The evening wind of Rising Phoenix Mountain hummed softly through the bamboo eaves as Fang Lin returned to his Southern Ridge cabin. After closing and locking the wooden door, he sat cross-legged on his cultivation mat, letting his shoulders drop. The simulated stiffness in his joints vanished instantly, replaced by the smooth, fluid grace of a body that had reached the Perfection stage of the Netherskin.
"Haha! That was the most embarrassing thing I have ever seen!" the Dark Flame Spirit's voice erupted in his mind, her tiny crimson form rolling around in the embers of the Ancient Spatial Furnace. "Loud-Boy, you fell over like a wet sack of grain! And then you flailed your arm and went *bonk* on the silver-boy's wrist! I can't believe he actually cried! Humans are so weak!"
"It is called a successful disguise," Fang Lin replied mentally, dryly correcting her. "If I had used a single step of the Moonless Shadow Step or even a fraction of my true physical force, the elders on the pavilion would have realized I was hiding my realm on the spot. Winning by sheer, clumsy luck was the only logical choice."
"Clumsy is right!" the spirit cackled. "You looked like a duck slipping on wet stone. Next time, let me just melt their swords. It's much more dignified."
"And much louder," Fang Lin thought. "We are in the Green Bamboo Sect. Secrecy is my greatest weapon."
He closed his eyes and began to circulate his Qi. Although his true realm was the Peak Middle Spirit Foundation, he had spent the last three days simulating an unstable, chaotic Early Spirit Foundation. Maintaining such a ragged disguise required constant, precise control from his Peak-Solid Soul. Any slip in his concentration could cause his real, dense Qi to leak out, which would immediately alert the white-haired Elder Feng, who was still keeping a distant watch on the Southern Ridge.
For three days, Fang Lin remained inside his cabin, stabilizing his meridians and ensuring that his simulated Qi fluctuation was perfectly locked in. Under his skin, the refined, cool vital energy of the Old Vitality Leaf had been completely absorbed by the mysterious grey seed, which now rested quietly in his spiritual sea, its tiny sprout mark humming with a stable, ancient resonance.
By the morning of the fourth day, the official three-month seclusion order was set to begin. But before he locked his doors for the long term, he had one final obligation.
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The private dining hall of the Green Bamboo Alliance was filled with the rich, savory aroma of roasted spirit beast meat and the sweet, crisp fragrance of pear wine. A large wooden table in the center was piled high with plates of seasoned rice, steamed buns, and jars of mountain wine.
"To the luckiest moss-eater in the history of the Green Bamboo Sect!" Xuo Mu roared, hoisting a clay cup high in the air, his face flushed with wine and laughter.
A collective cheer rose from the table.
Li Shan, Luo Chen, Murong Yue, Bai Qing, Han Zhi, Zhao Feng, Xue Ji, and Xuo Mu were all gathered around the table, their faces bright with relief and celebration. The tension that had hung over the alliance since Fang Lin's return had finally evaporated.
"I still cannot believe it," Zhao Feng laughed, shaking his head as he poured himself another cup of wine. "Sun Jie spent three weeks bragging about how his silver-river sword was too fast for anyone to parry. And then Fang Lin just slips on a piece of gravel, falls flat on his back, and breaks Sun Jie's wrist with a flailing block! I thought Chen Hao's face was going to turn purple!"
"It did turn purple!" Bai Qing giggled, leaning her chin on her hands as she looked at Fang Lin. "He looked like he had swallowed a live toad. Fang Lin, how did you even manage to swing your sword while falling?"
"I... I didn't really swing it," Fang Lin said, offering a sheepish, embarrassed smile as he sat between Xuo Mu and Luo Chen. He reached for a steamed bun, keeping his right arm slightly stiff to maintain the illusion of his lingering injury. "I just lost my footing and panicked. When I fell, I thought Sun Jie was going to pierce my shoulder, so I just threw my sword out to block. I didn't even realize I had hit him until I heard the crack."
"That is the ultimate victory of the moss-eater!" Xuo Mu declared, slapping Fang Lin's left shoulder. "Moss gives you heavy bones, Fang Lin! You should have eaten some of that clump I brought you!"
"Please, no more moss," Fang Lin chuckled, pushing the cup of wine back slightly.
