“Soul purity,” Ye Qingxuan stated, her voice cool and imperious. She paced the length of the Violet Heaven Palace, her presence filling the room like a rising tide. “If you cling to obsession and resentment, the Nascent Soul will twist into a Wicked Infant. The backlash will destroy you. Second, do not be impatient for success.”

She turned, fixing Han Lie with a gaze that was both demanding and possessive.

“It is an old adage, but true: haste brings ruin. With your aptitude, the Nascent Soul—that chasm countless cultivators fail to cross—will form naturally when the time is right. As the saying goes, when the water flows, the channel is formed.”

Han Lie bowed his head slightly, not as a servant, but as a trusted general acknowledging his empress. “This senior will keep the Sect Leader’s teachings firmly in heart.”

Ye Qingxuan was right. The path of cultivation required a mind as still as a frozen lake. Impatience and obsession were the cracks that shattered the vessel.

“Finally,” she added, her tone sharpening, “if you harbor unresolved grievances, do not attempt the breakthrough. To cross that threshold is to part the clouds and see the blue sky. To fail is to drink regret in the Yellow Springs for eternity.”

She paused, letting the weight of her warning settle. She had given him the map; now he simply had to walk the path.

“Has Bai Ling been behaving?” she asked, shifting topics with the ease of a monarch dismissing a courtier.

“Yes. The Saintess has remained in closed-door cultivation at Violet Cloud Palace,” Han Lie replied. “She rarely steps out.”

“She has finally realized that in this world, the weak are meat and the strong eat,” Ye Qingxuan mused. “A quasi-ninth-grade spiritual vein means nothing without the power to defend it. Without strength, she is merely a pawn on someone else’s board.”

“Sect Leader,” Han Lie said, stepping forward. “Regarding the Saintess, there is a matter I must report. Three years ago, she mentioned that the Sun Moon Sect gave her a five-year deadline to obtain the Yin Yang Demonic Art. Only two years remain.”

Ye Qingxuan’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within them. “So impatient, Old Ghost Yin Mei?”

She smirked, a cruel, beautiful expression. “This Palace was planning to discipline the Sun Moon Sect. That deadline is a convenient lever.”

She tossed a jade scroll to Han Lie. He caught it deftly.

“This is the cultivation method for the Yin Volume of the Yin Yang Demonic Art,” she said. “Have Bai Ling contact them. Tell them to send someone to retrieve it.”

Han Lie raised an eyebrow. “Are we truly handing over the technique?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Ye Qingxuan scoffed. “If we don’t dangle the real meat, how will we lure the old foxes out of their den? Give it to Bai Ling. I will handle the rest.”

Han Lie understood immediately. This was a hunt. She intended to drag the Sun Moon Sect’s elites into the open and slaughter them. It might not topple their sect entirely, but it would tear a significant chunk of flesh from their bones.

More importantly, it was a chance to rescue Bai Ling’s held-hostage family, severing the chains that bound her.

“Understood,” Han Lie said, his blood warming. “Should this senior handle the arrangements immediately?”

“Go.”

Han Lie moved through the sect with the fluid grace of a man in his prime, though his eyes held the weary wisdom of an ancient soul. He arrived at the Violet Cloud Palace and relayed the plan to Bai Ling.

The young woman stared at the jade scroll in his hand, her body trembling. This single object had nearly destroyed her life and her clan.

“Saintess,” Han Lie said, his voice dropping to a soothing rumble. He placed a hand on her shoulder—heavy, grounding. “I know this is difficult. But we must execute the Sect Leader’s plan.”

Bai Ling took a deep breath, her eyes hardening. “I understand. For my parents… for the Su family.”

She wrote the message, her strokes sharp with resolve, and tied it to a spirit pigeon. She watched it vanish into the clouds.

“I set the location at the Sacred Sun Mountain Range,” she said, turning back to him. “It lies on the border between our territories. They will need five days to reply.”

“Good,” Han Lie said. “Now, we wait.”

Five days later, the reply arrived. The Sun Moon Sect had taken the bait. They demanded an immediate exchange.

The envoy they were sending was no ordinary disciple. It was their Holy Son, Zhao Batian—the true ninth-grade spiritual vein genius Bai Ling had once spoken of with fear.

The board was set. Bai Ling would travel alone to the meeting point. Han Lie would shadow a Law Enforcement Hall team led by Qin Lan and Zhuo Hongyi to provide overwatch. Ye Qingxuan would sit in the rear command, ready to unleash a dimensional strike the moment the trap sprung.

On Law Enforcement Peak, the team assembled. The air was thick with the tension of impending violence.

Suddenly, Su Mei appeared, her face grim.

“Han Lie, Qin Lan, Zhuo Hongyi. With me.”

The three exchanged puzzled glances but followed the elder into a soundproofed secret chamber.

Su Mei paced, her hands clasped behind her back. “The plan has changed. The Grand Elder just sent word. Our spy within the Sun Moon Sect reports that your team’s movements have been exposed.”

The silence in the room was instantaneous and suffocating.

“A mole?” Zhuo Hongyi whispered, her hand instinctively drifting to her sword hilt.

“It seems both sects are leaking like sieves,” Han Lie muttered, a cynical smile touching his lips. “Spy against spy.”

“Does this abort the mission?” Qin Lan asked sharply.

“No,” Su Mei said. “Han Lie, you are the Grand Elder’s appointee; you are cleared. Qin Lan, Hongyi, I trust you with my life. The rat is hiding among the twenty-three disciples outside.”

The three of them exhaled. If the traitor had been one of the commanders, the mission would be dead in the water.

“Find them,” Su Mei ordered, her voice cold. “Use whatever means necessary before you depart.”

“Yes, Master.” Qin Lan’s eyes flashed with predatory intent.

Outside the chamber, the three commanders huddled in a secluded corner of the courtyard.

“Twenty-three suspects,” Qin Lan hissed. “We don’t have time to interrogate them one by one.”

“Ideas?” Zhuo Hongyi asked, frowning. “We need something fast.”

Han Lie stroked his chin, his mind working through the variables. He wasn’t just a brute; he was a schemer who had survived centuries of intrigue.

“I have a plan,” Han Lie said softly.

The two women leaned in.

“It is a clumsy trick,” Han Lie admitted, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But clumsy tricks work best when the enemy is nervous.”

Minutes later, the team reassembled. Qin Lan stood before the twenty-three disciples, her expression bored and dismissive.

“Orders from the top,” she announced, yawning slightly. “Today’s operation is cancelled. Disperse and return to your duties.”

Confusion rippled through the ranks, but discipline held. The disciples bowed and began to drift away.

Han Lie, Qin Lan, and Zhuo Hongyi split up, melting into the shadows. They didn’t leave; they watched.

Han Lie’s logic was simple: the mole knew the mission was critical. A sudden, unexplained cancellation would trigger paranoia. They would wonder if they had been discovered. They would panic.

And panic makes people stupid.

Most of the disciples simply went back to their dorms or training grounds. But one man did not.

Zhao Danming of the Azure Dragon Squad walked with stiff, jerky movements. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his eyes darting frantically. He wasn’t heading to his quarters; he was heading toward the communication array.

Han Lie watched from a rooftop, his gaze locking onto the prey like a hawk. Got you.

Zhao Danming turned a corner, sweat beading on his forehead, looking utterly distracted.

“Junior Brother Zhao,” a voice purred from directly behind him.

Zhao Danming flinched violently, spinning around.

Zhuo Hongyi stood there, smiling sweetly, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her blade.

“Do you have a moment? I’d like to talk.”