Over the next few days, Han Yun kept to himself more than usual.
His days were split between quiet cultivation beneath the shade of the old pine tree near his quarter and carefully practicing the newly acquired Glacial Vein Palm. The gentle fist style didn't rely on brute strength but subtle control, flowing movement, and precision—something that came surprisingly natural with his Yin physique.
The first time he struck a boulder and saw frost bloom from the point of contact, freezing through the cracks like living veins of ice, he paused in silence.
He didn't smile. He didn't brag.
He simply adjusted his stance and did it again.
For the first time, his combat wasn't a joke in his head. It felt real. Refined. Dangerous.
He didn't feel strong—just sharper.
There were still no real fights to test it. No enemies. Just rock and wind and the quiet rhythm of movement.
Originally, he thought about taking a few simple sect tasks to ease back into things—maybe collect some herbs, clear a beast den or two, build up a few more points. But something else caught his eye first.
An announcement.
A golden scroll had been nailed to the center of the quest board—letters glowing faintly with spiritual energy.
Inter-Sect Junior Tournament – Seven Days from Now
Participants: Disciples under 5 years of cultivation, from five local sects.
Location: Misty Spring City, Outer Plaza Arena
Prizes include rare pills, cultivation resources, and personalized evaluations from elite elders.
All registered disciples will be listed publicly. Entry deadline in three days.
Han Yun stood there reading it for a while, surrounded by murmurs from other disciples.
He already knew one name that was definitely going to be on that list—Feng Yiran.
A quick check through the tracker confirmed it. Yiran had returned to the sect recently and was now sitting comfortably at late peak Foundation Establishment.
Naturally, he would be participating.
Not just participating—representing.
One of the elders had even mentioned during a passing lecture that Feng Yiran was "the brightest hope among the new generation."
Han Yun looked at the scroll again.
He hadn't been planning on doing something like this so soon. But after everything he gained, everything he'd earned—not stolen, not begged for, but earned—it didn't sit right to keep hiding in the background.
He reached into his robe, pulling out a registration token.
His thumb pressed into the spiritual seal.
The glow flickered.
Han Yun — Inner Disciple, Thousand Peaks Immortal Gate
Foundation Establishment — Mid Stage
Registered.
He stepped away from the board without saying much.
He just turned back toward his courtyard.
One week.
Enough time to finish preparing.
Let them see what kind of disciple they'd forgotten.
Han Yun stepped away from the quest board, his thoughts already turning toward preparation—Qi refinement, reinforcing meridians, and maybe spending the last of his points if the right opportunity showed up.
Then, just as he rounded the corner toward the inner courtyard path—
He saw her.
Among the crowd of bustling disciples, one figure stood out effortlessly.
Mu Qinglan.
Dressed in the standard robes of an inner disciple, though even the plain uniform couldn't dull her presence. Her long violet-black hair was tied back loosely, and the bandages around her arm were gone—replaced by clean skin and a colder gaze than before.
Sharp. Collected. Unapproachable, to most.
Han Yun grinned.
And just like that, something shifted in his steps.
The calm, quiet cultivator vanished for a moment.
In his place—smug mode: engaged.
He slipped up from behind with light footsteps, his hand sliding casually behind his back as he leaned in just close enough to be annoying.
"Is that my dear senior sister Qinglan?" he said, voice just loud enough for her to hear. "Or should I say… Qingqing?"
The smug grin bloomed immediately after the words left his lips, subtle but unmistakable. Like someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
Mu Qinglan stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching toward her sword.
Then she paused.
Blinking.
Her brows furrowed slightly, lips parting like she was trying to place a familiar energy—but couldn't quite recognize the face.
"…You—"
Han Yun raised his brows and tilted his head, playful glint in his eye.
"Took you long enough."
There was a long silence.
Then Mu Qinglan's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Han Yun?"
He gave a casual two-finger salute. "In the flesh."
She blinked again, then gave him a slow once-over—eyes lingering at his robes, the subtle change in his eyes, the sharper lines of his face.
"…You look... different."
He smiled wider. "Blame your hrash words. They really changed me."
She rolled her eyes and turned to walk away. "You're still annoying."
"And you still haven't denied liking it."
She didn't answer, but he caught the way her shoulder twitched. Just slightly.
Yeah.
He was back.
Mu Qinglan stopped after a few steps, then turned halfway back to look at him, her gaze unreadable.
