Han Li, Xiao Yan, Shi Hao, and Wang Lin Each Harboring Their Own Schemes

The night was deep, and the dormitory building of Shrek Academy was as silent as a tomb. Most of the lights had long been extinguished, save for a dim wall lamp at the end of the corridor, casting a faint, sickly glow against the wall.

The room cluttered with miscellaneous items, home to four, had finally fallen quiet as well.

Quiet, but not peaceful.

Han Li sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes half-closed, his breathing as steady as stagnant water. His face remained expressionless, but his mind was racing at high speed.

In that bout, he had defeated Ning Rongrong cleanly and efficiently, leaving his opponent no chance. But that was not the point; the point was what he had revealed—the trap formation, the sword qi, the control over spiritual power. He had shown a fraction of his strength while hiding the vast majority.

Those onlookers thought they had seen his trump cards, but they had only seen what he wanted them to see. A subtle, imperceptible arc tugged at the corner of Han Li's mouth.

It was not enough. He needed everyone to think he had some skill but was not to be feared, to let enemies underestimate him and friends not rely on him.

This was the most important survival rule Han Li had lived by for thousands of years: the tree that stands above the forest will be destroyed by the wind; hide one's cleverness in clumsiness, and use obscurity to achieve clarity.

The Heavenly Bottle in his sleeve grew slightly warm. This supreme treasure had not been damaged after crossing into this world; instead, it had formed a strange resonance with the essence of the sun and moon of this realm.

Han Li could sense that as long as he had enough spiritual herbs, the Heavenly Bottle could catalyze pills that would allow him to rapidly increase his cultivation. Where would the spiritual herbs come from? Buying them was too expensive and risked exposure.

Growing them himself required land and time. Stealing was too risky given the many experts in this world. Han Li's brows furrowed slightly. The best method was to establish an underground network: use pills to trade for spiritual herbs, then use those herbs to refine more pills, rolling the snowball larger and larger. But building a network required manpower, channels, and trust—all of which took time.

Han Li opened his eyes and glanced at the other three.

Xiao Yan was curled up in the corner, his breathing heavy and his brows tightly knit, as if his dreams were not peaceful either. On his right arm, the Xuanhuang Flame markings glowed faintly in his sleep, like a dormant fire snake.

Han Li withdrew his gaze. This man had many trump cards—Exotic Flame, battle skills, and that bizarre cultivation speed. His fight with Ma Hongjun had exposed some of his strength, but certainly not all of it.

Furthermore, this person was impulsive and easily manipulated, yet also prone to ruining plans. It was best to keep a distance, though not to make an enemy of him.

Shi Hao lay sprawled across his bed, snoring like thunder. His clothes were torn again, his bare upper body gleaming with a bronze luster under the moonlight, the muscles on his chest rising and falling with his breath, each one looking as if it were cast from iron.

Han Li glanced at him. This man possessed immense combat talent and a physical body of unfathomable strength, but his brain seemed lacking; he was easily led. However, the actions of a madman were often unpredictable, and thus, uncontrollable.

Wang Lin leaned against the wall, his posture as elegant as a statue. His breathing was so light and slow it was almost imperceptible, like a tortoise's hibernation, yet Han Li knew he was not asleep.

The gray-white light of the Heavenly Inverse Bead flickered at the center of Wang Lin's brow like a half-closed eye. Han Li's gaze lingered there for a second before shifting away. This man was the most dangerous of the four. The power of cause and effect left no trace and could not be defended against.

Han Li questioned whether he had the absolute certainty to break the methods he had used against Zhu Qing. He must keep his distance and avoid conflict.

Han Li closed his eyes. Four men, four hearts, each harboring their own secret agendas.

Late at night, the moonlight was like water.

Han Li opened his eyes. He sat up from the bed without a sound, his movements as light as a falling leaf.

Xiao Yan turned over, muttering something in his sleep—incoherent, likely something about "thirty years east of the river."

Shi Hao's snoring remained thunderous, perhaps even louder than before.

Han Li's gaze swept over the two, confirming they were fast asleep, then turned toward Wang Lin.

Wang Lin's eyes were open.

Those gray-white pupils glowed eerily in the darkness like two cold pieces of jade. He looked at Han Li, and Han Li looked at him. As their gazes met, the air seemed to freeze.

Wang Lin spoke, his voice very soft, light enough not to wake Xiao Yan or Shi Hao: "Where are you going?"

Han Li's expression did not change: "The latrine."

The corner of Wang Lin's mouth curled slightly, his voice still very soft: "The latrine is out the door and to the right; no need to climb out the window."

