious metal hitting the old wood instantly stopped Old Mo's hand. The old man slowly raised his face, staring at the gold piece with eyes that suddenly flashed with alert, then shifting to stare at the tall, hooded figure of Zhi Xuan.

  "Gold?" Old Mo whispered, his voice no longer hoarse, but sharp. "Someone like you shouldn't be in this alley. What do you want? My best wine isn't worth the price of this gold."

  "Give me your best wine," Zhi Xuan replied coldly. "And, I wish to ask if there is a place here to take shelter?"

  The old man named Mo fell silent, his trembling fingers now stopping atop the gold piece that glowed in contrast to his grimy wooden table. He stared at the gold, then at the faint shadow behind Zhi Xuan’s hood, as if trying to pierce the mystical mist surrounding the man before him.

  "This gold could buy this entire tavern ten times over, along with my old life," Old Mo muttered, reaching for a black ceramic bottle from the hidden bottom shelf. He poured a clear but sharply scented liquid into a clay cup. "This is Morning Dew Wine, a remnant of my former glory. Drink."

  Zhi Xuan reached for the cup but did not drink. He merely stared at the ripples of the liquid inside. Suddenly, the tavern door creaked open violently. Two sturdy men in shabby city guard uniforms entered, laughing uproariously. The swords at their waists clattered irregularly.

  "Old Mo! Where’s our cut for this week?" shouted the cross-eyed guard, slamming the table not far from where Zhi Xuan stood. "We've been protecting this rotten alley of yours from debt collectors; don't tell us you still have no tribute!"

  "Oh, Masters... look at this tavern, even flies are reluctant to visit," Old Mo replied in a submissive tone, trying to hide the gold piece behind his palm.

  The other guard, who had a handlebar mustache, squinted at Zhi Xuan. "Heh, who is this hooded pole? Hey, Fellow! You have coins to pay for your drink, but no coins to greet the city guards?"

  Zhi Xuan did not budge, his aura remaining calm like an ancient lake.

  "Just ignore him, Master," Old Mo interjected quickly, cold sweat beginning to wet his temples. "He's just a mute wanderer who lost his way."

  "Mute, eh? Let's see if his tongue grows back if I cut off his hood!" The mustachioed guard laughed, his hand reaching for Zhi Xuan’s shoulder.

  However, before those coarse fingers could touch the fabric of his robe, a thin youth in patched servant clothes ran in from the back door, carrying a tray of rotten vegetables.

  "Guard Masters! Please have mercy!" the youth cried out, throwing himself between the guard and Zhi Xuan. "Uncle Mo just lost his savings last night, but I found some copper coins under the warehouse! Here, take them, buy some decent wine at the central market instead!"

  The cross-eyed guard snatched the copper coins from the youth's hand, counted them for a moment, then spat on the floor. "Only this much? Pathetic! Let’s go, Da Li, the smell here is fouler than the sewers in the dungeon."

  The two guards left, grumbling all the way, leaving the atmosphere tense inside the tavern once more. The thin youth exhaled a long breath, standing up while wiping the dust off his knees.

  "Uncle Mo, you have to be more careful," the youth said anxiously. He then turned toward Zhi Xuan, his eyes showing great curiosity but remaining respectful. "Forgive them, Senior. Qinghe City may look calm from the outside, but inside these alleys, armored wolves are always hungry."

  Zhi Xuan stared at the youth for a moment. There was something different about this boy; though his body was weak, his eyes had a clarity not possessed by the drunks outside.

  "You," Zhi Xuan said coldly, looking at the youth. "What is your name?"

  "My name is A-Lang, Senior. Just a servant helping Uncle Mo so he doesn't die of hunger alone here," he replied with a deep bow.

  Old Mo coughed, making sure the guards were truly far away before speaking again to Zhi Xuan. "A-Lang is right. Qinghe is no place for the generous. And regarding your question... about shelter..."