Han Ling had been thinking a lot lately about something his mother once told him:
"Never trust anyone—unless they are the partner Heaven has destined for you. That person… will never betray you."
Those words were etched deep into his divine sense, like a beam of golden light that never faded, always guiding him whenever he stood at a crossroads.
And then Leander appeared—like the embodiment of that light.
In the month following the An family incident, Leander had sought him out almost every single day. Even when he was too busy to visit in person, he would call at midnight just to say, "Good night."
His pursuit was both gentle and unrelenting, a kind of tenderness Han Ling had never experienced before—one that felt new… and impossible to reject.
Han Ling knew his own constitution was special. Since he'd met the partner Heaven arranged for him, he shouldn't resist.
What's more—Leander was undeniably handsome. His tall, straight nose, his deep blue eyes… and whenever their gazes met, the unhidden softness in Leander's eyes always made Han Ling avert his own.
The Tianling Clan's bloodline had destined this bond from the beginning. His mother had said once: this clan was Heaven's favored child, one of the masterpieces crafted by the gods.
The Tianling people had once lived together in seclusion. But as time passed, some left to explore the wider world.
Rumors began to spread—some said being close to a Tianling could greatly enhance one's strength; others claimed eating their flesh would help mortals transcend to another realm.
The only thing Han Ling remembered from his earliest years was running. Running with his mother and father, fleeing from place to place.
He also remembered his mother warning him: never trust anyone, unless they were destined by Heaven. That person would never betray him—they would remain loyal.
It wasn't until he was older that he learned about his identity and his unique constitution.
To make sure he never forgot, his father engraved the truth into his divine sense.
That was when Han Ling understood why they'd been fleeing: their clan's territory had once been isolated, but some Tianling had fallen in love and revealed their secrets to their mortal partners. Those cultivators spread the news, bringing slaughter to their lands.
His parents began running around that time.
One day in the immortal realm, his mother—already pregnant with his younger brother—spoke urgently with his father, who was drawing a complicated formation.
They sent Han Ling to their old sect, handing him over to the former sect master.
He never saw them again.
The sect master treated him like his own son, but Han Ling still missed his parents.
"Never trust anyone," his mother had said one last time before leaving. "But if Heaven sends you that one person… then give yourself to them. He won't betray you."
Thinking of that now, Han Ling's eyes softened with a faint trace of nostalgia.
When he told Leander all this, the man simply listened quietly, then took his hand and murmured:
"Thank you… for trusting me enough to tell me."
Then, with that faintly roguish smile of his, he added:
"Well, Heaven really does have good taste."
Han Ling couldn't help but laugh.
Indeed—despite seeming gentle and considerate, Leander carried a rare kind of restraint underneath it all.
Still, after they got together, Han Ling laid down a condition:
"You must start cultivating," he said calmly, though his tone brooked no refusal. "Otherwise, spending too much time near me will crush your spiritual body. You won't survive it—you'll explode from the pressure of my essence."
Leander froze, then quickly nodded, rare seriousness replacing his usual teasing.
"Alright. I'll start training… and arrange for the next heir to take over my family affairs." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "No rush, though. I'll train and arrange things at the same time. Maybe by the time they all grow old and die… you'll still be young and beautiful, and I'll still be here to watch over you."
That left Han Ling speechless—but he couldn't quite bring himself to dislike that kind of talk.
That afternoon, Housekeeper Liu knocked on the door.
"Young Master An is here," he said respectfully. "And he brought a guest."
Han Ling and Leander walked into the sitting room, where An Yan stood with a refined-looking man.
When the man saw Leander standing at Han Ling's side, his eyes widened in surprise.
"To think… the heir of the Ashcroft family is here with Mr. Han," the man murmured.
An Yan quickly stepped forward. "Master, this is Grant. He has a favor to ask of you."
Grant nodded, his voice tinged with urgency. "Yes… I have a friend. Ling Zhao. He's been missing for months now…"
He quickly explained: Ling Zhao was originally his partner on an investment project. A few months ago, he suddenly disappeared. Calls went unanswered, and his family wouldn't open the door. His sister claimed he was "traveling abroad," but soon after, she took his script and began filming it, casting Ling Zhao's boyfriend as the lead, while telling everyone her brother was overseas.
Grant became suspicious. He sent people to break into Ling Zhao's home—only to find it thick with dust, clearly abandoned.
There was no record of him leaving the country, either.
Desperate, he came to An Yan, who mentioned a powerful Celestial Master.
Han Ling only raised an eyebrow when the story was finished. "And you… what are you to him?"
Grant's face tightened.
Han Ling understood immediately, but before he could say more, Leander leaned down and murmured by his ear, calm as if commenting on the weather:
"His lover."
Han Ling ignored him. "Give me his birth date and time."
Grant quickly replied: "Year 34525, August 8th, 8:08 a.m."