Han Li fell silent. Their window was to the right of the beds, and the door was to the left. The direction Han Li had moved was toward the window, not the door. With his lie exposed to his face, Han Li's expression remained blank. He looked at Wang Lin, offered no explanation, and did not bother to weave another lie; he simply withdrew his gaze.

He flipped out the window, his movements fluid as a night-prowling cat. Wang Lin watched Han Li's back disappear outside the window, the arc of his mouth slowly fading as he closed his eyes.

In the hills behind Shrek Academy, Han Li found a secluded hollow surrounded by mountains on three sides, with only a narrow entrance. The moonlight could not reach here, and the surroundings were pitch black.

He sat cross-legged, and the Heavenly Bottle drifted slowly from his sleeve, hovering three inches above his palm. A jade-green light ignited in the darkness like a cold, ghostly lamp.

Han Li closed his eyes and channeled his spiritual power into the Heavenly Bottle. The bottle vibrated slightly, emitting a low hum. The jade-green light grew brighter as the moonlight poured down from the sky, to be absorbed, transformed, and compressed by the Heavenly Bottle into a drop of jade-green liquid that slowly condensed at the bottle's mouth.

Creation Spirit Liquid—the most basic function of the Heavenly Bottle: absorbing the essence of the sun and moon to condense into spirit liquid, used to catalyze spiritual herbs.

Han Li took a seed from his robes—one he had picked up behind the academy during the day. It was an unknown plant seed, but it contained a faint trace of spiritual energy.

He placed the seed at the mouth of the Heavenly Bottle and dripped the drop of jade-green Creation Spirit Liquid onto it. The seed sprouted, grew, leafed, and blossomed at a speed visible to the naked eye. Within a few breaths, it had grown into a foot-tall herb, its jade-green leaves covered in fine veins and emitting a faint, refreshing fragrance.

Han Li carefully inspected the herb's properties. He smelled it, tasted it, and finally nodded slightly. Although it was not a spiritual herb from the Immortal World and its efficacy could not compare to the pills he had refined in the past, it was indeed effective for increasing the soul power of this world.

Most importantly, the fact that the Heavenly Bottle worked meant he could refine pills in this world, trade them for resources, and build his underground network. The first step: accelerating his own cultivation.

Han Li tucked the herb into his robes and put away the Heavenly Bottle. He looked up at the sky obscured by the mountains, a faint smile touching his lips, then stood up and vanished silently into the night.

In a cave in the back hills, Xiao Yan did not know how he had found this place. After fighting Ma Hongjun on the training grounds, his body had been tormented by the scorching pain of the Exotic Flame's backlash. He needed a quiet place to cultivate, heal, and grow stronger.

The cave was deep, its entrance hidden by vines, making it invisible from the outside. Inside, it was spacious, the air filled with the scent of damp earth and a faint fluctuation of fire-attribute soul power.

Xiao Yan sat cross-legged in the center of the cave, the Exotic Flame markings on his right arm emitting a faint cyan glow in the darkness. He closed his eyes, guiding his Xuanhuang Flame martial soul to devour the surrounding fire-attribute soul power.

The speed was slow—many times slower than his cultivation in the Great Thousand World—but it was effective. Every thread of fire-attribute soul power devoured and refined by the Exotic Flame was converted into his own Dou Qi. Though the quantity was small, the quality was improving.

An hour later, Xiao Yan opened his eyes. He raised his right arm, and a cyan flame ignited in his palm, brighter than it had been yesterday. Xiao Yan clenched his fist, crushing the flame. Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river—he would surely return to his peak.

In the forest behind the hills, Shi Hao could not sleep. It was not insomnia; he simply hadn't had his fill of fighting Dai Mubai. Dai Mubai was strong, and that white armor of his was as hard as a tortoise shell; his own hand had hurt after punching it.

But Dai Mubai had fallen too, even if he hadn't been beaten down, but rather smashed into a wall. Shi Hao couldn't help but laugh at the thought, though he knew Dai Mubai wasn't convinced, and neither was he.

Shi Hao jumped off his bed and climbed out the window, taking the same path as Han Li but heading in a different direction. He went to the forest in the back hills; since he couldn't sleep, he might as well find something to do—like fighting soul beasts.

Millennial soul beasts are highly territorial. The moment Shi Hao stepped into its domain, it was already awake. A massive black bear rose from the woods, standing over two zhang tall, its blood-red eyes gleaming with malice in the darkness.

Shi Hao grinned and charged in with his bare fists. The black bear roared and swiped down with a paw. Shi Hao did not dodge, meeting the blow with a punch. Fist met palm with a dull, booming thud.