"Xuo Mu, let him eat his rice in peace," Xue Ji said dryly. Her winter-cold eyes softened slightly as she looked at Fang Lin. "Sun Jie's defeat was his own fault. He was too arrogant and did not guard his chest. But your luck is indeed extraordinary, Fang Lin."
Luo Chen, sitting quietly with his spear resting against his chair, nodded in agreement. "Brother Fang's luck is strong, but his timing was also perfect. Even a fluke requires the right moment."
"It does," Li Shan agreed, raising his cup toward Fang Lin. "But more importantly, you retained your rank. The elders cannot force you out of the third seat now, and this three-month seclusion will give you the perfect opportunity to heal your shoulder and stabilize your foundation without the Chen faction bothering you. They won't dare provoke you while you are under the elders' official recovery order."
"Yes," Murong Yue added, a sharp, teasing glint in her eyes as she leaned across the table. "Rest well, Fang Lin. We don't want you falling over and breaking your other arm next time. Though, if you ever face a real expert who doesn't rush in blindly, I wonder if your gravel-slipping technique will still work."
"I hope I never have to find out," Fang Lin said, playing the cautious, timid junior perfectly.
The celebratory feast continued for several hours. The friends shared stories of their time in the ruins, laughing, drinking, and toast after toast was made to Fang Lin's return. Fang Lin sat quietly, drinking the sweet pear wine and feeling a genuine warmth in his chest. These eight friends were the only people in the sect he truly trusted, and keeping them safe was one of the reasons he had to maintain his weak disguise. If his true identity as Shen Mo were ever exposed, the political pressure from the major sects would crush the Green Bamboo Alliance instantly.
As the sun began to dip behind the western ridges, casting long, golden-red light across the sect paths, the group finally stood up to leave.
"Take care, Fang Lin," Li Shan said, patting his arm. "We will watch the outer plaza. Focus entirely on your recovery."
"Thank you, Brother Li," Fang Lin replied, bowing respectfully.
He stood at the door of the dining hall, watching as his friends walked up the mountain path toward the inner residences, their voices fading into the rustling bamboo.
Only when their signatures had fully vanished from his divine sense did the pained, humble look on his face disappear, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp focus.
-
The next night, the Southern Ridge was completely quiet, shrouded in a heavy mist that rolled down from the peaks.
Inside the cabin, Fang Lin stood near his cultivation mat. He had spent the last day preparing. Officially, he was entering his three-month seclusion, and a simple defensive array had been placed on his door, indicating that he was not to be disturbed.
An outer sect disciple had already delivered his quota of resources for the combined year in which he was missing. Even though it didn't amount much, compared to his wealth. It was enough for buying simple things.
Using the *Phantom Transformation* technique, he let his facial features shift. His cheekbones softened, his jawline became slightly broader, and his posture shifted into that of a nameless, ordinary wandering cultivator. He replaced his green-and-silver sect robes with a plain, brown cotton robe, carrying only a cheap, low-grade storage pouch at his waist. He suppressed his Qi until he appeared to be a simple, weak rogue merchant of the Early Spirit Foundation.
Using his Peak-Solid Soul's divine sense, which extended safely for fifteen miles in this familiar area, he mapped the sect guards and the defensive array nodes. Finding a small blind spot in the Southern Ridge's outer perimeter, he moved like a quiet breeze, slipping past the mountain gates without triggering a single rune.
By midnight, he had left the Green Bamboo Sect territory completely behind.
He traveled for two days, keeping a low profile as he moved along the public merchant roads toward Rivercloud City. Along the way, he avoided any high-visibility techniques, using only basic physical speed to cover the distance.
When he entered Rivercloud City, the atmosphere was visibly tense. The streets were filled with rogue cultivators, and the banners of the major sects—including the River Sword Sect, the Crimson Flame Hall, and the Demon Suppression Temple—were constantly visible.
Fang Lin sat in the corner of a noisy, crowded tavern near the city gates, a simple bowl of cheap noodle soup in front of him. He kept his head down, but his ears were focused, his refined perception easily filtering through the loud chatter of the tables around him.
"They're still searching," a scarred rogue cultivator muttered at a nearby table, taking a large gulp of wheat wine. "The River Sword Sect has deployed three separate search groups near the eastern border of the ruins. They say Xu Hanjiang is furious. He's offering a reward of ten thousand low-grade spirit stones for any verified trace of Shen Mo."
