“Tell me everything. Who has come for this ruin? Which factions?”

Han Lie didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He placed a storage ring onto the scarred wood of the table. The faint, spiritual hum of one thousand Spirit Stones resonated from within.

The waiter’s eyes widened, his face instantly blooming into a sycophantic grin. He swept the ring into his sleeve with practiced speed.

“Esteemed Daoist, you’ve asked the right person,” the waiter whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. “The mountain is crawling with dragons and snakes.”

“First, the heavy hitters. The Myriad Sword Pavilion has arrived with ten elites, led by their Young Pavilion Master, Xiao Yuruo. Rumor has it they’re shadowing a Nascent Soul Old Monster in their ranks to ensure safety.”

Han Lie’s expression remained impassive, though his mind began to race.

“The Sun Moon Sect is in a similar posture,” the waiter continued. “Led by Holy Son Zhao Batian. And yes, they absolutely have a Nascent Soul elder hiding in the wings.”

Han Lie exchanged a sharp glance with Bai Ling.

So, Zhao Batian had survived.

It made sense. This was a Profound Rank ruin. It likely held the secrets to breaking through to the Nascent Soul realm. For a Golden Core Perfection cultivator like Zhao Batian, this was a chance worth risking death for.

“Anything else?” Han Lie pressed, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table.

“Rogue cultivators,” the waiter said, his voice dropping to a hush. “The most terrifying among them is the ‘Iron-Masked Asura,’ Dongfang Xuehong.”

The name hung in the air like a curse.

“He proved his Dao and achieved Nascent Soul a century ago,” the waiter murmured, eyes darting around as if the name alone summoned the man. “He is likely mid-stage by now. Ruthless. He kills without blinking.”

Han Lie rubbed his chin, the stubble rasping against his thumb. Dongfang Xuehong.

He hadn’t heard the name, but a century of seclusion in the Heavenly Void Sect would do that. If this man was truly a mid-stage Nascent Soul expert, the danger level of this expedition had just spiked.

Rogue cultivators were akin to starving wolves. Unlike sect elders who worried about reputation or politics, a rogue like Dongfang Xuehong would burn a city to the ground for a single pill. They were vicious, cunning, and desperate.

“Is that all?” Han Lie asked.

“That covers the major threats, Daoist,” the waiter bowed. “The local sects within a hundred thousand miles are here, but they are merely krill swimming among whales. The Heavenly Void Sect, Myriad Sword Pavilion, and Sun Moon Sect are the true predators.”

Han Lie dismissed the waiter with a wave.

“Stay here,” he ordered Bai Ling and Xiao Zi. “Do not leave this room.”

He needed to verify this. Han Lie slipped out of the teahouse, melting into the bustling crowd. He visited three other establishments, cross-referencing the gossip. The intel held up.

It was in the fourth teahouse that he saw her.

Sitting alone in a corner, veiled but unmistakable in her aura. Xiao Yuruo.

She sensed him immediately. Their gazes locked across the smoky room—a silent, electric exchange. She rose, leaving a few coins on her table, and walked out.

Han Lie followed.

They didn’t speak until they reached the secluded peak of a nearby mountain, far from the prying eyes of the market. The wind whipped at their robes, carrying the scent of pine and impending snow.

“We meet again, Daoist Han.” Xiao Yuruo turned, her veil removed.

Her beauty was sharp, almost piercing, a stark contrast to the rough wilderness around them.

“Indeed,” Han Lie said, his voice smooth, shedding the rough cadence of an old man for the confidence of a peer. “Time has only refined you, Fairy Xiao. You look stunning.”

Xiao Yuruo blinked, a flush rising to her cheeks despite her composure. She looked away, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Daoist Han knows how to jest,” she murmured, a hint of genuine pleasure in her tone. “Is it just you and Saintess Bai Ling representing the Heavenly Void Sect?”

“For now,” Han Lie nodded. “We should exchange notes.”

They compared intelligence quickly. The presence of the Iron-Masked Asura was news to her, but she offered a critical piece of the puzzle in return.

“The ruin’s master,” Xiao Yuruo said, her expression serious. “We’ve confirmed his cultivation before death. Late Nascent Soul Stage.”

Han Lie exhaled slowly. “That explains it.”

“Yes. If it were a Soul Formation ruin, the Sect Leaders would be here themselves,” she explained. “But a Nascent Soul inheritance? It’s a training ground for us juniors. The Old Monsters are only here as insurance.”

“A playground for Golden Cores, overseen by sleeping dragons,” Han Lie mused. “Good news for us.”

Xiao Yuruo stepped closer, her eyes searching his face. “Is it?”

“I know about the blood feud between you and Zhao Batian,” she said quietly. “He has brought a protector. You are powerful, Daoist Han, but you are bringing a Golden Core girl and a fox. If the Sun Moon Sect corners you…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

Han Lie looked at her. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could solo a Nascent Soul elder while protecting Bai Ling. He was a pragmatist.

“You are right,” Han Lie admitted, his voice low. “If that old monster intervenes, I will be at a disadvantage. I need an ally.”

He met her gaze squarely. “I need the Myriad Sword Pavilion to lend me a hand.”

There was no shame in this. The three sects were rivals, but alliances shifted like the wind. Utilizing connections was a form of strength.

“I can help you,” Xiao Yuruo said immediately. “I can align my forces with yours to suppress the Sun Moon Sect.”

She paused. The professional mask of the Young Pavilion Master slipped, revealing the woman beneath. A complex emotion flickered in her eyes—desire, mingled with a tragic sort of hope.

Her lips curved, not in a scheming smile, but in a soft, almost vulnerable arch.

“But, Daoist Han…” she stepped into his personal space, looking up at him. “How do you intend to repay me?”

Han Lie paused.

This wasn’t a transaction of spirit stones. He could see it in the depth of her gaze. She wasn’t asking for resources. She was asking for him.

“I wonder,” Han Lie replied, his voice dropping an octave, holding her gaze. “How would Fairy Xiao wish to be repaid?”