After Sun Bo left, Chen Mo remained alone, his mind sharp and unrelenting. His next target was the Immortal Recruitment—a trivial step compared to everything he had already overcome. As an Innate expert, he knew no one in the Hua Empire could stand against him, not unless they wielded an immortal treasure. Lingering in the mortal world, indulging in power or comfort, was pointless. In his previous life, he had been weak, powerless, and constrained by petty laws and ethics. Now, armed with the mysterious panel and his unparalleled cultivation, he could carve a path to heights no one dared imagine.

  His gaze fell on the heavy bow he had once purchased for 350 taels of silver, a weapon he had never truly used. Now, ordinary arms were laughable against his True Qi; even that humble bow could serve as an extension of his will, its potential only limited by his imagination. He smiled faintly at the thought, knowing the tools of the past were finally ready to meet the force of the present.

  Yet even in triumph, he remained wary. Endless life was enticing, but the world was merciless: strength determined worth, and enemies appeared without warning, as suddenly and as plentifully as mushrooms after rain. Even those unnoticed, quiet like shadows, could become lethal threats at a stroke. Take Li Yuxue, for example. Once Sun Bo provided him with her information, he would deal with her efficiently. If that girl nursed a grudge like Jia Tao, and somehow rose to the Immortals, what then? How would he handle her if their paths crossed? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Chen Mo leaned back, letting the shadows gather around him. Problems were never finite; they only multiplied. One obstacle crushed, another would rise in its place, more cunning, more dangerous. That was the law of this world, and he would obey it coldly, ruthlessly, without hesitation. In this life, hesitation was death—and he would not die again.

  Ten days had passed since Chen Mo’s last instructions, and today Sun Bo returned bearing the intelligence he had meticulously gathered.

  “My lord,” Sun Bo began, bowing with measured deference, “this is what my men were able to ascertain over the past weeks. The Immortal Recruitment is scheduled to commence in exactly two months. It is open to all youths between fifteen and twenty who can reach the capital. The yamen will not interfere with identity verification—anyone who arrives will be permitted to participate.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed as he considered the report, his thoughts sharp and deliberate. It is logical. The immortals care nothing for the past; they do not actively seek mortals. Their judgment is reserved only for those who present themselves in the capital. Were it otherwise, they could sweep the entire empire with a gesture. But that is of no concern to me.

  He fixed Sun Bo with a measured gaze. “And the girl I inquired about?”

  Sun Bo hesitated before replying, “We know her residence, my lord. The intelligence is approximately one month old. We were unable to confirm anything more recent given the brevity of the interval.”

  Chen Mo inclined his head slightly. “Very well. And beyond this?”

  “Only two experts from the Imperial Trade Hall,” Sun Bo continued cautiously. “They are considered subordinates of the Second Prince. We have observed their movements—they have been scouring the wilderness recently.”

  A faint shadow of calculation crossed Chen Mo’s expression, but he dismissed it with a subtle flicker of thought. By the time they uncover anything, I will have long vanished.

  “Excellent work,” Chen Mo said finally, rising to his feet. “Our transaction concludes here. I depart tomorrow.”

  Sun Bo felt the mingling of relief and apprehension that always accompanied dealings with his lord. He bowed deeply, the gravity of the moment settling upon him. “I wish your lordship every success. The Sun family remains ever grateful and shall be at your disposal whenever required.”

  By the next morning, Chen Mo was already gone.

  He traveled without escort, without banner, without dust. Threaded Movement carried him across mountains and plains like a silent stitch pulling the fabric of distance tight behind him. Rivers were stepped over, forests blurred, villages reduced to passing shadows. Seven days later, he slowed upon a windswept rise.

  Ahead lay the Capital of the Hua Empire.

  It was unmistakably mortal.

  No floating palaces. No radiant immortal light cascading from the heavens. No spirit beasts circling in the clouds.

  Just stone. Steel. Smoke. And ambition.

  The outer walls stretched like a colossal gray serpent coiled around the plains, thick enough for cavalry to ride upon. Guard towers stood at measured intervals, their silhouettes rigid against the sky. Flags bearing the imperial insignia fluttered in disciplined rows, not with mystical aura, but with the authority of organized power.

  Outside the gates, life churned in restless waves. Merchant caravans queued in long lines, oxen snorting impatiently. Peddlers shouted over one another, hawking dried meats, silk, talismans of dubious efficacy, and gossip more valuable than both. Refugees, scholars, martial aspirants, and opportunists all pressed forward, drawn toward the same center like iron filings to a magnet.

  Within the walls, rooftops spread in dense layers of dark tiles. Markets formed arteries of noise and color. Workshops hammered relentlessly. Smoke rose from a thousand kitchens and forges, weaving into the evening sky like a rough, earthly incense.

  At the heart of it all, the Imperial Palace dominated the city. Not radiant with immortal light, but imposing in sheer scale. Its golden rooftops caught the sun and reflected it arrogantly, as if daring the heavens to compete. Layers of courtyards, walls within walls, power nested inside power.

  This was not a city of eternal cultivators.

  This was a furnace of mortal struggle.

  Here, influence was forged with coin, blades, and bloodlines.

  Chen Mo observed quietly, eyes calm.

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  Soon, immortals would descend to select their seeds from this mortal hive. But until then, this was still a kingdom of men who believed themselves rulers of the world.

  A faint glint passed through his gaze.

  Mortal or not, it would serve its purpose.

  He stepped down from the ridge and walked toward the gates, blending seamlessly into the tide of humanity.

  Chen Mo secured a room in one of the larger inns near the Central Square, the very ground where the immortal recruitment would unfold in two months’ time.

  Even for him, it took effort.

  The capital was no longer a city. It was a tide.

