Han Yu relished in the Eight Emotions Energy and thought.
"That fear in the mine... they’re terrified of losing more than just ore. That anger... it’s desperate, defensive, not righteous. And ng Jueyan... she’s already half-expecting a promotion."
The realization was intoxicating.
With every sche he executed, every emotion he provoked—he was growing stronger, not just in Soul Qi but in influence. In information. In foresight.
He breathed in the last of the surrounding energy and let it settle into his Soul Space. The Eight Emotions shimred for a mont inside his Soul Space before dissolving like ink in water having turned into pure Soul Qi, enriching his inner world.
Then he stood, brushing the dirt from his robe.
"Alright... ti to move again."
He had lingered long enough. The forest would be crawling with scouts soon. Murong Xie would eventually launch a counter-hunt once he learned of this debacle, and although Han Yu doubted they’d track him easily, caution was still necessary.
But this ti, he had more than just stolen spirit stones.
He had leverage.
And a new compass—Eight Emotions Energy—that could point toward truth, desire, and danger.
As he stepped deeper into the forest shadows, he whispered under his breath:
"If I can read what they feel... I can shape what they do."
The trees parted before him, and the night welcod its hidden king of mischief and montum.
The ga was no longer just survival.
Now, it was art.
By the ti Han Yu reached the gates of the Twin Leaf Peak Sect, the sky had softened into twilight hues, casting long golden shadows over the mountain paths. His robes were dusty, his boots worn, and a faint cut ran across his sleeve—not deep enough to be suspicious, but just ragged enough to look convincingly earned.
He had tid everything carefully.
Not early.
Not late.
Just on schedule.
He offered a polite nod to the outer disciples on guard duty, who barely gave him a second glance before logging his return in the mission ledger. A mundane task for them—but a crucial milestone for Han Yu. With this, his record remained spotless.
No sudden reappearances.
No reason for undue attention.
He made his way to the Mission Hall with an unhurried pace. As he entered, the sect’s deacon on duty, a middle-aged woman with hawk-like eyes and a perpetually ink-stained brush in hand, glanced up and gave him a curt nod.
"Back from the Southern foothills," she said, flipping open a scroll. "Mission deadline closes in half a day. Cutting it close."
"Better late than never," Han Yu replied with a smile as he handed over a carefully prepared wooden box containing the requested mission materials—Black Snake Vine herbs, beast corpses, and a report from the rchant whom he had given the pill. It was everything that fulfilled the outward objective of the mission.
"Hmm." The deacon inspected the contents. "All standard. You even brought extra corpses?"
Han Yu shrugged modestly. "The Bronze Tribe wolves were unusually active. Had to put a few of them down just to make camp."
"Mm. Good," she muttered, noting sothing on the scroll. "You’ll receive additional rit points for the surplus. They’ll be logged after verification."
With a soft thud, Han Yu placed the borrowed spatial storage pouch on the counter.
"This was the one issued to at the start. Returning it now that the mission’s complete."
The deacon waved her hand and a green talisman swept over the pouch, confirming its signature.
"Returned. You’re clear."
She didn’t question the pouch’s contents—which was just as well. Han Yu had transferred all excess materials and the additional beast corpses he’d acquired during his detour into one of the stolen Murong Clan spatial storage bags. The stolen bag was of better quality, held more space, and most importantly, was completely unregistered within sect inventory systems.
It was now his personal asset.
Han Yu’s smile remained polite, almost bland. "If that’s all?"
"You’re dismissed. Good work."
He offered a bow and left.
No alarms.
No second glances.
Just like he planned.
The walk back to his courtyard was uneventful. The evening breeze stirred gently through the mountain trees, carrying the faint scents of pine, qi-rich blossoms, and woodsmoke from the communal kitchens. The distant ringing of training bells and the chatter of other disciples created a low background hum of normalcy.
When he reached his courtyard, he took a mont to glance around.
The small two-room courtyard was tucked away near the lower east slopes—neither luxurious nor poor. It had a clear view of a trickling spring and was surrounded by enough brush to offer so privacy. Most importantly, it was unremarkable. Just another outer disciple’s living space.
He stepped inside and shut the gate behind him with a satisfying click.
Silence.
Real silence.
Not the asured quiet of diplomacy, nor the watchful hush of infiltration. This was the silence of ownership. Of territory.
He unhooked the now-empty normal pouch from his belt and tossed it onto the shelf. Then, from inside his inner robe, he drew out the stolen Murong storage bag, his fingers brushing over its cool, slate-gray surface.
This one pulsed faintly with Spirit Qi. Still full.
Still heavy.
He smirked.
This was no longer just a trophy.
This was the seed of his next move.
Han Yu sat down cross-legged by the low table in the center of the room. The oil lamp flickered gently beside him, its light catching the edge of a rolled-up mission report scroll, the very one he had prepared just in case before his mission.
He no longer needed it since everything had went according to the plan.
Instead, he focused inward.
He could still feel the residual Eight Emotions Energy clinging to him like threads of starlight. A few wisps from the mine, one or two fresh strands of envy drifting in from the neighboring courtyard—likely from so junior disciple sensing his return and already speculating on how he managed to complete another mission on ti again.
Let them guess.
Let them gossip.
As long as none of them truly knew.
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