“Senior Sister Hongyi?!”

Zhao Danming’s face drained of color as he spotted the crimson-robed figure.

“Ah… Senior Sister, apologies! I just remembered an urgent matter outside the sect. We’ll catch up later!”

Without waiting for a response, Zhao Danming blurred, shooting into the sky like a panicked bird.

“Leaving so soon, Brother Zhao?”

He hadn’t made it a hundred meters before a figure materialized directly in his path. Han Lie stood mid-air, arms crossed, watching the fleeing traitor with a look of amused cynicism.

Zhao Danming cursed and banked hard, attempting to dive toward the forest.

Crack.

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the heavens. Space itself fractured around Zhao Danming, the shards of reality collapsing inward to form an inescapable prison.

His heart seized. Before he could scream, Han Lie was there. A heavy boot connected with his shoulder, carrying the weight of a mountain.

Zhao Danming plummeted, smashing into the earth with a bone-jarring thud.

When consciousness returned, it brought pain.

“Ah—!”

Zhao Danming screamed, his eyes flying open to a nightmare. He was bound to an iron chair in a damp, claustrophobic cell. Agony radiated from his wrists and ankles—his tendons had been severed. To his left and right stood wooden panels studded with rusted spikes, gleaming menacingly in the dim light.

His gaze snapped forward. Sitting in a row like judges at a tribunal were Han Lie, Qin Lan, and Zhuo Hongyi.

“Senior Sister Qin! Senior Sister Hongyi!” Zhao Danming wailed, his voice trembling. “I… what did I do wrong? Why are you treating me like this?”

Zhuo Hongyi leaned forward, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “If you did nothing wrong, why did you run?”

“I…” Zhao Danming choked.

“Brother Zhao,” Qin Lan cut in, her voice cool and detached. “I will give you one chance. Who sent you? What is your purpose in the Heavenly Void Sect? Speak the truth, and I may consider sparing your life.”

Han Lie tapped his finger on the armrest. “Think carefully before you answer. You can try to be tough, but make sure your backbone is as hard as your mouth.”

The threat hung heavy in the air. Zhao Danming looked at the spikes, then at his useless limbs. He broke.

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” he sobbed, his body shaking violently. “It was the Sun Moon Sect! They sent me! I didn’t want to do it, I swear! Senior Sister Qin, you said you’d spare me if I talked!”

Qin Lan raised her eyelids, fixing him with a gaze as cold as a death stare. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“I confirmed you are a spy. That is enough,” she said flatly. “Save your excuses for the Self-Cultivation Self-Immolation Tower.”

Zhao Danming’s pupils constricted to pinpricks. The Tower was not a prison; it was a torture chamber designed to extract the soul, layer by agonizing layer.

“You lied!” he shrieked, struggling uselessly against his bonds. “You said you’d let me go!”

“Did I?” Qin Lan turned to her companions. “Did I say that?”

Zhuo Hongyi spread her hands, feigning confusion. “I don’t recall hearing anything of the sort.”

“Eh?” Han Lie sat up, cupping a hand to his ear like a deaf old man. “What was that? This Senior’s hearing isn’t what it used to be. Could you repeat it?”

The women stifled a laugh. Qin Lan stood up, her expression hardening into stone.

“Even if I did say it,” she whispered, leaning close to the traitor’s face, “so what? The Heavenly Void Sect has no mercy for spies.”

She gestured to the guards. “Take him away.”

Back at Law Enforcement Peak, the strike team had reassembled. Twenty-two elite disciples stood in formation, the tension palpable.

“Listen closely,” Qin Lan commanded, her eyes sweeping over the group. “This mission is critical. If anyone disobeys orders or acts recklessly, do not blame me for disregarding our Sect-brother bond. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Senior Sister!” the disciples roared in unison.

“Move out.”

Qin Lan raised a hand and tore a rift in space. The portal swirled with chaotic energy as she stepped through, followed closely by Han Lie, Zhuo Hongyi, and the rest of the team.

They emerged atop a jagged peak in the Sacred Sun Mountain Range. Below them lay a vast valley basin, the natural border between the Heavenly Void Sect and the Sun Moon Sect.

“Conceal yourselves,” Qin Lan ordered.

As the disciples melted into the shadows of the forest, Han Lie, Zhuo Hongyi, and Qin Lan moved to a vantage point overlooking the valley floor. In the center of the basin stood a lonely wooden hut.

Outside the hut, a petite figure paced nervously. It was Bai Ling, the Saintess of the Heavenly Void Sect. Her small hands were clenched tight, her face pale with anxiety.

“The Sun Moon Sect hasn’t arrived yet,” Qin Lan whispered, relief evident in her voice. Catching the spy Zhao Danming had preserved the element of surprise.

“So,” Zhuo Hongyi murmured, eyeing the nervous girl below. “The Saintess… is a traitor too?”

“She was,” Han Lie replied quietly. “Now? She’s bait.”

“Bait?”

“Remember when I told you I offended someone you couldn’t afford to provoke?” Han Lie glanced at Zhuo Hongyi. “That was her.”

Zhuo Hongyi stared at him. “You found out her secret?”

“Something like that,” Han Lie chuckled dryly.

“Why hasn’t the Sect Leader executed her?” Qin Lan asked, frowning. “A traitor of her rank…”

“She still has value,” Han Lie said enigmatically. “Especially today.”

They waited in silence until the dawn broke. Finally, movement stirred on the far side of the valley.

Several figures emerged from the mist, heading toward the wooden hut. Leading them was a young man in opulent brocade robes. He walked with an air of casual nobility, his eyes narrowed into a permanent, smiling squint. He radiated a deceptive warmth, like a viper sunning itself on a rock.

Zhao Batian. The Holy Son of the Sun Moon Sect.

Flanking him were four disciples, each radiating power no lower than the mid-Golden Core stage. But it was Zhao Batian who drew Han Lie’s attention. The Holy Son was at the Golden Core Perfection stage—the same as Han Lie.

But beneath the smiling exterior, Han Lie sensed a deep, lurking danger.

Interesting, Han Lie thought, his lips curling into a cynical smile. Finally, a peer worth killing.

“That’s him,” Qin Lan hissed, her killing intent spiking. “If we can bury their Holy Son here, this mission will be a Grandmaster success.”

Down in the valley, Bai Ling rushed forward as Zhao Batian approached, bowing deeply.

“Su Mei greets the Holy Son.”

“Sister Su,” Zhao Batian said, his voice smooth as silk. “Do you have the Yin Yang Demonic Art scroll? Give it to me, and I will petition the Master to restore your status. Your family will be freed.”

“No,” Bai Ling said, her voice shaking but firm. She took a step back. “Release my parents first. Then you get the scroll.”

The air in the valley tightened. The four disciples behind Zhao Batian stepped forward, circling the girl like wolves. Bai Ling trembled, cold sweat beading on her forehead, but she held her ground.

“Down, boys,” Zhao Batian chided gently, opening his eyes just a slit. “You’re scaring her. If she runs back to that Demoness Ye Qingxuan, who will get the scroll for us?”

The disciples retreated. Zhao Batian turned his smile back to Bai Ling.

“Sister Su, you drive a hard bargain. I cannot release them yet,” he said, spreading his hands helplessly. “But I am a reasonable man. How about this? I will let you see your parents. But first… I need to confirm you actually brought the scroll.”

Bai Ling hesitated, biting her lip. “Okay.”

On the ridge above, Han Lie facepalmed.

“She’s too naive,” he muttered. “If she shows him that scroll, she’s dead.”