“On this point, this humble Daoist and the Fairy share a common aspiration.”

Han Lie smiled calmly, his expression sincere.

A gentleman is a gentleman, a petty man is a petty man. Han Lie was no saint, but what he despised most were hypocrites—those who cloaked themselves in the name of righteousness while committing vile deeds in the dark.

“I can see that,” Qin Yang chuckled lightly, her eyes curving into crescents. “Meeting you today, Daoist, is indeed a stroke of fate. While you are in Qin Yang City, if you encounter any difficulties, just mention my name. My name might not solve everything, but it can at least resolve a great deal of trouble.”

Han Lie nodded. “Then this humble Daoist offers his thanks in advance to the Fairy.”

Although Han Lie felt he might not have much use for it, he accepted Qin Yang’s goodwill. It was better to have a bridge than a wall.

“Why must we have met before to be acquainted? Daoist, if fate allows, we shall meet again.”

With those words, Qin Yang lightly tapped her jade-like feet against the cobblestones. Like a wisp of smoke caught in a breeze, she vanished into the night in the blink of an eye.

Coming back to his senses, Han Lie did not linger.

By the time he returned to the inn, the eastern sky was already turning the color of a bruised plum. He meditated briefly until the sun fully rose.

Once the city was awake, Zhuo Hongyi came looking for him.

“Old man, it’s settled. My father says he wants to meet you,” Zhuo Hongyi said, her face beaming. She looked as if she had achieved a great victory the night before.

“Is that so? Then let us go.”

Han Lie stood, smoothing his robes.

Thus, Zhuo Hongyi led Han Lie formally into the Zhuo Family mansion.

The estate was grand but carried the faint, unmistakable scent of fading glory—peeling lacquer here, overgrown moss there. In the main reception hall, a man sat in the seat of honor.

He was dressed in fine brocade robes and appeared to be around Han Lie’s physical age—middle-aged, dignified, with eyes that held the weight of many winters. This was Zhuo Hongyi’s father and the current head of the Zhuo Family, Zhuo Cheng.

“Father, this is Han Lie, the one I told you about,” Zhuo Hongyi introduced, her voice eager.

Han Lie cupped his hands in a standard salute, his posture straight. “This humble Daoist Han Lie pays his respects to Lord Zhuo.”

“Heh heh.”

Zhuo Cheng gave Han Lie a cursory glance, his eyes sweeping over him like a merchant appraising goods.

“Daoist Han comes from the Heavenly Void Sect; there is no need for such formality with this Senior. Please, take a seat.”

Han Lie’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He detected the subtle shift in tone—”this Senior.” It was a reminder of hierarchy, a small power play. However, Han Lie did not voice his observation. He simply nodded and sat in the guest chair.

“Hongyi, you may withdraw for now. Your father wishes to speak with Daoist Han alone.”

“Father, what are you doing?” Zhuo Hongyi frowned, her protective instinct flaring.

“What? Does this girl of mine not even trust her own father?” Zhuo Cheng asked unhurriedly, though his tone allowed no refusal.

Zhuo Hongyi looked toward Han Lie. Seeing him nod reassuringly, she bit her lip and reluctantly withdrew from the hall.

Once the doors closed, the air in the room grew heavier.

“Daoist Han, may I ask what position you hold within the Heavenly Void Sect?” Zhuo Cheng asked directly, dropping the pleasantries.

Han Lie had not used his Breath Concealment Art. He had come to help Zhuo Hongyi reject a marriage alliance with one of the most powerful families in the capital. To do that, he needed to show strength, not hide it.

“In reply to Lord Zhuo, this humble Daoist is an Inner Disciple of the Heavenly Void Sect,” Han Lie answered without hesitation.

Strictly speaking, he was a Servant Disciple. However, he held an Inner Disciple identity token issued by the Elder Council. Calling himself an Inner Disciple was not a lie—it was a technicality he was happy to exploit.

“An Inner Disciple…” Zhuo Cheng drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Might I ask how old you are this year?”

“If I recall correctly, I should be one hundred and eighteen.”

Hearing this, Zhuo Cheng nodded slowly.