Han Ling closed his eyes and calculated. The astral chart he'd had Housekeeper Liu purchase before shimmered into existence before him:
Eight Characters: Yisi Year, Jiwei Month, Wuyin Day, Bingchen Hour
Life Fate: Ziwei with Heavenly Virtue – blessed, untouchable by misfortune, destined for great wealth and longevity.
Han Ling's brows furrowed.
"Something's wrong," he murmured.
Grant stiffened, his hands clenching.
Han Ling opened his eyes, his expression grave. "With such a birth chart, he should've lived in glory and peace, destined to eighty-eight worry-free years. But…"
He looked at Grant. "He's already dead."
The room fell silent.
"No… that's impossible…" Grant whispered, his body trembling.
Han Ling only glanced at him, his expression indifferent. He conjured a spirit talisman in midair, letting its light sink into the star chart.
A moment later, he spoke again:
"Worse still… his soul is trapped. I can't even locate it right now. The body, though… isn't far."
Grant's knees buckled, and he almost collapsed before An Yan grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
Han Ling's eyes stayed fixed on the star chart—until he noticed something strange.
"…There's a problem."
He twisted his fingers, weaving a faint golden sigil that burrowed deeper into the chart.
And there it was: a blackish-red curse mark, writhing like a worm around the Ziwei star, swallowing its brilliance.
"Someone plotted against him," Han Ling said coldly.
This wasn't an accident—it was a sophisticated dark art that veiled Heaven's will, aiming to steal his fate and destroy his soul.
A Ziwei Fate was exceedingly rare. If refined, it could extend the caster's life and grant fortune.
Han Ling closed the chart and rose to his feet. "Let's go. To the scene."
They followed Grant to a desolate dump, where the stench of rot hung heavy in the air.
In a corner lay a skeleton. Its tattered clothes and the faded red string on its wrist confirmed his identity.
Grant collapsed in tears.
Han Ling only looked at the remains coldly. "The soul isn't here… just a broken husk."
He turned to Leander. "Call Hang Zhongxuan. Have them collect and handle the body properly."
Even in a world of law, a corpse deserved a dignified resting place—not to be discarded like trash.
Then Han Ling glanced at Ling Zhao's home nearby. "Come. Let's take a look."
Inside, the dust was so thick it felt like ash. The air carried no trace of the living.
Han Ling swept his fingers through the air, a strand of golden light weaving through the corners before dissipating.
"As expected," he murmured. "Someone performed a spell here to erase all traces."
He turned to Leander. "Tell the special department to deliver the body. This case… is a thorny one."
His lips curved into a cold smile. "Let's see… who has the guts to pull this off."
The house was deathly quiet.
Each creak of the floorboards made Grant flinch.
At the front, Han Ling's fingers floated a dark-golden sigil like drifting willow fluff, passing through every corner of the room.
Wherever it passed, faint wisps of spirit energy rose and coalesced into a fine, misty web before his eyes.
Leander stood at his side, arms crossed.
Even though he didn't understand these Celestial techniques, he could feel the bone-deep chill in the air.
"…This house reeks of death—and malice."
Han Ling's brows furrowed as he muttered under his breath. "At least three layers of dark arts have been cast here. There's even an anti-detection ward. Ordinary people wouldn't notice it, but judging from the traces… the ward was laid after the killing, to cover up the truth."
Grant shuddered, his face pale. "T-Three layers? That vicious? Was it Ling Ning? Or…"
"I don't know," Han Ling replied, shaking his head, his gaze icy. "But it's not something a single person could pull off. Someone else is behind this. If…"
"If it could be done alone," he continued coldly, "then whoever did it is far beyond my estimation."
A talisman glimmered between his fingers and shot toward the old full-length mirror in the living room.
The mirror, coated in a thick layer of dust, its frame inlaid with cracked beads, seemed utterly ordinary—until the talisman swept across it with a snap. A sharp crack appeared down the center of the mirror, like a silent scream.
"A formation was laid here." Han Ling pressed another talisman to the center of the glass. With a muffled boom, dust exploded into the air, carrying a sickly sweet metallic stench—the residue of a blood ritual.
Red light rippled across the mirror, and an eerie scene flickered into view.
There was Ling Zhao, kneeling on the floor, his hands shackled behind his back by black-and-red chains. His face was pale, blood at the corner of his lips, his head bowed as if lifeless. Then a slender, pale hand pressed down on the back of his neck, a jade thumb ring glinting as a black-red aura was forcefully poured into him.
"…Soul-stripping," Han Ling said darkly, his eyes glinting with killing intent. "Someone used forbidden arts to rip his soul out of his body, sacrificed his corpse in a blood ritual, and sealed his soul elsewhere."
Leander's face darkened. "That's… ruthless."
Grant stared at the vision, trembling, tears welling up in his eyes. "I—I knew his sister was acting strange… but… why do this to him?!"
Han Ling didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on that jade-ringed hand.
"…She's not the mastermind."
