But none of the people Han Yu talked to had real answers. At best, they confird the sa rumor: Mist Eye Sect disciples had started showing up more frequently in the last few weeks, and no one really knew why.
One shopkeeper, a heavyset woman selling dried at strips, offered a bit more.
"They don’t talk to us much," she muttered. "Co in, buy what they need, leave. But they’re not rude or anything. Just... quiet. Cold. I heard they’re here for so ’high-level’ mission. Beyond our understanding, y’know?"
Han Yu let her ramble for a bit, then asked, "They have a base nearby?"
"Not in town. Not even close," she said. "Their nearest stronghold’s all the way to the south. Big one. Near the Mist Shroud Mountains. You can’t miss it. They’ve got walls, banners, and a full patrol of cultivators. Supposed to be their biggest post outside their actual sect territory."
Han Yu raised an eyebrow. "That far, huh?"
She nodded. "A hundred kiloters easy. It’s outside the Plateau proper. Not many go there unless they’re summoned or stupid."
That was more than useful. Han Yu thanked her and moved on, chewing over the new information.
So the Mist Eye Sect didn’t have roots here yet. This town wasn’t part of their internal territory, even if it lay within their broader reach. That ant fewer eyes on him. Less surveillance. More freedom to move without detection.
But that wouldn’t last forever.
They were clearly expanding their presence. He could feel it—just like a storm rolling in before the clouds darkened. A tide of influence rising with every new group of disciples crossing through.
The key was ti.
If he moved carefully, struck the right place, and slipped away before the tide broke, he could get the intelligence he needed without ever alerting the Mist Eye Sect to his presence.
As he passed by another stall selling crude maps and monster hide boots, he considered his next steps.
He already had docunts taken from the destroyed outpost, with key phrases like "Caldera Mission" and "search for the hidden altar." He now had confirmation that this town wasn’t under firm Mist Eye control, and a clearer idea of where their stronghold lay.
The question was: what ca next?
Should he investigate the stronghold from afar? Try to intercept more disciples passing through? Or attempt sothing riskier—like infiltrating the caravan routes heading to the Caldera?
He didn’t have an answer yet.
But he had options.
And in a world like this, options were worth more than gold.
After thinking for a bit, Han Yu decided not to rush.
After all the chaos, the injuries, and the narrow escapes, he knew better than to leap toward danger again without proper preparation. For now, the town was safe, relatively quiet, and had a steady stream of new faces—travelers, hunters, scavengers, and the occasional cultivator. It was the perfect place to lie low, recover, and gather intel without drawing attention.
So, he settled into a routine.
Each morning, he would walk out into the scrubby, rocky outskirts of the Plateau, sotis gathering herbs, other tis pretending to hunt beasts. If luck favored him, he would actually kill a few weak spirit beasts and sell their materials or hides to local traders. On dry days, he’d sell foraged roots, mushrooms, or dicinal herbs to apothecaries, earning enough silver to pay for his room and food.
He kept the act up well—just another humble cultivator making ends et in a border town.
Within a few weeks, the suspicious glances vanished. The shopkeepers greeted him with nods. Even the guards recognized him and stopped asking questions when he ca and went. He kept his bandages minimal now, just enough to appear slightly scarred from an old injury rather than soone recently burnt to a crisp.
And like this, a full month passed.
By the ti the second month rolled around, Han Yu had recovered well. His burns were almost completely healed, the wounds on his body had faded into faint scars, and his cultivation had stabilized again, thanks to the pills he’d conserved from the outpost and a few he’d bought with his earnings.
He wasn’t stronger—but he was steady. Calm. Watchful.
And then the rchant caravan arrived.
It happened just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the streets. A thunder of hooves and the groaning creak of wagon wheels echoed through the air, followed by the barking of guards and the excited murmurs of the townsfolk.
Han Yu, seated outside a small tea shack, sipped his drink and glanced toward the noise.
A line of large wagons rolled into town, flanked by well-armored escorts. Each wagon was heavy, covered with reinforced wooden fras and tarps. The caravan carried rich goods—weapons, alchemical materials, silks, ores, and more. It didn’t take long for word to spread.
"This one’s from the Mist Eye Stronghold!"
"They say they’re heading east—to Yunhe City."
"Coming all the way from the base of the Mist Shroud Mountains, huh? That’s a long way..."
Han Yu perked up. So the stronghold did have rchant ties—possibly even trade routes he hadn’t considered. If he could learn the nature of their trade, where the goods were going, and what they were sourcing... he could uncover more than just military or spiritual ambitions.
Money spoke volus. And rchants loved to brag when drunk.
That evening, Han Yu made his way to one of the more disreputable taverns in town, a place simply known as the Green Fang. The front door was stained, the tables mismatched, and the air thick with smoke and the scent of spilt wine. Laughter roared from within. A few of the rougher rcenaries in town were already deep into gambling and storytelling.
Perfect.
He got a table near the back and joined a small ga of cards—simple rules, low stakes, nothing flashy. Just enough to look like soone killing ti. He played slow, made a few mistakes on purpose, lost a little silver, and chuckled along with the others. All the while, his attention was elsewhere.
User Comments
0 comments from readers