  Every street near the square throbbed with movement. Young martial aspirants strode about with overconfident swagger. Scholars clutched scrolls as if knowledge alone could pry open the gates of immortality. Merchants had transformed overnight into prophets of destiny, loudly proclaiming which talisman, pill, or “ancestral charm” might improve one’s chances.

  The inns were packed to suffocation.

  Common rooms resembled battlegrounds of elbows and negotiation. Beds were rented by the hour, courtyards converted into sleeping quarters, storage rooms suddenly rebranded as “private suites.” Prices had soared shamelessly. A room that once cost a handful of silver now demanded triple, sometimes fivefold.

  The landlords did not even pretend embarrassment.

  Some families had vacated their own homes entirely, renting them out at outrageous sums before relocating temporarily to nearby villages, cousins’ farms, or ancestral estates in the countryside. Opportunity, after all, was another form of cultivation.

  The Central Square itself had already begun transforming. Temporary platforms were being erected. Imperial officials oversaw preparations with stiff faces and clipped commands. Guard patrols had doubled. The air buzzed with expectation thick enough to taste.

  Chen Mo stood by the window of his rented room and looked down at the swirling mass below.

  So many ants climbing toward a dream.

  He felt neither disdain nor admiration.

  Only calculation.

  Two months.

  Enough time to observe. To gather information. To erase loose ends.

  The city roared like a furnace, but within his room, Chen Mo sat cross-legged, aura sealed, heartbeat steady.

  In the midst of noise, he preferred silence.

  Chen Mo wandered through the arteries of the capital with unhurried steps, hands clasped behind his back like a scholar admiring spring scenery rather than a hunter tracing scent.

  He passed before the vast Central Square.

  It had been sealed off entirely. Tall wooden barricades encircled it like ribs around a beating heart. Imperial guards stood at rigid intervals, spears upright, expressions carved from stone. No idle gawkers were permitted near the entrance.

  Inside, however, the square churned with controlled chaos.

  Martial artists hauled massive stone slabs as though they were sacks of grain. Others leapt atop newly raised platforms, adjusting beams and pillars with brute precision. Sections of the ground were being leveled and reinforced. Viewing stands rose layer by layer. Pathways were being widened to channel thousands of candidates into orderly streams rather than unruly floods.

  Everything was arranged with one goal.

  Convenience for the immortals.

  Mortals rearranging stone and sweat so that beings beyond them would not be inconvenienced for even a breath.

  Chen Mo’s gaze lingered only a moment.

  Then he moved on.

  The noise of construction faded behind him as he turned into quieter districts where wealth gathered in walled estates and carved gates. The air there felt different, perfumed with restraint and old silver.

  Ahead lay the Li family residence.

  His steps remained steady.

  This was not a stroll anymore.

  As Chen Mo approached the Li family residence, something felt… wrong.

  Not danger.

  Absence.

  The estate stood intact, gates closed, walls high and orderly, yet there was no pulse within. No servants sweeping courtyards. No faint echo of conversation. No rhythm of daily life leaking through carved windows. Even the birds seemed to avoid its eaves, as though the silence itself had claimed territory.

  Chen Mo stopped before the gates.

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  Were Sun Bo’s reports flawed?

  Or had he arrived one move too late?

  The next instant, his figure blurred and dissolved into motion. A shadow slipped over the wall without stirring dust, without bending grass.

  He landed within the courtyard.

  Empty.

  The stone tiles were undisturbed, yet faint traces remained for those who knew how to look. The air still carried the thin residue of human presence, not aged enough to be forgotten. A training dummy lay toppled to one side. A teacup sat cracked near a pavilion table, abandoned rather than broken in haste.

  He walked slowly through the grounds.

  Doors unlocked.

  Rooms cleared of valuables.

  But not thoroughly stripped.

  Clothes still folded in chests. Decorative screens untouched. It was not the work of thieves. Nor a panicked midnight flight.

  It was deliberate.

  They had left with purpose. Quickly, but not chaotically.

  Chen Mo’s expression darkened.

  He understood immediately.

  They had withdrawn not long ago, yet long enough.

  Too late.

  He stood in the hollow courtyard, where even the wind seemed reluctant to linger.

  For a brief moment, irritation flickered through his gaze like steel catching light.

  Then it vanished.

  In a secluded courtyard, Li Shao, Zhang Qiang, and Li Yuxue sat opposite Elder Zhou Henge, who spoke deliberately, each word weighed with experience: “The immortal recruitment is upon us. This is a crucial period. You must exercise patience. If little Yuxue is fortunate enough to be chosen, then all our troubles will dissipate. No force in the entire empire would dare to offend a family with an immortal offspring. Even if Master Sheng were to meet with misfortune, it would matter little.”

  Yuxue’s aura, faint yet perceptible, stirred as she asked hesitantly, “Elder Zhou, what if I am not chosen? What then?”

  Zhou Henge regarded her with a measured gaze. “Then our fates will not be entirely within our control. But I remain optimistic about you, little Yuxue. Talent in martial arts often indicates the potential to cultivate the way of the immortals. It is not a fixed rule, but this is why families and factions become so invested when their youths show exceptional skill.”

  Li Shao’s voice brimmed with pride. “Yuxue’er is not merely talented—she is a prodigy. Given time, there is no doubt she will reach the Innate Realm.”

  Li Yuxue’s brow furrowed, and a hint of anxiety touched her voice. “Then what about that boy, Chen Mo? His talent surpasses mine… Will he also be recruited?”

  Zhou Henge sighed deeply, the lines on his face deepening with thought. “Not necessarily. Talent alone cannot make up for the lack of resources or proper methods. And as a fugitive… who knows? It may be long since he perished