Han Lie frowned, his gaze piercing through the gloom of the main hall. “Uncle Zhuo, what exactly happened?”

Zhuo Cheng sat slumped in the master’s chair, his eyes vacant and lifeless. When he spoke, his voice trembled uncontrollably. “It… it has nothing to do with you. You must leave. Quickly! Do not get involved in this mess!”

Seeing the terror etched into the older man’s face, Han Lie realized the gravity of the situation. He didn’t press immediately. Instead, he spent nearly an hour calming Zhuo Cheng down, stabilizing his erratic emotions with a steady stream of spiritual energy and calm words.

Only then, under Han Lie’s persistent questioning, did Zhuo Cheng finally break his silence.

The nightmare had begun five years ago, right after Zhuo Hongyi inherited Ancestor Zhuo’s cultivation and returned to the Heavenly Void Sect. Mu Feng had immediately set to work dismantling the Zhuo Family.

For a time, they had managed to hold on, largely thanks to Qin Lianyi’s covert assistance from within the palace. But recently, the dam had broken.

Several younger members of the Zhuo Family had gotten into a conflict with outsiders and were arrested. It should have been a minor dispute. Instead, it became the catalyst for their destruction. Under interrogation, these young disciples had “confessed” that the Zhuo Family was plotting treason.

“Treason?” Han Lie almost laughed out loud.

According to Zhuo Cheng, the family had never harbored such thoughts. They wouldn’t dare.

Han Lie didn’t need the explanation; he could have guessed the truth with his toes. If the Zhuo Family were a powerhouse in Qin Yang City with the military might to threaten the Emperor, an accusation of treason might hold water. But the Zhuo Family? They were a declining branch of nobility, bleeding influence for years.

How could they revolt? With what army? With what resources?

Describing a conflict between the Zhuo Family and the Great Qin Imperial Family as “striking a stone with an egg” was flattering the egg. It was more like an ant trying to trip an elephant.

But logic didn’t matter to those with ill intentions.

As the saying goes: The person framing you knows better than anyone just how innocent you are.

“How did they get the confessions?” Han Lie asked, though he already suspected the answer.

Zhuo Cheng’s face twisted in pain. “They likely used the ‘Art of Memory Restoration’.”

Han Lie’s expression darkened. It was a euphemism for brutal torture designed to break the mind. The younger generation of the Zhuo Family had grown up in luxury; their wills were soft. Against professional torturers promising relief and benefits, their psychological defenses would have crumbled like wet paper.

Once the confessions were secured, they were presented to the Great Qin Emperor.

The Emperor’s response was swift and merciless. An Imperial Decree was issued immediately: the Zhuo Mansion was sealed, all personnel were placed under house arrest, and every business asset under their banner was frozen.

It wasn’t just the main family. Vassal clans, affiliated merchants, and even casual acquaintances—anyone connected to the Zhuo name was dragged down with them.

“The only reason we aren’t all dead yet,” Zhuo Cheng whispered, “is because they need time to fabricate the physical evidence to match the confessions. I suspect Princess Qin Lianyi used her influence to delay the execution order, otherwise the Commandant would have already wiped us out.”

“But it won’t last long,” Zhuo Cheng continued, his voice cracking. “Mu Feng will have the false evidence ready within two months. Once that happens… the Zhuo Family will be cast into the abyss.”

Treason.

In a dynasty, a sect, or a merchant guild, it was the one crime that allowed for no mercy. It was an automatic death sentence for the entire bloodline.

This was why Zhuo Cheng had been so desperate to drive Han Lie away. Han Lie might be a rising star, but right now, how could one man contend with the entire Great Qin Empire?

“Mu Feng is ruthless,” Han Lie muttered, his brow furrowed.

It was a perfect checkmate. No wonder Zhuo Cheng looked as though he had aged fifty years in a single night. Facing a situation with a ten-to-zero chance of death, even the strongest resolve would shatter. The Mu Family’s power in Qin Yang City made crushing the Zhuo Family as easy as turning over a hand.

“Alas…” Zhuo Cheng sighed, a sound of utter defeat. “Daoist Han, the Zhuo Family is now fish on the chopping block. We can only wait for the knife to fall.”

He looked up, tears shimmering in his old eyes. “My life doesn’t matter. But Hongyi… she must survive. Please, leave. Go back to the Heavenly Void Sect. Stay with Hongyi. The Great Qin Dynasty’s arm is long, but it cannot reach into your sect. Live well. Become powerful. In the future, when you are a renowned figure, you can avenge us.”

To Zhuo Cheng, the game was over. They were trapped in the mansion, cut off from the world. Self-rescue was impossible.

“Don’t be so anxious, Uncle Zhuo,” Han Lie said, waving his hand dismissively. His voice was calm, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. “I will go see Qin Lianyi tomorrow. We will discuss if there are any moves left to play.”

Zhuo Cheng blinked. “You…?”

Han Lie knew this was tricky. He was an outsider here, with few connections. But he had one card to play: the Princess.

“Alas… alright,” Zhuo Cheng relented, though his tone lacked hope. “I will trouble you then, Daoist Han. If you can truly turn the tide and pull the Zhuo Family from the fire, you will be our greatest benefactor.”

Zhuo Cheng knew the reality: Qin Lianyi was a favored Princess, yes, but in the Great Qin Dynasty, princesses were merely ornaments with excellent living conditions. Real political power? Military command? Those were out of her reach. She could whisper in the Emperor’s ear, but she couldn’t guide his hand.

“Uncle Zhuo,” Han Lie said, his tone turning grave. “Before I return, you must manage your people. Lock them down. Do not let anyone else be dragged away for ‘interrogation.’ Make sure no more detrimental statements leak out.”

“I understand,” Zhuo Cheng nodded weakly.

It wasn’t really the fault of the young ones who had cracked. Few could withstand professional torture. But now, silence was their only shield.

Han Lie didn’t linger. He slipped back into the shadows and vanished from the Zhuo Mansion as silently as he had arrived.

The next day.

Han Lie sat in a secluded spot, focusing his spiritual sense on the soul mark he had secretly planted in the black dagger he gave Qin Lianyi years ago.

He sensed it pulsing. She was deep within the Great Qin Imperial Palace.

Han Lie considered his options. He could use his spatial abilities to infiltrate the palace, but the risk was too high. The Imperial Palace would be riddled with ancient wards and hidden experts. If he triggered an alarm, he would go from ‘concerned friend’ to ‘assassin’ in a heartbeat.

Instead, he chose finesse.

He tore a small, precise rift in the fabric of space, connecting directly to the location of the dagger. Through the rift, he dropped a letter onto the desk in Qin Lianyi’s private boudoir.

Meet me in the dense forest in the western suburbs of Qin Yang City.

Then, he went to the rendezvous point and waited.

He waited for a full day.

Just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, a sharp sound cut through the air—the sonic boom of something moving at high speed.

Han Lie, who had been resting with his eyes closed against a tree, snapped them open.

In the sky above the forest, a streak of light descended. It coalesced into an elegant, graceful figure clad in royal silks. She floated down gently, landing amidst the falling leaves.

It was Qin Lianyi.