My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 216: No Regrets After the Move is Made

Han Feiyu jolted awake, a violent shiver wracking his body. He turned to Chen Ping, his eyes bloodshot and wide.

Chen Ping didn’t speak. He merely shifted his gaze toward the cold jade bed, specifically to the stiff finger of Han Liren. The black Storage Ring rested there, stark and obvious.

The silent command was crystal clear: Go get it.

All color drained from Han Feiyu’s face, leaving him as pale as a corpse. Beside him, Han Jingying instantly caught on. She began to tremble uncontrollably, staring at her older brother in sheer horror.

“No… Chen Ping, you can’t do this…” Han Feiyu rasped, his voice thick with uncontainable dread.

He wasn’t a fool. Whatever risks Chen Ping had calculated, Han Feiyu had already anticipated. The state of his ancestor’s preserved corpse was simply too bizarre. That ring was almost certainly a lethal trap! Chen Ping was using him as a meat shield to clear the path. He was sending him to die.

Chen Ping’s gaze frosted over. Without a single word, he slowly raised his right hand.

Resting quietly in his palm were two pitch-black containers carved from soul-nurturing wood. Inside, two wisps of natal soul essence—the very lifelines of Han Feiyu and Han Jingying—pulsed faintly.

It was a naked, irrefutable threat.

Cold sweat instantly soaked through Han Feiyu’s Daoist robe, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. He stared into Chen Ping’s dead, emotionless eyes, then down at the two wooden vessels holding their lives hostage. A bone-deep chill shot from his heels to his crown.

He had absolutely no choice. Refuse, and die on the spot. Obey, and there might be a razor-thin margin of survival. He could only pray his ancestor actually harbored goodwill toward his descendants, and that the ring wasn’t rigged.

Yet, deep down, Han Feiyu knew better. If Han Liren truly had no ulterior motives, he wouldn’t have wreathed his corpse in a specialized Restriction. A Restriction that could only be unlocked by the bloodline of a Han family descendant.

Squeezing his eyes shut in despair, Han Feiyu drew a shuddering breath, as if trying to suck all the air from the tomb. When his eyes fluttered open again, the terror had burned out, leaving behind only an ashen, numb resignation. He snapped his head toward Han Jingying. Her face was streaked with tears, her lips trembling as she struggled to speak.

“Jingying! Listen to me!”

His voice possessed a sudden, eerie calm, though his eyes swam with sorrow and bitter reluctance. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Instead, he threaded his final instructions directly into her mind via sound transmission.

Listen to me! Live! No matter what it takes, you must live! Only the living have hope!

Han Jingying stared back through a blur of tears, shaking her head frantically.

Do not hate Chen Ping! Han Feiyu’s transmission carried an ironclad, unquestionable resolve. We reached this dead end because of me. My greed and scheming damned us. I doomed the Han family! Chen Ping is unfathomably deep, ruthless, and entirely decisive—but in his heart… he still has a bottom line.

Remember! To grasp a thread of survival, you must completely abandon your hatred! Obey him absolutely! Even… even if you must throw yourself at him! Be his concubine, be his servant—whatever it takes! Just live! Do you understand?!

Han Jingying’s eyes bulged in shock. Become the concubine of the very enemy who had stripped the Han family of everything? The man who was currently marching her brother to his death? The thought was a fate worse than death itself!

Watching the fierce resistance flash across her tear-stained face, Han Feiyu’s heart twisted. He knew exactly how cruel this demand was to his proud, aloof sister. But he knew, with chilling certainty, that it was her only path to survival. He had no time to explain. He could only stare fiercely into her eyes, blending a brother’s desperate plea with an undeniable command.

A few heavy breaths passed. Han Jingying shuddered violently, tears spilling over her cheeks like shattered pearls. Seeing the profound, broken plea in her brother’s gaze, the last embers of her resistance guttered out.

She gave a jerky, minute nod. For her brother’s dying wish. For… survival.

A fragile, miserable, yet intensely relieved smile touched Han Feiyu’s lips. He took one final, lingering look at his sister, carving her image into his soul. Then, he turned to face Chen Ping.

At this moment, all the fear, the frantic struggling, the bitter regret—it all melted away. What remained was the eerie serenity of a man who had looked past the veil of life and death. He even looked faintly relieved.

“Chen Ping,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he offered a deep, formal bow. “I brought this upon myself. My death is earned. I played the board and I lost; it is as simple as that. I, Han Feiyu, am not blind to the reality of life and death. But this entire fiasco was born of my greed alone. It has nothing to do with my sister.”

“Jingying knew nothing of my schemes, nor did she have the power to stop them. Today, I am bold enough to ask Brother Chen… to spare her life, in light of her innocence.”

It wasn’t a beggar’s plea. It was a transaction. An entrustment. He was offering his life to buy hers.

Chen Ping studied the man calmly. A faint ripple of respect crossed his gaze. Han Feiyu’s intellect, shoulder for burden, and ruthless decisiveness were all undeniably top-tier. Given enough time, he truly might have led the Yunshui Sect to carve out a new era, restoring the glory they held eight centuries ago.

Unfortunately, you met me. Life was a game of chess. Once a piece was moved, there were no take-backs.

“Agreed.”

Chen Ping didn’t hesitate, delivering the single word with crisp finality. Han Jingying’s life or death meant nothing to him. He held her soul essence; she couldn’t stir up even a ripple of trouble. Trading an empty promise for Han Feiyu’s willing sacrifice to trigger the tomb’s deadliest trap was a highly profitable exchange.

Upon hearing Chen Ping’s vow, the last invisible weight lifted from Han Feiyu’s shoulders. He looked at neither his sister nor his executioner. His gaze turned incomparably resolute, burning with the manic resolve of a vanguard charging the enemy line.

He marched straight toward the cold jade bed. Toward the “benevolent” frozen corpse of his ancestor.

“Brother! No! Let me go instead!” Han Jingying finally shrieked. She lunged forward instinctively, but her legs refused to move. Invisible chains of true essence bound her feet to the floor, heavy as lead.

Han Feiyu had prepared for this exact reaction. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, flashing her a gentle smile.

It was just like when they were children. Whenever they hit a wall, he would simply smile, step in front of her, and solve the problem. Today would be no different.

Han Jingying collapsed powerlessly to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably as she stared at his retreating back.

Han Feiyu turned away, his strides eating up the distance. He halted three feet from the cold jade bed. Like a stone dropped in a still pond, an invisible yet terrifyingly dense barrier rippled into existence, blocking his path.

Exactly as expected.

A flash of dark understanding crossed his eyes, rapidly swallowed by grim determination. He bit down hard on his index finger, forcing out a bead of crimson essence blood. With a sharp flick, the blood arced through the sterile air, splattering directly against the invisible ward.

Instantly, the Restriction flared with a blinding light!