That single misunderstanding had protected Han Yu in ways even he had not fully anticipated.
No one suspected sabotage.
No one suspected exile.
If anything, they assud Ju Fan had Zhao Liun's support.
The Mission Hall elder, however, had not been so easily convinced.
Han Yu later learned that when the completion letter was submitted, the elder had imdiately suspected forgery. The Fatui Clan might be a small force, but their patriarch's seal was not sothing that should have ended up so easily in a junior disciple's hands.
Suspicion turned into scrutiny.
Scrutiny turned into verification.
The elder had sent out a high priority ssage through several Blood Sect outposts, using a rapid transmission array reserved only for sensitive matters. The inquiry went directly to the Fatui Clan.
The response, when it ca, shocked everyone involved.
The mission had not only been completed.
It had been completed flawlessly.
The Fatui Clan Patriarch himself confird it.
Only after that confirmation did the Mission Hall release the rewards.
One hundred thousand rit points.
Over thirty thousand Blood Crystals.
When Han Yu saw the numbers reflected in his disciple token, he did not react outwardly. He had learned long ago that visible excitent was dangerous in this sect.
Internally, however, his thoughts raced.
This single mission had given him a financial foundation that many outer disciples could only dream of.
Combined with his puppet earnings, minus the expenses he had incurred over the months for materials, workshops, and information, Han Yu now possessed close to five hundred thousand rit points.
Five hundred thousand.
That number carried weight.
With that amount, he could buy several high quality slaves outright, provided they were available. He could exchange large portions for rare materials. He could even bid for limited access manuals or special permissions within certain peaks.
For the first ti since entering the Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood Sect, Han Yu felt sothing dangerously close to security.
But it was not complete.
The slave district remained a shadow hanging over him.
Despite his weekly visits, despite the steady flow of spirit stones into the sleazy clerk's pockets, progress had been slow. Too slow.
The clerk had grown increasingly apologetic. Two supervisors higher up the chain had been sent away on so unspecified task. Without them, access to deeper records was limited.
All that the clerk managed to confirm was what Han Yu already feared.
The recent purge captives had been fully processed.
That ant those who survived were no longer in holding.
They had been assigned.
Perhaps sold or transferred.
Their current locations were unknown.
Han Yu's anxiety grew quietly, carefully contained behind a mask of indifference. The longer they remained out of sight, the harder it would be to retrieve them.
He could only hope that their nas would appear in the catalogs eventually.
Or that fate, as it so often had, would twist in his favor once more.
Amidst all this, there was at least one small, oddly comforting change.
Chitterfang.
The little spirit rat had finally begun to grow its fur back.
At first, it had only been a faint fuzz, barely noticeable unless one looked closely. Fine hairs clung to its pink skin like mist, uneven and sparse. Over ti, however, the fuzz thickened.
Most of the new fur was the familiar dull grey Han Yu rembered.
But mixed within it were strands of dark red.
Not blood soaked red, but a deeper hue, almost like dried embers hidden beneath ash.
Han Yu noticed it one evening while Chitterfang sat on his shoulder, nibbling on a spirit grain pellet. Under the lamplight, the color shift was unmistakable.
"You really did change, didn't you?" Han Yu murmured quietly.
Chitterfang squeaked in response, as if offended, then promptly spat out a tiny fireball that flickered harmlessly against the cave wall.
The fireball was still no larger than a candle fla.
But it was different now.
Stable.
Where before it sputtered and died quickly, now it held its shape, traveling nearly three ters before dispersing. The fla burned cleanly, without smoke, and carried a faint trace of heat that lingered in the air.
Han Yu crouched and observed it carefully.
No new abilities had manifested.
No blood techniques.
No abnormal instincts.
But the mutation was undeniable.
Whatever that inner fla had done to Chitterfang during those frozen days by the river, it had left a mark.
Han Yu straightened slowly, eyes thoughtful.
Three months.
Half a million rit points.
A new profession.
A mutated spirit beast.
And enemies who believed him to be safely under their banner.
The pieces were aligning.
He did not know what the sect elders were planning with their missing slaves.
He did not know when Zhao Liun would move again.
But for the first ti in a long while, Han Yu was not reacting to events.
He was preparing for them.
Quietly.
Patiently.
And with terrifying montum building beneath the surface.
Han Yu's days settled into a steady, almost monotonous rhythm.
Morning at the Puppet Peak workshops. Afternoons buried in manuals and diagrams. Evenings split between maintenance missions, quiet cultivation in his cave or 'experints' on ng Jueyan.
Weeks passed like this, each one blending seamlessly into the next. Nothing disrupted his routine. No sudden summons. No hostile moves. No unexpected eyes watching him linger too long. Even Zhao Liun remained conspicuously silent, as if satisfied with how things stood.
It was almost peaceful.
Which was exactly why Han Yu felt a faint sense of unease.
Peace in the Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood Sect was never natural. It was always the prelude to sothing.
That unease sharpened one afternoon when his jade slip vibrated softly against his chest.
Han Yu paused mid-inscription, his fingers hovering above a half-finished formation node carved into a brass plate. The vibration ca again, deliberate and unmistakable.
A ssage.
He frowned slightly. Very few people had the ans or the reason to contact him directly.
Han Yu wiped his hands, set the tools aside, and left the workshop. He did not read the ssage imdiately. Instead, he walked through several corridors, passed a pair of storage halls, and entered a quiet side chamber used for ditation. Only once he had activated a basic sound-isolation formation did he take out the jade slip.
The sender's spiritual signature was familiar.
Qing Luan.
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