“Wh… What!?”

Elder Huang’s vision went dark. He stumbled, gripping the hilt of his sword to steady himself. This… how could this be?

Beside him, Bai Ling was equally stunned, her gaze darting between Han Lie and the serene Xiao Yuruo. She had assumed their alliance was one of convenience, a tactical necessity. But this? This public confession?

If Han Lie and the Myriad Sword Pavilion were truly aligned in that way, the balance of power had just shifted tectonically.

Han Lie kept his face impassive, though internally, he was just as surprised. He and Xiao Yuruo had a verbal agreement, nothing more. He hadn’t touched her. For her to admit to an affair that didn’t exist—to stake her reputation on him so publicly—was a gamble of immense magnitude.

“Heh heh… interesting,” Zhao Batian broke the silence, his draconic face twisting into a grotesque leer. “A lucky guess, and I hit the bullseye.”

“That explains it,” Li Qingyu sneered, shaking her head with mock pity. “I was wondering why the Young Pavilion Master of the Myriad Sword Pavilion would debase herself with a demon sect disciple. It turns out lust is blind.”

She looked Xiao Yuruo up and down, her eyes filled with disdain.

“Though I must say, your taste is appalling. A fresh flower stuck in cow dung. If you needed a man, surely you could find one worthy of your station? Instead, you chose a servant disciple. When the world hears of this, they won’t just be angry—they’ll laugh until their teeth fall out.”

Xiao Yuruo didn’t flinch. She met Li Qingyu’s gaze with icy regality.

“So what if he is a servant disciple? I, Xiao Yuruo, follow my heart, not the idle gossip of bitter old women.”

“Moreover…” She paused, glancing at Han Lie.

“Moreover what?” Li Qingyu pressed, her curiosity piqued.

“Hmph. What does it have to do with you?” Xiao Yuruo cut herself off. She had wanted to boast of his potential, but realized it was better to let his blade do the talking. Words were cheap; power was absolute.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Zhao Batian applauded slowly, the sound echoing across the cratered landscape.

“Splendid. Truly splendid. The Ice-Clear Jade Woman, falling for trash. Once I spread this news, the explosion will be magnificent.”

“Spread it,” Xiao Yuruo challenged, tilting her chin up. “Do you think I fear your tongue? As long as he breaks through to the Nascent Soul Stage within this ruin, all your slander will be rendered meaningless.”

“He has to break through first,” Zhao Batian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

He understood the stakes perfectly. In the cultivation world, the Nascent Soul was the threshold of true power. If Han Lie ascended, his background would become irrelevant. Power washed away all stains.

But Zhao Batian would never let that happen. He would burn this entire ruin to the ground before he let Han Lie ascend.

“There is no need for you to worry about my cultivation, Holy Son,” Han Lie finally spoke, his voice calm and heavy. “Instead of worrying about me, you should worry about how you’ll survive the journey back to the Sun Moon Sect once this senior ascends.”

“The same to you,” Zhao Batian retorted, his eyes promising murder. “Enjoy your time together. I trust you won’t be inseparable forever. And when you’re alone… I’ll be waiting.”

“Senior Qingyu, let’s go.”

Zhao Batian turned and left, Li Qingyu following close behind. They vanished into the distance, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

Xiao Yuruo turned to Han Lie. The defiance melted from her face, replaced by a serious intensity.

“Elder Huang and I will move ahead. Catch up when you can.”

She locked eyes with him.

“And Han Lie… don’t let me down.”

She was all in. If he remained a Golden Core cultivator, she would be ruined. If he ascended, she would be a visionary.

Han Lie nodded, understanding the weight of her gamble perfectly. “Go. I’ll see you at the summit.”

Once the Myriad Sword Pavilion duo had departed, Han Lie turned his attention to the girl beside him.

“Saintess, how are your injuries?”

Bai Ling flinched, pulling her gaze away from the direction Xiao Yuruo had left. “Not… not too good.”

“Come.”

Han Lie led her to a quiet clearing, sheltered by jagged rocks. He retrieved a healing pill—a gift from Qin Lianyi—and handed it to her.

“Swallow this. I’ll help you refine the medicinal efficacy.”

Bai Ling obeyed, swallowing the pill and sitting cross-legged. Han Lie placed a hand on her back, channeling a stream of warm, Pure Yang energy into her meridians. The Ten Thousand Blood Pagoda Art resonated with his power, accelerating her recovery.

Seven days passed in silence.

When Bai Ling finally opened her eyes, her complexion was rosy, her vitality restored. But her expression was clouded.

“Brother Lie…” she began, her voice small. “You and… Xiao Yuruo…”

Han Lie smiled, withdrawing his hand. “She made it clear, didn’t she? Besides, Saintess, didn’t you once send disciples from the Overlord Hall to seduce me? Why so shy now?”

“I… I know,” Bai Ling mumbled, looking at her hands. “I just… she’s the Young Pavilion Master. She’s beautiful, talented, noble. Compared to her, I’m just…”

“Stop,” Han Lie said, his tone firm but not unkind.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“In my eyes, there is no ‘more outstanding.’ Titles, sects, reputations—they are dust. The only difference between you and her is that you are here, and she is not.”

Bai Ling’s eyes widened, shimmering with hope. “Really? You… you won’t neglect me?”

“That depends entirely on you,” Han Lie teased, a rogueish glint entering his eyes. “You know the saying: The early bird catches the worm.”

He leaned in closer. “Birds that don’t know how to chirp… well, they starve.”

Bai Ling blinked, processing the metaphor. Then, a flush spread across her cheeks, turning her ears a brilliant red. Her eyes sparked with a sudden, fierce determination.

“That… that makes sense!”

She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest.

“Then I’m hungry! I want to eat the worm now!”