"The immortal opportunity is too small—can't be bothered?"
Lu Fan's words rendered Lu Changkong speechless. Someone would actually scorn even a sliver of immortal fate? One should be grateful to have any at all!
"Nie Changqing and Ning Zhao are enough?" Lu Changkong frowned, pressing for confirmation.
"They are," Lu Fan replied with a faint smile.
Lu Changkong said no more. He was never one to coerce others. Besides, he understood that Lu Fan harbored secrets far from ordinary. To possess the strength to contend with the disciples of the Hundred Schools—such power might indeed render this immortal fate beneath his notice. According to his spies, none of the direct disciples from the Hundred Schools had appeared at Wolong Ridge.
"Very well. As long as you have made your decision. Still, this immortal event is taking place within the jurisdiction of North Luo City. As your father, I must remain to guard the city, in case unforeseen circumstances implicate us."
Lu Fan nodded slightly.
"Father, when you have time, you should visit Heartlake Isle more often. That place is no less valuable than most immortal realms," Lu Fan gently reminded.
It was on Heartlake Isle that Lu Changkong had broken through to the second tier of the Qi Core realm. His cultivation talent had exceeded even Lu Fan's expectations. In Lu Fan's view, spending more time in practice would only be beneficial.
"Understood. When this is over, I'll reside on Heartlake Isle permanently. Those chrysanthemums... are rather pleasing to the eye," Lu Changkong said, the austere lines of his face softening into a rare smile.
As a descendant of the peasant lineage within the Hundred Schools, Lu Changkong held a deep affection for unique flora.
He departed—armored and armed, leaving the small courtyard for the city walls.
Wolong Ridge lay a hundred miles outside North Luo City. Should conflict erupt, the city could easily be drawn into the chaos. Some governors might even use the immortal opportunity as a pretext to assault the city. Lu Changkong had to preside over the defenses personally, to deter any reckless ambition.
Lu Manor Dungeon
The floor was damp and filthy, the air thick with the stench of blood.
This was Lu Fan's second visit to the dungeon.
During his first, a single utterance had sealed the fates of many Confucian scholars, and the blood staining the walls had taken an entire day and night to cleanse.
Now, however, Lu Fan bore little killing intent.
Mo Liuqi had awakened.
He was strapped tightly to a cross, his body bound so securely that not even a twitch was possible.
"I'm... not dead?" Mo Liuqi's eyes fluttered open, pain stabbing through him—a lingering aftermath of the crushing spiritual pressure that had nearly torn his muscles apart.
The door creaked open.
The wooden wheels scraped across the damp floor, echoing in the silence.
Blinding sunlight poured in, making Mo Liuqi's eyes water. He shut them tightly and only reopened them when the glare had softened, finally seeing the figure who had arrived.
Before him stood a young man, his lips red, teeth white, clad in snow-white robes. Long strands of hair framed a face like polished jade—refined and elegant.
By his side stood a seductive maid with a fox-like allure, her figure swaying with every step, and a small girl carrying a chessboard, glaring at Mo Liuqi with fierce indignation.
Iron-armored guards stood all around, their oppressive aura saturating the air.
Lu Manor Dungeon...
Mo Liuqi recognized it.
The scent of this place was all too familiar.
"The Mo Clan sent you to assassinate me?"
The wheelchair halted three steps away from him. The red-lipped, white-toothed youth toyed idly with his slender fingers and spoke calmly.
"Kill me or flay me—do as you will," Mo Liuqi murmured, his eyes dim, head bowed.
Ah Zhu... I'm going to die.
A heaviness pressed against Mo Liuqi's chest. There was no regret, just a hollow disappointment. He feared he might never see the one who had assigned him his mission again.
"You're not a qualified assassin," Lu Fan said, resting his cheek on his hand as a bejeweled hairpin materialized between his fingers. "An assassin shouldn't harbor such strong emotions."
Mo Liuqi's head jerked up, his eyes locking onto the hairpin.
"So give it up. Come with me instead," Lu Fan said.
Mo Liuqi froze. He had not expected Lu Fan to spare his life—let alone attempt to recruit him.
"By all rights, your attempt on my life within the domain of White Jade Capital warrants death," Lu Fan continued. "But I am a generous man. Thus, I offer you a choice—a chance to live, and a chance to see your beloved again."
