Capital City, Shenglong

  Xu Haoran sat within his mansion in the wealthy district, eyes scanning the reports submitted by his subordinates. Suddenly, his expression darkened. His palm slammed down on the table, the hardwood collapsing into fine powder.

  “Useless,” he snarled. “You cannot even find a boy who is not yet fifteen. With such incompetence, how do you expect to uncover anything of value?”

  The guard standing in the corner trembled, head lowered.

  Xu Haoran slowly restrained his aura. He had long since abandoned hope of finding anything in Lian County. All his expectations were now pinned on one person alone. Chen Mo.

  His assistant, standing at his side, spoke carefully. “Please calm your anger, my lord. That boy may hide for now, but he cannot escape forever. Sooner or later, he will come to us of his own accord. After all, what use is an immortal treasure without the path to immortality itself?”

  Xu Haoran turned his head slightly. “You mean…”

  “Yes, my lord,” the assistant continued. “It is his only path. Unless he chooses to die in the wilderness, which, judging by his actions, is unlikely. However…” He hesitated before continuing. “The Second Prince has begun mobilizing his forces in the capital. He is even sheltering the remnants of the Silver Crane Martial Hall.”

  Xu Haoran’s eyes narrowed. “That girl,” he said coldly, “may become a variable. We cannot allow her to be chosen by the immortals. If that happens, the consequences would be catastrophic. She must die.”

  The assistant stiffened. “We are keeping a close watch on her, my lord. But with the Second Prince involved, direct action will be difficult. He will certainly protect her, if only to oppose your Excellency.”

  Xu Haoran’s face turned grim. If he failed to secure the favor of the immortals, there was no telling what the Second Prince might do should he ascend the throne. Time was no longer on his side.

  And the only path left to him… was that boy.

  Chen Mo rested in the small cave by the lake, staring at the rippling water as he weighed his next move. For a moment, he considered deliberately appearing in another city to divert attention, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. It was far too risky. His pursuers were not fools, and their eyes and ears spread everywhere. Each day, he could see trackers and guards sweeping the surrounding areas, combing the land for even the faintest trace. They had even searched this secluded lake. Fortunately, his hidden cave had escaped notice, but luck was not something he could rely on forever. If he wanted to remain undiscovered, he would have to retreat even deeper into the wilderness, into the mountains where few dared to tread.

  “Damn this world,” Chen Mo muttered bitterly. “All I wanted was to live forever and be carefree. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?”

  Frustration churned in his chest. He had truly believed that this second life, armed with the panel, would be smooth sailing. Just grind, grow stronger, and ascend. Simple. Clean. Effort rewarded without entanglements. He had always been an irritable person by nature, someone who despised trouble and dramatic turns of fate. Even in his previous life, he had lived by one rule: never do more than necessary. If he could walk, he would not run. If he could lie down, he would not even walk. Ease was his creed.

  Yet from the moment he opened his eyes in this world, he had been running nonstop, dodging schemes, hiding from shadows, struggling to stay low-key just to survive. Carefree immortality felt closer than ever in power, yet farther than ever in reality.

  Chen Mo took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, forcing the turbulence in his mind to calm.

  “Maybe the best place to hide is indeed in plain sight,” he muttered. Ancient wisdom rarely existed without reason, and the more he thought about it, the more the idea felt inevitable.

  The wilderness was no longer safe. Too many patrols. Too many trackers sweeping through mountains and lakes alike. Ironically, the city, loud and filthy and overflowing with nameless faces, might be the last place anyone would seriously suspect.

  Once he made up his mind, Chen Mo moved decisively.

  He left behind faint, misleading traces around the secluded cave by the lake. Scuffed stone, disturbed earth, a snapped branch half-hidden in the reeds. Nothing blatant, but enough to suggest he had fled deeper into the mountains. Then he erased his presence entirely and vanished into the night.

  Hours later, Jian City’s towering walls rose before him.

  Moonlight washed over the stone battlements as guards paced lazily above. Most were only Skin or Muscle Refining, relying more on routine than awareness. Chen Mo circled the walls patiently, timing their movements, memorizing blind spots. When the moment came, his body blurred.

  Threaded Movement flowed silently.

  He scaled the wall like a shadow clinging to stone, breath controlled, aura completely restrained. No sound. No disturbance. He slipped past the guards and dropped into the city’s darkness, landing without stirring a speck of dust. Before anyone could notice, he was already gone, swallowed by twisting alleys.

  Inside the city, Chen Mo shed his former presence.

  Clean robes disappeared, replaced by tattered cloth scavenged from refuse piles. His posture slouched. His breathing grew shallow and uneven. Mud smeared his face, his hair left tangled and filthy. The sharpness in his eyes dimmed into the vacant gaze of a beggar who had long surrendered to hardship.

  By the time dawn came, Chen Mo was just another piece of Jian City’s background.

  He drifted through the slums, where broken shacks leaned against one another and foul water ran through narrow lanes. This was a place cultivators despised and officials ignored. Perfect. No one here asked questions. No one cared who you were yesterday.

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  By day, he begged, loitered, and blended into the lowest strata of the city. By night, he trained in silence. Abandoned houses, collapsed courtyards, sealed basements. Every movement was restrained. Every breath measured. Not a shred of aura leaked beyond his skin as he continued forging his bones in secrecy.