Shi Hao retreated three steps, while the black bear stepped back one. Shi Hao's eyes lit up; there were few opponents who could force him back three steps. Exhilarating. He charged again, and the fight raged from midnight until dawn.

Shi Hao was covered in wounds. Five bruised fingerprints marred his chest where the bear had struck him, three deep bloody gashes ran down his arm from the bear's claws, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his knees were scraped raw. Yet, he stood in the rising sunlight and laughed heartily.

The black bear lay opposite him, panting heavily. Having taken hundreds of punches from Shi Hao, it could no longer stand. Shi Hao looked at the bear on the ground and remarked that it had been a thrill—far more satisfying than sleeping—before turning to walk away.

The bear watched his retreating back, a flicker of relief in its eyes, as if it had narrowly escaped death. That lunatic is finally gone.

Wang Lin did not go to the back mountain, did not seek out soul beasts, did not refine pills, and did not cultivate Exotic Flame. He did nothing at all. He sat on his bed, leaning against the wall, not even changing his posture from late night until dawn.

The Heavenly Inverse Bead rotated slowly between his brows. With every rotation, its grey-white light grew a fraction brighter. Wang Lin was sensing—sensing the threads of karma in this world, the connections between people, the weaving of fate, and the entanglement of past, present, and future.

The laws of karma in this world were different from those in the Immortal World; they were looser, more fragile, and far easier to interfere with. In Wang Lin's perception, those karmic threads resembled a massive web covering the entire world.

Every person was a node on the web, and every thread linked them to others, to the past, and to the future.

Wang Lin was searching—searching for the thickest, brightest karmic threads, those connected to the most important people, the most critical events, and the nodes of fate most likely to influence the trajectory of this world.

He found one. The karmic thread was shockingly thick. It extended from his position, passing through walls, corridors, and the entire dormitory building, connecting to another room.

Tang San.

The corners of Wang Lin's mouth curled slightly. There was more than one thick karmic thread on Tang San; there were many. One connected to a certain supreme power, like the favor of a deity.

Another connected to the aura of a woman, like a bond of blood and bone, and one final, most critical thread connected to a core of this world, as if fate itself were beckoning to him.

Interesting. Wang Lin opened his eyes. This Seat shall see who exactly is standing behind your floor tiles.

The Heavenly Inverse Bead faded into his brow, the grey-white light dissipated, and the dormitory returned to darkness. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to brighten.

Morning, the cafeteria.

The four of them appeared in the food line almost simultaneously.

Han Li held his bowl, faint dark circles under his eyes, but his expression remained as calm as ever.

Xiao Yan stood behind him, a faint, charred scent clinging to his body—the smell from cultivating in the cave all night hadn't fully dissipated.

Shi Hao stood behind Xiao Yan, covered in mud, with bruised fingerprints still visible on his chest, a foolish grin on his face.

Wang Lin stood at the very back, his white robes as pristine as snow, his long hair like ink, looking refreshed and vibrant—a stark contrast to the other three.

The four of them collected their food and found seats. Han Li sipped his porridge methodically, Xiao Yan shoveled rice into his mouth in large mouthfuls, Shi Hao grabbed a steamed bun and stuffed it into his face, and Wang Lin picked up a piece of vegetable with his chopsticks, his movements as elegant as if he were savoring a delicacy.

The four glanced at each other. No one spoke, a silent understanding passing between them as they focused on their own meals.

Tang San walked out from the crowd with a bowl of porridge. He saw the table where the four were sitting, hesitated, and then walked over.

A gentle smile hung on his face, and his voice was equally mild: "Good morning, everyone."

Four pairs of chopsticks paused at once. Four mouths opened in unison to utter the same syllable: "Scram."

One word, crisp and decisive, without a shred of wasted breath.

Tang San's smile froze on his face. He stood there holding his bowl, unable to advance or retreat.

Finally, he turned and walked away in silence, sitting down at the very corner of the cafeteria.

Xiao Wu sat down next to him with her bowl. Seeing that the porridge in Tang San's bowl was nearly cold, she said with concern: "Third Brother, your porridge is getting cold."

Tang San finally snapped out of his daze and took a sip of the porridge. It was cold, but there was still a hint of lingering warmth. Tang San drank it in small sips, saying nothing.

Xiao Wu looked at Tang San's profile, wanting to speak but holding back. She asked a question she seemed to have asked many times before: "Third Brother, are you really alright?"

Tang San still didn't speak, but he looked up at Xiao Wu and smiled.

Xiao Wu stared at that smile for a long time, then turned her head away, lowered her gaze to her own food, and stopped looking at him.

She was terrified that Tang San would start shouting in the cafeteria again, screaming "Resurrect, My Love"—how embarrassing that would be.