A mid-stage Golden Core cultivator at one hundred and eighteen could be considered a genius in the outside world. Unfortunately, in the capital, and specifically compared to the monsters of the Great Qin Dynasty, it was merely “good.” Even his daughter, Zhuo Hongyi, had higher potential.

“Then I wonder if Hongyi has told you about our Zhuo Family’s situation?”

“She has mentioned it,” Han Lie replied truthfully. “According to her, the Zhuo Family is somewhat declining here in Qin Yang City.”

“Hmm.” Zhuo Cheng sighed, the sound heavy with fatigue. “Since Daoist Han is aware of this, then there is no need for this Senior to mince words.”

He looked Han Lie in the eye, his gaze hardening.

“Originally, I did not oppose Hongyi being with you. However, it is clear that you cannot provide any assistance to our Zhuo Family. For this, I must ask for your understanding.”

“Daoist Han may not know this: in this world, many people are born without freedom of choice. Families like ours are exactly like that.”

“Hongyi’s happiness is certainly important,” Zhuo Cheng continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “But before the survival of the thousands of people in our Zhuo Family, her personal feelings pale into insignificance.”

Han Lie smiled, an indescribable expression on his face.

These words were harsh, but they were within his expectations. This was reality. If Zhuo Hongyi were a commoner, she could marry a beggar for love. But she was a daughter of a noble house. Her womb and her hand were assets to be traded for the clan’s survival.

Compared to a mere Inner Disciple of a distant sect, forming a marriage alliance with Mu Feng, the son of the Minister of War, was the only logical choice for the Zhuo Family.

Suddenly, a loud, resonant voice echoed from the entrance of the mansion, shattering the tension in the hall.

“Princess Qin Lianyi of Great Qin and Young Master Mu Feng, son of the Minister of War, have arrived!”

Zhuo Cheng’s face changed instantly. He could no longer attend to Han Lie. He hurriedly rose, adjusting his robes with nervous energy, and rushed out to receive the distinguished guests.

Han Lie remained seated but turned his gaze toward the doorway.

Two figures approached, surrounded by a crowd of servants and attendants who bowed low in their wake. They radiated an aura of overwhelming nobility, as if the sun and moon had descended to walk among mortals.

One of them looked familiar.

It was precisely that Young Master Mu Feng he had encountered by chance last night at the Gentle Fragrance Pavilion.

He held a folding paper fan, wearing a gentle, cultivated smile. He looked like a “modest gentleman, gentle as jade,” carrying none of the arrogant airs one would expect from the son of the Minister of War. A perfect mask.

But when Han Lie’s gaze shifted from Mu Feng to the figure beside him…

Han Lie involuntarily drew in a sharp breath.

He froze.

Qin Yang?

Yes.

The Great Qin Princess, Qin Lianyi, walking beside Mu Feng, was precisely the heroine “Qin Yang” from last night who robbed the rich to aid the poor!

Unlike the dark-clad vigilante of the night, the current Qin Lianyi was a vision of imperial splendor.

She was dressed in magnificent rainbow robes embroidered with phoenixes. Her skin was like snow, her bearing dignified and unapproachable. Her clear eyes shimmered with starlight, commanding respect with a single glance.

Yet, beneath the layers of silk and royalty, Han Lie could still sense that same sharp, heroic spirit.

Han Lie smiled, a look of genuine amusement crossing his face.

By day, the lofty, illustrious, and widely revered Princess Qin Lianyi of the Great Qin Dynasty.

By night, the thief Qin Yang who robs the rich to aid the poor?

How interesting.

He had known “Qin Yang” was a pseudonym. He just hadn’t expected the reality to be this dramatic—or to encounter her here, in the Zhuo Family mansion, as the very person witnessing the destruction of Zhuo Hongyi’s freedom.

“Old man?”

Zhuo Hongyi’s voice pulled Han Lie’s thoughts back. She had slipped back into the hall, her face pale.

“I overheard what my father said to you just now.”

She looked at him, her eyes filled with dejection and worry.

“It seems I was too optimistic. When I spoke with my father last night, his attitude was positive… he must have been stalling me.”

She bit her lip, looking toward the door where the heavyweights of the capital were entering.

“What should we do now? That Young Master Mu Feng has actually come calling so soon!”