As Steward Wang’s roar echoed through the Spirit Field Department, Laborer Disciples trickled out from their stone huts and muddy fields. They gathered in the clearing, their eyes fixed on the purple-robed Deacon and the retinue of high-ranking cultivators.

Deacon Lu hovered in mid-air, standing atop his flower-shaped Magical Artifact. His gaze was as sharp as a hunting hawk, sweeping across the sea of bowed heads with cold indifference.

Below him, two Inner Disciples stood on air, their positions slightly staggered. Further down, Steward Wang and the other Outer Disciples remained grounded on their Plantain Leaves.

The formation was a perfect, upward-pointing cone. With Deacon Lu at the apex, the brutal hierarchy of Wanchun Valley was laid bare before every eye.

Once the assembly was complete, Deacon Lu’s voice rang out. “How many Laborer Disciples are missing?”

Steward Wang scrambled to consult his ledger, his finger dancing across the names. “Including Zhang Shan, a total of five are absent today, my Lord.”

“I will personally inspect the quarters of Zhang Shan and Liu Lan,” Deacon Lu commanded. “The rest of you will search the others. If you find them, drag them here for questioning. If they are gone, find out where they went. Every returning disciple must be scrutinized with the utmost rigor.”

The Deacon descended, his boots touching the dirt. A nervous Steward Wang scurried ahead, playing the guide as they entered Zhang Shan’s stone hut.

Deacon Lu’s eyes were like ice. He scanned the cramped room and immediately pointed at the overturned stone bed. Etched into the underside of the bed plank was a hidden, intricate sigil: a roaring beast with bared fangs.

Beneath the bed’s original position lay a gaping, pitch-black tunnel as wide as a water vat, venting a thick, fishy stench.

“Raising a Spirit-Stealing Rat is a mere violation of sect rules,” Deacon Lu remarked, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “But this beast-taming mark… it belongs exclusively to the Spirit Beast Sect.”

“This Zhang Shan was an infiltrator.”

Steward Wang nodded fervently, his face pale. “Deacon Lu is wise! It must be so! The man had Five Spirit Roots and spent twenty years in the shadows. The Spirit Beast Sect likely bought his loyalty recently through the Green Grain Market. They wouldn’t waste a true sleeper agent on a talent so poor.”

Deacon Lu ignored the flattery. “And what made you suspect him enough to search this place?”

Steward Wang lowered his head. “To be honest, I initially thought the ungrateful wretch had simply fled. I intended to report him for an unauthorized departure. But then I learned he had handed over all his resources to a girl named Liu Lan—a girl with no blood relation to him. Such charity defies every logic of the cultivation world. I knew then that something was rotting.”

Deacon Lu clasped his hands behind his back. “Not bad. You’ve spent your years in the Spirit Field Department throwing your weight around, but at least your brains haven’t entirely migrated to your crotch.”

“On the path to immortality, parents might provide for children, but the reverse is unheard of. Even Dao Companions keep their accounts separate. For a twenty-year veteran to give away his lifeblood to a stranger? Impossible.”

Steward Wang broke into a cold sweat. His lips trembled as he realized that his bullying of the “hopeless” disciples had never been as secret as he thought. The praise was a razor-thin veil for a warning.

“Deacon Lu… your eyes see all! My petty transgressions are nothing before you!”

“If nothing had happened, your ‘petty deeds’ would remain beneath my notice,” Deacon Lu said coldly. “But when trouble stirs, those petty deeds become fatal flaws. In the future, leave a little room for others. In doing so, you leave a little room for yourself.”

“Yes… yes! I shall remember! I shall etch it into my bones!” Steward Wang stammered, mopping his brow.

“Lead the way. Let us see this Liu Lan’s home.”

They reached Liu Lan’s hut, where the Steward whispered her history: sixteen years old, Three Spirit Roots, and already at the third layer of Qi Refining. She was a rising star destined for the Outer Sect.

“Zhang Shan likely hoped to trick her into becoming his Dao Companion, or perhaps he wanted a favor from a future Outer Disciple,” the Steward suggested. “She has no record of visiting the market. She doesn’t seem to be an agent.”

Deacon Lu performed a thorough sweep but found nothing out of place. “She seems clean. Regardless, keep her under surveillance. If she is proven to be compromised, you will be stripped of your position and sent to the borders of the Nanli Kingdom to hunt demons until you die.”

“Yes, Deacon Lu!”

As they exited, the Inner Disciples returned, dragging a man clad only in his thin undergarments. His feet were bare and dusty.

“Deacon Lu,” an Inner Disciple reported, “the other three are at the market. This one was… occupied with his own lusts in his room and refused to answer the summons.”

A ripple of snickering went through the crowd. Someone even let out a muffled “pfft.” To be caught in the middle of self-pleasure during a sect-wide alert was a rare level of idiocy.

Deacon Lu’s face turned black with rage. The overwhelming pressure of a Foundation Establishment expert erupted from his body. “You disgusting filth!”

“Did you join Wanchun Valley solely to indulge in such vulgarity?”

The disciple, who hadn’t even had time to pull on his trousers, was slammed into the dirt by the sheer weight of the Deacon’s aura. The laughter died instantly. Every laborer lowered their head, terrified of being the next target.

“Wang Hui! Take this fool and punish him until he remembers he is a cultivator!”

Steward Wang grabbed the man and dragged him toward a water vat, shoving his head into the cold water. “You ungrateful beast! Drink some water and see if it clears your pathetic mind!”

Deacon Lu turned back to the crowd. Han Yu kept his breathing shallow, careful not to look at Old Daoist Li.

However, the Deacon’s finger suddenly rose, pointing directly at the man in the bamboo hat. “You there. Remove the hat.”

Han Yu’s heart hammered against his ribs. He turned his head just enough to see Li Quan reach up.

The old man slowly lifted the hat, revealing a head of thin, snowy-white hair and a face so haggard it looked like parchment.

“Disciple Li Quan pays his respects to the Deacon.”

Deacon Lu blinked in surprise. “You are this old and haven’t even sensed Qi? How did you even become a Laborer?”

“I only received a Keepsake Token in my nineties, my Lord,” Li Quan rasped. “With my Five Spirit Roots, I can barely crawl along the path, but the sect was kind enough to take me in…”

Deacon Lu’s suspicion vanished, replaced by a flicker of pity. “To seek the Way at the edge of the grave… it is a hard lot.”

He looked away. No one would waste coins buying the loyalty of a man who would likely be dead within the year.

Han Yu exhaled slowly. He didn’t know how the old man had hidden the red streaks in his hair, but they were safe—for now.

“The other residences,” Deacon Lu asked the Inner Disciples. “What did you find?”

“We searched them all, my Lord,” an Inner Disciple replied, stepping forward. “We found nothing incriminating, save for one object. We are not sure of its origin.”

Using a telekinesis spell, the disciple floated a silver-white, spindle-shaped object before the Deacon.

Deacon Lu took one look at the artifact and let out a cold, sharp snort. “Well, well. It seems they have arrived as well!”