"Are you certain, Brother Mo?" Ye Tuo asked in a low voice as they walked. "That bastard Ye Qingfeng is truly here… in this sect?"
Mo did not answer right away. His footsteps remained steady, robes brushing softly against the stone path as disciples flowed around them toward the competition grounds. Only after several breaths did he nod, his gaze fixed forward. "Certain. I saw him with my own eyes." His expression darkened slightly as he continued.
"This year, many Qi Condensation cultivators from different clans were assigned missions to infiltrate various sects. Our clan was no exception. Since my cultivation has already reached "Stage Six, I was chosen to apply here." A faint sneer tugged at his lips. "During the entry examination, I saw him standing there—calm, shameless—taking the test like he belonged."
Silence followed his words.
Then Ye Tuo spoke again, more carefully this time. "Did you inform the clan?"
Mo shook his head. "Not yet." His eyes flickered with a restrained glint. "There's no need. He isn't strong enough to escape us. We can capture him—and his sister—and take the reward for ourselves before anyone else interferes."
A trace of excitement surfaced in the eyes of the two juniors, and without realizing it, their steps quickened slightly.
But Mo wasn't finished.
"There's another reason," he said suddenly.
Both of them turned to him, waiting.
"Doesn't it strike you as strange," Mo continued, his tone sharpening, "that he's now a disciple of a Rank Four sect? A righteous one, no less. Think about it. Doesn't that feel wrong?"
The two frowned. They didn't understand the deeper currents of clan politics, but Mo had served under the elders for over a decade. When he spoke like this, it was never without reason.
Mo's expression grew heavier, though the greed in his eyes burned brighter. "Ye Qingfeng was once a descendant of our clan. But because he showed no cultivation talent, he was treated as a disgrace—a stain on his family's bloodline." He paused. "A few months ago, something major happened within the clan involving him and his mother."
His voice lowered.
"I don't know the details. Only that his mother died in that incident. And Ye Qingfeng fled—with his sister—from his own clan."
The air seemed to cool slightly.
"Shortly after, the clan issued a mission," Mo continued. "Capture him alive if possible. If not…" His lips curled. "Even his corpse would suffice."
"So what's the problem?" one of the juniors asked, confused.
Mo stopped walking.
He turned slowly, eyes flashing with irritation. "You idiots."
The words were sharp, cutting.
"He had no cultivation talent," Mo snapped. "And now look at him. Qi Condensation Stage Four in mere months." His gaze swept over them coldly. "How long did it take the two of you to reach Stage Four? Years. And that was with clan resources supporting you."
They fell silent.
Mo exhaled through his nose and waved a hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. He must have encountered some kind of treasure—something that awakened his aptitude. Without demonic methods or massive resources, that kind of growth is impossible."
He gestured ahead toward the towering structures of the sect. "And yet, he didn't crawl into a demonic sect. He came here—to one of the strongest righteous sects on the entire continent. If he were cultivating demonic techniques, he would've been purged before even stepping through the gates."
A slow smile spread across Mo's face. "Maybe he stumbled upon a heavenly treasure," he said softly. "A top-grade spirit stone… or something even better."
His imagination clearly began to run wild.
The two juniors didn't truly believe him—but neither dared voice doubt. They had no desire to offend their captain and invite an 'accident.'
"That's why I contacted you two first," Mo said, his tone suddenly serious. "I don't want the clan to know about him yet." His eyes gleamed. "This is our chance. A chance to finally obtain something that will make us rich."
Then he laughed.
Loud. Unrestrained. Greedy.
The two juniors stiffened in embarrassment as nearby disciples turned to stare.
"There are too many people today," one of them muttered under his breath.
"Of course," the other sighed. "It's the Outer Sect Tournament."
They exchanged weary looks. Unlike Mo, they didn't dream of fortune or glory. Nothing good had ever happened to them, and whatever ambition they once had had long since been ground down by reality.
"Senior brother," one of them said quietly, "we should go."
Mo's laughter cut off abruptly. He drew a deep breath, his expression hardening as clarity returned. Without another word, he turned and continued forward—this time with unmistakable determination in his stride.
