The market bustled as usual. Merchants called out their wares. Cultivators roamed in packs, laughing, bickering, boasting.
No one noticed the figure wrapped in black, strolling leisurely through the northern quarter.
He passed guards. He passed elders. He passed Julian, who didn't even glance his way.
Adrian smiled faintly beneath his veil of altered presence.
It works.
The Whispering Veil didn't just conceal—it lied. And people, as always, believed what they were told.
He moved through the crowd like a phantom.
Then he reached the destination: a tea shop.
From the outside, it seemed normal. But Adrian knew this place. His mother's favorite.
He stepped inside, the door bell chiming softly.
And there—behind the counter—stood an old man with tired eyes and a gaze sharp enough to see through most lies.
"Adrian Thorne," the man said quietly. "Didn't think I'd see you again so soon."
Adrian's expression remained calm. "I need information, Uncle Wei. And I need it fast."