  It was complicated. Exhausting. Dangerous.

  But it was possible.

  As long as he remained cautious, as long as he never forgot that a single mistake would mean death, he could grow stronger right beneath their noses.

  Chen Mo lowered his bamboo hat, his eyes cold beneath its shadow.

  When I reach Organ Refinement, he thought, I will walk into the City Lord’s mansion of Jian City myself.

  And then, he would demand an explanation.

  Commander Qi listened in silence as the guard finished his report. The room was dim, lit only by a flickering oil lamp, its flame bending with each step Qi took as he paced back and forth.

  After a long moment, he stopped.

  “Were the traces found in that cave genuine,” Qi asked slowly, “or merely bait meant to mislead us?”

  The guard hesitated before answering. “Hard to say, my lord. The trackers believe the traces were recent. And that cave was only discovered during our second sweep of the secluded lake.”

  Qi’s eyes narrowed.

  “Perhaps the boy sensed us during the first search,” the guard continued carefully, “and chose to flee deeper into the mountains afterward.”

  “Hm.” Qi folded his hands behind his back. “Follow the lead. But keep our eyes and ears open inside the city as well.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed, then paused. “Also… there is another matter.”

  Qi turned. “What is it?”

  “Do we ease the restrictions on movement in and out of Jian City? Complaints are piling up, especially from the Imperial Trade Hall and the Mercenary Hall.”

  Qi fell silent, weighing the invisible threads of power and pressure. After a moment, he nodded.

  “Very well. Ease the procedures at the gates,” he said. Then his voice hardened. “But intensify intelligence gathering. I want every whisper in the city reported.”

  The guard straightened. “Understood, my lord.”

  As the guard departed, Qi gazed toward the darkened window, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  Hide in the mountains or hide among men… either way, you cannot escape forever.

  Chen mo was living a life as a begger he was crossing a market alley with a sack of cracked grain slung over his shoulder when his instincts tightened, cold and precise.

  Someone was watching.

  He did not turn. He did not quicken his pace. Instead, he allowed a hint of fatigue to seep into his posture, letting his shoulders sag like those of any laborer ground down by the city’s indifference. He stumbled slightly, cursed under his breath, and bent to adjust the sack.

  The gaze slid past him.

  So this is how they hunts now, Chen Mo thought, calm as still water. Loose gates, tight shadows.

  He drifted naturally toward the slums, where lantern light thinned and walls leaned inward like conspirators. The presence followed for three streets, then two, then vanished entirely.

  Chen Mo did not relax until he crossed a broken drainage arch and stepped into a maze of half-collapsed dwellings. There, even sound learned to crawl.

  That night, beneath a roof patched with scrap wood and clay, Chen Mo sat cross-legged in darkness.

  The room stank of damp rot and old smoke. Rats skittered within the walls. Above him, rain tapped softly, patient and relentless.

  Chen Mo inhaled.

  His muscles tightened, fibers compressing and reforging as his skin grew denser, tougher, capable of bearing greater force. Each breath felt like drawing embers into his lungs. Sweat soaked his clothes. Blood traced thin lines down his arms where old wounds reopened under the strain.

  Then—

  A sound.

  Not loud. Not close. A floorboard creaking somewhere beyond the wall.

  Chen Mo’s eyes snapped open.

  He did not move. He sealed his breath, collapsed his circulation, and let his presence fall inward like a dying flame. Outside, a silhouette passed the window, paused, then continued on.

  A scavenger. Or a spy.

  In Jian City, the difference was often decided after the knife struck.

  Minutes passed. The danger ebbed.

  Only then did Chen Mo allow the cultivation to resume, slower now, deeper. By dawn, the pain had dulled into a steady ache, and his body felt heavier, more real, as if anchored more firmly to the world.

  He exhaled, opening his eyes to the gray light creeping through the cracks in the wall.

  They search the mountains, he thought. They watch the streets.

  A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.

  And I grow beneath their feet.

  Six months crawled by under a ceiling of unrelenting tension. Chen Mo slept among rats, trained amid sewage, and breathed air thick with rot and despair. Each night his temper grew sharper, his patience thinner, frustration coiling in his chest like a restrained hurricane that threatened to tear him apart from the inside. The city never loosened its grip. Eyes watched, shadows shifted, danger hummed beneath every mundane sound.

  Yet one thing steadied him. Progress. Tangible, undeniable progress.

  That day, in the dim glow of a guttering oil lamp, a smile long absent finally found its way back to his face as he gazed at his realm column.

  Realm: Bone Forging (Late Stage)

  Progress: 601/900

  The numbers were crude, but to Chen Mo they shone brighter than gold.

  He spent every remaining piece of silver without hesitation, exchanging it for eight more sets of medicinal compounds. The transaction emptied his pouch completely, leaving it light and hollow at his waist. When he returned to his filthy shelter and laid everything out, reality settled in with cold clarity.

  He had reached the late stage at last.

  And only five sets of medicine remained.

  No silver. No margin for error. And the remaining medicine was nowhere near enough to carry him to the peak.

  The smile faded, replaced by a familiar, hard calm. The kind forged by hunger, pressure, and the knowledge that the next step would not be earned through patience alo