--
Ye Qingfeng's breathing gradually slowed as the last trace of circulating Qi settled into his dantian.
The familiar stillness followed — that brief, fragile moment after cultivation where the world felt distant, as though wrapped in thin silk. His muscles relaxed inch by inch, warmth lingering in his limbs as residual energy faded into something quieter, more controlled. He opened his eyes and stared ahead, unfocused, letting the sensation fade naturally rather than forcing it away.
Qi Condensation Stage Five.
Before, the thought had carried weight. Months of effort. Careful pacing. Patience measured in frustration. But now… now it felt different. With the pills Brother Xuanyan had given him, the bottleneck no longer loomed like a wall. It felt thin. Brittle. As if one solid push would be enough to shatter it.
Three weeks. Perhaps four.
The certainty made his chest tighten in a way that was neither excitement nor fear — something steadier. Something heavier.
He exhaled slowly and rose from his cushion, the faint sound of fabric brushing stone echoing softly in the room. As he washed and changed, his thoughts drifted forward, uninvited, toward the Outer Sect Tournament.
He wasn't competing seriously this time. He knew his limits. But watching mattered. Observing mattered. There were things one could only understand by seeing how cultivators of higher realms fought — how they moved when restraint fell away, how intent sharpened under pressure.
Strength was not something that could be imagined.
It had to be witnessed.
As he adjusted the collar of his robes, he hesitated. The thought had lingered for days, circling his mind without resolution. Finally, he spoke.
"Master," Ye Qingfeng asked quietly, his posture composed and his tone carefully restrained. "Should I share your pill formula with Brother Xuanyan? If he refines and sells them, his reputation will rise quickly. Resources will follow. It would benefit all of us."
The words faded into silence.
Ye Qingfeng did not turn, nor did he press the matter. He had long learned that impatience earned nothing but displeasure. He stood where he was, hands relaxed at his sides, waiting as seconds stretched into measured breaths. When her voice finally came, it was smooth and unhurried, carrying that faint softness that always made him tense rather than relax.
"There is no need," she said calmly. "Not yet."
He listened without interruption.
"Gratitude born from transaction is shallow," she continued. "It fades quickly. If you bind someone with benefit alone, you should never be surprised when they leave with profit. You and he must grow closer first—through something that cannot be repaid so easily. Something that lingers."
Ye Qingfeng inclined his head. "As you wish, Master."
For a brief moment, he believed the matter settled.
Then her voice returned, lighter this time, almost casual.
"Your sister could serve as that connection."
"No."
The refusal left him instantly, sharp enough that even he felt the loss of control.
"She can't," Ye Qingfeng said, his voice firm, restraint slipping just enough to reveal steel beneath. "I won't allow it. She's the last person suited for this."
His fingers curled at his side, knuckles whitening
"She's already suffered enough," he added more slowly. "I won't put her in danger
The silence that followed pressed heavier than before."I believe your sister is stronger than you think," his master replied at last. "She shows no resistance toward him. And I sensed no malice in Xuanyan."
Ye Qingfeng looked away.
Readiness was not safety , Lack of malice was not protection.
Talent attracted eyes. Eyes attracted hands. And hands, sooner or later, closed into fists.
"If she insists," he said finally, voice contained but strained, "I won't stop her. But not now. She's still young. Her focus should remain on cultivation."
A pause.
And Brother Xuanyan's talent," he added quietly, "will draw attention. Women. Trouble. And attention never stays clean."
"She would suffer for it."
His master offered no further response. The conversation did not conclude so much as it was quietly set aside.
After completing his preparations, Ye Qingfeng stepped outside and made his way toward the Outer Sect competition grounds. Pale morning mist clung to the stone paths ,
The air brushing against his skin felt cool—too cool. Somewhere ahead, three figures subtly adjusted their pace, neither rushing nor hesitating, and as they moved, a restrained pressure seeped into the surrounding Qi. It was controlled, deliberate, and unmistakable. Ye Qingfeng did not slow, but his awareness sharpened fully, every sense aligning toward the threat now unfolding.