Both Grant and Leander froze.
Han Ling's eyes were ice. "A precise and cruel soul-stripping like this? Impossible for a mere mortal to execute. Someone else is pulling the strings. Either she was used—or she willingly acted as an accomplice."
With a flick of his fingers, the talisman severed the vision.
The red glow vanished. Ash and chill filled the room.
Han Ling moved on, inspecting the rest of the house—the study, bedroom, kitchen—marking each area with runes, breaking through the wards, and extracting every trace of lingering aura.
At last, deep in Ling Zhao's bedroom closet, he found it—a tiny folded talisman, hidden in a secret compartment.
The paper was soaked in blood, glowing faintly with an ominous black light.
Han Ling carefully pinched it between his fingers, sealing its energy with a flash of light.
"…A Death-Sealing Talisman," he murmured grimly. "This… is the key to keeping his soul suppressed."
Grant stared at it, the world spinning.
"Then… can he… still be saved?" His voice trembled.
Han Ling was silent for a long moment before he finally said, "His soul hasn't completely dissipated. There's still a faint glimmer left on his destiny chart. If we can locate where they've sealed his soul, we can bring it back and reconstruct his spirit. But… the longer we wait, the harder it gets."
Grant nodded fiercely, his eyes bloodshot. "No matter the cost—I'll save him! Even if… even if it costs me my own life!"
Han Ling lowered his eyes and gave a cold, humorless smile.
"…Don't be so quick to say that. A life is a cheap price. But what you can offer… might not even be enough."
He tucked the Death-Sealing Talisman into his sleeve and turned to Leander. "Contact Hang Zhongxuan. Have the Special Investigation Unit seal off this site and collect all the lingering traces immediately. I need to pinpoint the core of the soul-sealing array."
Leander whipped out his phone, his tone frosty. "It's me. Hang Zhongxuan—bring your team here now. …Yes. Han Ling needs your full cooperation."
About half an hour later, Hang Zhongxuan arrived with his squad—uniformed in black, the insignia of the Special Investigation Unit stitched on their chests. They all bowed respectfully to Han Ling.
"Master Han."
Han Ling wasted no time, handing their captain a prepared talisman. "Post this on every exterior corner. Purification formation, inside and out. Leave no gaps. And…"
His gaze swept coldly over the house. His voice was like a blade.
"…From this moment on, every blade of grass, every brick, every shadow here is under my watch. If anyone dares tamper with it… they die."
"Yes, sir!" the squad answered in unison.
Grant stood frozen, finally grasping just how terrifying the "master" he'd invited truly was.
Once everything was set up, Han Ling finally turned to him. "I'll calculate the exact location of the soul-sealing array as soon as possible. But you need to remember—don't act rashly. And don't… go looking for Ling Ning."
Grant hesitated. "But… she…"
"I know she's involved," Han Ling sneered. "But moving against her now would only alert the real enemy. Keep her in the open—we'll use her to lure out the one hiding in the dark."
He slapped a protective talisman onto Grant's chest. "Keep it on you. Don't let anyone get too close."
Grant clutched the talisman with trembling hands, murmuring, "Th-Thank you…"
Han Ling only gave a faint hum, saying nothing more.
An Yan patted Grant's shoulder as he passed. "Go home and rest. With them here, nothing will go wrong."
Grant finally collapsed into a nod, stumbling out of the house with the squad.
Han Ling didn't leave. He stood there, staring at the cracked mirror, his eyes deep and dark.
Fingers caressing the Death-Sealing Talisman, he muttered under his breath.
"…If you dare touch the fate of a Ziwei soul… then you'd better be ready to pay Heaven's price."
The words were barely audible, but Leander, standing at the door, felt a chill crawl down his spine.
This Han Ling was… terrifying.
In Han Ling's hand, talismans continued to burn, shattering into golden sparks and fading into the air. His expression grew colder with each one.
On the destiny chart, Ling Zhao's natal star still shone brilliantly, showing a life that should have been blessed and prosperous. Yet, as Han Ling peeled back the layers of the chart, all he found… was emptiness.
"…I can't find it…" For the first time, his brows knotted tight, and his fingertips bled faintly.
The soul's trail was sealed so thoroughly it seemed no longer part of this world—like it had been ripped away to some place beyond reach.
"…Not just a soul-stripping. They even severed his cycle of reincarnation." His voice was as cold as ice. "…Truly ruthless."
Grant trembled violently. "…What… what does that mean?"
Han Ling raised his eyes, his tone heavy with rare solemnity.
"…It means this wasn't just murder. Someone wants him… completely erased from existence."
Grant collapsed to his knees, unable even to cry anymore. His empty eyes only muttered Ling Zhao's name over and over.
Hang Zhongxuan and the other team members all frowned deeply.
Cen Wenyu finally spoke, worried. "Was it… his design?"
Hang Zhongxuan pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache growing. "…We still don't know."