"Ten thousand?" another cultivator gasped. "But the ruins closed weeks ago. If Shen Mo was ejected, he could be anywhere on the continent by now."
"No, the elders believe he is still hiding in the Rivercloud region," a third merchant whispered, leaning in. "The Demon Suppression Temple has two Core Formation experts patrolling the area. They say Shen Mo carried a massive amount of legacy treasures out of the Myriad Halls. Even if he's strong, if he gets cornered by a Core Formation expert, he's dead."
Fang Lin took a slow sip of his soup.
"They are persistent," he thought.
"Let them search," the Dark Flame Spirit murmured in his mind, her tone carrying a rare note of caution. "But Loud-Boy, those Core Formation humans... they have many people. If three or four of them surround you, your Netherskin won't be enough. You're only at the Middle stage of Core Formation in battle power. The gap to those Late Core Formation regional experts is too big."
"I know," Fang Lin replied mentally. "My true cultivation is still only Middle Spirit Foundation. Even with my Solid Soul and Perfection Netherskin, my energy reserve is limited. If I get trapped in a long battle against multiple Core Formation experts, my Qi will run dry. I need to close the gap to Late Core Formation battle power as fast as possible."
He paid a few copper coins for the soup, stood up, and quietly left the tavern.
He did not stay in Rivercloud City. Instead, he slipped out of the gates and headed toward the dense, misty bamboo forests that bordered the eastern edge of the Rivercloud ruins. This area was quiet, filled with rugged terrain and thick vegetation that blocked ordinary sight.
After walking deep into the forest, he confirmed with his divine sense that there were no scouts or formations nearby.
He retrieved the *Demon Sealing Ruins Key Token* from his storage ring. The black iron token felt heavy in his hand, its surface cool to the touch.
"Are we ready?" Fang Lin asked.
"Yes," the spirit replied, flaring her embers inside the furnace. "The spatial node here is close enough to the ruins. The mansion spirit told you last time that as long as you are near the ruins and carry me, the furnace can bridge the distance. Let's go!"
Fang Lin focused his Peak-Solid Soul, sending a thread of his Spirit Qi into the token while the Ancient Spatial Furnace hummed within his spiritual sea.
Instantly, the black runes on the token flared with a crimson-gold light. The space around him began to warp, the trees and mist blurring into a chaotic vortex of colors. A quiet, heavy spatial pressure descended, wrapping around his body like a thick blanket.
With a soft, rushing sound, Fang Lin's figure vanished from the bamboo forest, leaving behind only the rustling of the leaves in the wind.
-
When the light settled, Fang Lin was standing in the grand, quiet courtyard of the Myriad Halls Legacy Mansion. The air here was still and crisp, entirely free from the tension and noise of the outer world. The towering stone pillars and silent palace walls rose around him, majestic and eternal.
A soft wind blew across the stone courtyard.
In the center of the yard, a figure slowly materialized from a swirl of white mist. It was the Elderly Mansion Spirit, his long white robe flowing, his ancient face carrying a calm, welcoming smile. He bowed slightly to Fang Lin, his eyes twinkling with recognition.
"Successor," the mansion spirit greeted him, his voice echoing softly in the quiet courtyard. "You have returned sooner than I expected. I see your body foundation has reached a new level of density, and your companion is well."
"Senior," Fang Lin saluted respectfully, bowing his head. "I have returned because the outside world is in turmoil. The major sects are actively searching for my other identity, and they might have deployed multiple Core Formation experts to hunt me down."
He looked straight into the ancient spirit's eyes. "My current battle power is only at the Middle Core Formation level. The gap between my current strength and the Late Core Formation experts is too vast. I need advice, resources, or cultivation methods that can help me bridge this gap as quickly as possible."
The Elderly Mansion Spirit stroked his white beard, his smile turning thoughtful as he looked at Fang Lin.
"The gap of the Core Formation is indeed a watershed, and even more for Late Core Formation." the spirit said softly, gesturing toward the main hall of the palace. "To cross it requires more than just dense Qi or a strong body. But since you have returned, the Myriad Halls will not send you back empty-handed. Come. Let us discuss the path to defeating the Late Core Formation stage cultivators."
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