He raised his hand. The hairpin levitated, gliding toward Mo Liuqi until it hovered mere millimeters from his eye.
"You have the ability to control objects with your will. A rare talent. So I will give you a single day. If you can reach the third tier of the Qi Core realm in that time, you may live—and I'll grant you the opportunity to bid farewell to Ah Zhu."
"And if I fail?" Cold sweat beaded on Mo Liuqi's forehead.
This youth's powers were unfathomable—his earlier spiritual suppression had been more terrifying than the righteous aura of a Confucian grandmaster. And now, this effortless control over objects...
"If you fail..." Lu Fan cast him a glance.
"Then you die."
"Oh, but don't worry. Even in death, I'll see to it that Ah Zhu gets to see you one last time... your severed head, that is."
Lu Fan smiled brilliantly.
A chill crept through Mo Liuqi's limbs.
Beside them, Ni Yu glanced at her young master and pursed her lips. Your scare tactics are terrible, Young Master...
Mo Liuqi closed his eyes, imagining the look on Ah Zhu's face as she beheld his bloodied head. He let out a bitter laugh.
Perhaps... she wouldn't feel a thing.
But still...
"I accept."
Lu Fan gave a serene smile. "Good."
The hairpin gently nestled itself into Mo Liuqi's hair.
His bindings snapped apart of their own accord, and he collapsed to the ground.
"Jing Yue. Bring him to the island," Lu Fan said as the wheelchair turned of its own volition.
Jing Yue, carrying a pearwood sword case on his back, grinned as he hoisted Mo Liuqi effortlessly.
Heartlake Isle
The ferry arrived.
Yi Yue wheeled Lu Fan off the boat.
Ni Yu, pale and groaning, stumbled after them, her legs weak from seasickness.
Mo Liuqi lowered his head, trailing behind, with Jing Yue watching over him.
From the distance came a sound that tore through the air.
Nie Changqing and Ning Zhao descended suddenly.
"Young Master." The two bowed deeply.
Lu Fan waved dismissively. "I am quite disappointed in you both. An entire night, and you've barely managed to condense a strand of spiritual energy?"
Nie Changqing had broken through to the second tier, Ning Zhao to the third—yet Lu Fan was far from satisfied.
After all, Heartlake Isle now brimmed with spiritual energy in the tens of thousands of strands. Ten blooming Skyward Chrysanthemums gently moderated the energy, creating an ideal environment for cultivation—perhaps the most optimal in all of the Five Phoenix Continent.
Even so, their progress was sluggish.
Ning Zhao bit her lip and bowed her head in shame.
Nie Changqing, too, looked remorseful.
"You have one more day. When the time is up, we head for Wolong Ridge," Lu Fan said flatly, his tone unreadable.
"Understood!"
The two departed at once to resume their cultivation.
"Jing Yue, watch him. He may roam the island, but if he tries to leave—kill him," Lu Fan instructed as his wheelchair rolled forward.
Jing Yue snapped to attention. "Consider it done, Young Master!"
He turned and glared at Mo Liuqi.
"Yi Yue."
Lu Fan spoke suddenly.
Yi Yue, who had been pushing the wheelchair, paused and looked at him.
"You once asked me for an immortal opportunity. I did not grant it then. But now, I see your blood is surging—you've nearly reached the level of a first-rate martial artist. Thus, I will give you a chance."
Yi Yue's fox-like face lit up with joy. She dropped to her knees, trembling with emotion.
"You will train on the island alongside Mo Liuqi. If you can sense the flow of Qi and step into the Qi Core realm, I shall teach you true immortal arts," Lu Fan said.
Yi Yue prostrated herself, giving thanks with tears in her eyes.
Lu Fan said nothing more.
Yi Yue was different from Ning Zhao and Ni Yu.
She bore a monstrous hatred in her heart.
Back when Lu Changkong had rescued the three girls from a pile of corpses among the refugee dead, Yi Yue had stood out.
Her hand had gripped a bloodstained dagger—her eyes blazing with vengeance.
Lu Fan knew her story.
She hailed from a renowned scholarly clan in the Western Commandery.
They had dared oppose the Mo Clan's interference—and were slaughtered for it.