"I was looking for you two weeks ago," she said. "To return the favor."
Han Yun raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Favor? You mean that little stroll down the mountain where I graciously lent you my very expensive pills and unmatched company?"
She didn't answer, only kept watching him with that same unreadable look. But there was something just beneath it—curiosity, maybe even concern.
"You disappeared," she added. "No one saw you around the sect for over a month."
Han Yun clicked his tongue. "Well, I'm flattered you noticed. Thought you'd moved on and started being rescued by taller men."
She folded her arms. "Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted to clear the debt."
He made a show of putting a hand over his heart. "So cold. And here I thought we had a connection."
He shrugged. "I was around."
"No, you weren't."
He smirked, still not budging. "Maybe you were just looking in the wrong places."
Mu Qinglan narrowed her eyes. "You hiding something?"
Han Yun gave a short laugh, then tilted his head slightly. "Now, now. A man is allowed a little mystery, isn't he? Makes me more interesting."
"You're suspicious."
"Qingqing....I'm adorable."
She looked at him for a moment longer, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly before she looked away.
"Fine. Keep your secrets."
He walked beside her now, hands behind his back like he had all the time in the world. "What, no more Qingqing? I thought we were on nickname terms."
"Call me that again and I'll stab you."
He grinned. "There's the charm."
Despite the cold in her tone, she didn't move away.
And Han Yun?
He just walked beside her, humming lightly under his breath—one part carefree, two parts deflecting every serious question she might throw his way.
Whatever happened in that cave…
No one needed to know.
As they continued down the stone path between the cultivation halls, Han Yun glanced at her sideways, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his face.
"So," he said casually, "you planning to join the tournament too?"
Mu Qinglan scoffed, not even slowing her steps. "No."
"No?" he echoed, mock offended. "What, too good to spar with the common folk now?"
"There's no point." She shifted her arms, crossing them again. "I already have access to all the resources I need. Recognition from some outer sect elders won't do anything for me."
He tilted his head. "So you're just gonna let other sects think our disciples are prettier than they are strong?"
She side-eyed him. "You're the one who looks prettier now."
Han Yun smirked. "Careful, Qingqing, that sounded dangerously close to a compliment."
"I'm reconsidering it already."
He chuckled, unbothered. "Well, I'll be there. Maybe I'll put on a good show for you. Give you something to write in your diary."
"You assume I'd waste paper remembering you."
"Ruthless."
They reached the small fork in the path where disciples usually parted ways toward their individual quarters. Han Yun paused, hands still behind his back.
"You know," he said casually, "since you're not joining the tournament, and since I did save your life once and graciously offered my expensive pills…"
She turned slightly, eyebrow raised.
He leaned forward just a little. "Let me treat you to tea sometime."
Mu Qinglan gave him a look like he just offered to sell her cabbage.
"No."
"Aw, come on—"
"I don't have time for you."
He clicked his tongue. "So cold. No wonder your Qi feels like winter."
She started walking again. "Good."
"Alright, alright," he called after her, "maybe not today. But what about before the tournament? Just tea. One cup. I'll even let you insult me the entire time."
She didn't respond.
But she didn't say no either.
He grinned wider.
"Oh, that's a maybe. I heard it."
Still walking, she raised a hand behind her and flicked her fingers dismissively. "Go cultivate or something."
Han Yun stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the courtyard path.
Then he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"...That's not a no."
Just as she was almost out of earshot, Han Yun cupped his hands around his mouth and called out with a lazy grin:
"Hey—has anyone told you you look even colder than usual today? What happened? Step on some dog poop, or…"
He paused dramatically, eyes gleaming.
"…or is it that time of the month?"
Mu Qinglan stopped mid-step.
Dead silence.
Han Yun's smirk barely had time to stretch across his face before she spun on her heel, walked right back up to him, and without a word—
Elbowed him.
Right in the stomach.
Not enough to break bones.
But enough to knock the air out of his lungs with a wheeze.
"Oof—okay, deserved that—" he coughed, bent over, one hand over his stomach, the other half trying to wave her off.
She simply turned again, walking off without a word this time.
"That's your signature move now, huh?" he called after her, voice strained. "Abuse first, tea later?"
Mu Qinglan didn't even look back.
But if he'd looked closely, he might've seen the faintest upward twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Han Yun straightened slowly, wincing but still grinning.
"Worth it."
