The borderlands were deceptively quiet. The wind rustled softly through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke—and something else, metallic and deliberate, that made every cultivator's instincts prickle.
Mo Yun crouched atop a ridge, arms folded, eyes sweeping the forest floor. Shen Yue adjusted a minor talisman formation nearby, muttering, "If nothing happens in the next hour, I'm blaming your optimism."
"Optimism is a strategy, not a mood," Mo Yun replied calmly, scanning the horizon.
"Right," Shen Yue said flatly. "Because optimism stops a predator from eating you."
"Exactly," Mo Yun said. "And panic doesn't make you faster. Calculation does."
From the treeline, other disciples—some familiar from the secret realm, others newly dispatched—moved cautiously toward the ridge. They were disciplined, alert, and tense, yet there was curiosity in their eyes as they noted Mo Yun and Shen Yue's calm demeanor.
"Senior Brothers," one young disciple said nervously, bowing. "We… are ready for orders."
Mo Yun smirked faintly. "Then follow me. And try not to trip over your courage."
Even in the middle of tense surveillance, Shen Yue couldn't suppress a soft snort. A junior disciple nearly tripped over Xu Ming's strategically placed talismans while trying to impress the visitors, earning an exasperated glare from Mo Yun and a faintly heroic bow from Xu Ming.
They spread out, moving carefully along the edge of the village where strange beast activity had been reported. Tracks were inconsistent, behavior oddly intelligent, almost as if guided.
A junior disciple whispered, "It's like they know we're here."
Shen Yue glared. "Probably they do. Now stop talking and focus."
Hours passed. The team discovered evidence of interference: collapsed bridges, disrupted formations, faint qi traces that didn't belong to anyone present.
"It's deliberate," Mo Yun said. "Someone is orchestrating this. Not a beast tide, not the Upper Realm, not even a minor sect. This is calculated."
"Terrifyingly clever," Shen Yue muttered.
Then, as though fate needed a chuckle, the junior disciple who had been overly cautious slipped on a moss-covered rock and tumbled into a shallow stream. Water splashed over him as he scrambled up, flailing.
Mo Yun's expression never changed. "Congratulations," he said flatly. "You have confirmed the forest's lethality firsthand."
The disciple glared, wet and furious. "I… am contributing!"
"Yes," Mo Yun said calmly. "By proving we have nothing to fear from gravity."
Even in danger, life carried absurdity. The team laughed quietly, though tension returned the instant movement in the shadows flickered.
Night fell. The camp was set along a ridge with minor wards and formations. Core disciples took turns keeping watch, quietly exchanging information. Junior disciples whispered, some nervously, others trying to memorize every detail of Mo Yun and Shen Yue's composure.
The pattern of beast movement became clear: someone—not beasts, not Lower Realm cultivators—was orchestrating them. The beasts were smarter, restrained, and moved with subtle precision, hinting at an unseen hand guiding them.
Mo Yun leaned back, reviewing his notes. "They're testing us. Observing. Waiting for a mistake."
Shen Yue's eyes narrowed. "And if we do nothing?"
Mo Yun's gaze swept the trees. "Then we survive quietly… but we learn nothing."
Meanwhile, far beyond the borders, the man who did not look like fate observed everything through carefully planted spiritual observers. A faint smile curved his lips.
Phase Two has begun, he thought. And they are all playing exactly as expected.
Even in the midst of danger, the team's subtle comedy kept them grounded. A junior disciple spent five minutes arguing with his own talisman about whether it was "too close" to another ward. Xu Ming meticulously reorganized herbs for defense, worried that a misaligned potion could destabilize the perimeter. Shen Yue pinched the bridge of her nose quietly. Mo Yun simply shook his head, muttering, "We are doomed, slowly, and with style."
The quiet, layered moments of humor reminded them they were alive, but the underlying tension never left. Everything was being observed. Every move, every error, every joke, was quietly recorded.
And in the shadows, someone waited—not openly, not with fury, but with patience. He would not strike directly. He would manipulate. He would test. And when the disciples made their first mistake—when they misjudged one small variable—the consequences would ripple far beyond this quiet, comedic moment.
The Upper Realm had withdrawn. The Lower Realm's players were free.
But freedom, as Mo Yun suspected and Li Chen would have predicted, had a price.
And someone somewhere was already calculating how much.