Still clutching his stomach with one hand, Han Yun straightened up slowly, rubbing the sore spot with a wince—but wearing that same smug grin like it was armor.
"Alright, I'll take that as a very aggressive yes," he said, stepping backward as she walked away.
Mu Qinglan didn't respond. Didn't slow down. Her back stayed perfectly straight, her pace steady, the embodiment of cold disinterest.
But that just made him grin wider.
"I'll make sure to bring good plan," he called. "And body armor. You know, in case you fall in love again"
No response.
Not even a wave.
He gave her one last glance before turning the other way, hands tucked back behind him, humming to himself like nothing happened.
As for Mu Qinglan, she didn't stop walking.
But after a while, once the sounds of his footsteps and stupid voice had finally faded from behind her…
She slowed just slightly.
Her brows furrowed. A faint frown formed—not of annoyance, but confusion.
"…That guy is really annoying," she muttered under her breath.
Then she cleared her throat, straightened her robe again, and walked off faster.
Because for some reason, that annoying idiot's voice still echoed in her head.
And it shouldn't.
Han Yun returned to his modest sect quarter not long after parting with Mu Qinglan, tossing his weekly resource bundle onto the table with a sigh.
"…Dear heavens, this sect is stingy," he muttered, flipping open the sack. A few low-grade pills, a mid-grade spirit stone, and some basic talisman paper. Just enough to keep someone from dying of Qi starvation—not much more.
Still, he sorted everything out without complaining too much. He had other things on his mind now.
With the inter-sect tournament approaching, he'd already made plans to head to Misty Spring City a day or two early. Not just to familiarize himself with the arena grounds—but because someone else might be there.
Someone he'd been tracking for quite a while now.
He flicked open his system panel, scrolling to the tracker function.
[Target: Ye Fan]
Cultivation: Core Formation – Mid Stage
Destiny Points: 18,200
(+5,000 since last check)
Recent Events Logged:
– Acquired Hidden Golden Flame Technique
– Encountered Legacy of Nine Tribulations Sect (Fragmented)
– Gained support from Liu Family Branch Elder
– Escaped assassination attempt by clan elders
Han Yun sat down, back resting against the wall as he read through the entries.
He let out a slow exhale.
"So in the time I was down in a hole trying not to die, this guy found a secret technique, a legacy fragment, escaped an assassination, and made a connection with a noble family elder?"
The number staring back at him—18,200—was no joke. The sheer density of Ye Fan's luck had spiked like crazy.
It wasn't just talent anymore. It was momentum.
Opportunities were stacking, one after another.
Han Yun rubbed his fingers together, eyes thoughtful.
But it wasn't just jealousy.
It was hunger.
Because the higher Ye Fan climbed, the more worth stealing his fortune became.
Han Yun closed the panel. Leaned back.
There was still a week until the tournament.
Plenty of time.
And if fate kept feeding Ye Fan like this?
Han Yun fully intended to take his share.
Four days later, Han Yun touched down just outside the gates of Misty Spring City—the very same place where, not too long ago, he'd dragged his half-starved body through the mud and begged for entry.
This time was… different.
He adjusted the folds of his black robe, the Robes of the Eternal Shade, which now hung neatly over his frame with a quiet, authoritative flow. His hair had grown a bit longer, sleek and tied loosely at the back. His features—still familiar to him in essence—had shifted over time. His once-plain, forgettable face now carried this annoyingly "clean" look, with smooth pale skin, long lashes, and big, sharp eyes that made him look like some cold-faced side character from a drama who had a tragic past and too many admirers.
"...I look like I walked out of a filter app," he muttered under his breath as he caught his reflection off a merchant's polished cauldron. "No wonder people keep staring."
He floated the last few meters before landing, a bit wobbly from the descent. He was still getting used to flying, and while it wasn't flashy, the fact that he could float here at all was a huge difference from the limping, dirt-stained beggar version of him that first stepped into this city.
He walked confidently toward the city gates.
The same old guards were there. The ones who once turned their noses up at him, only letting him in because their chief was in a generous mood.
Now?
They didn't even blink.
Didn't look twice.
Didn't remember him at all.
Han Yun paused just past the gate and looked over his shoulder at them, raising an eyebrow.
"…Huh. Figures." his favorite saying
He could've said something—reminded them who he was, maybe dropped a snarky line or two.
But instead, he just smiled to himself.
No need.
He stepped forward and disappeared into the crowd, just one more robed figure among many.
But this time—he didn't feel small.