Hours slipped by like sand through impatient fingers, and Chen Mo’s mood soured.

  Not a single cultivator carried a spirit boat.

  Ridiculous.

  A spirit boat was freedom carved into wood and metal. It was distance conquered, danger escaped, horizons devoured. And yet here in the bustling heart of an immortal city, not one loose cultivator possessed such a treasure.

  Then again… five thousand spirit stones was no small sum. Most loose cultivators clawed their way through life coin by coin, pill by pill. Owning a vessel like that was a luxury reserved for the well-rooted.

  Perhaps I should check the prominent families… or the trade chambers.

  If they discovered the theft, so what? He would be gone. He had been overly cautious, tiptoeing like a cat on thin ice. Maybe it was time to sharpen his claws instead of trimming them.

  Just as he was about to leave, his steps halted.

  His spiritual sense rippled outward like a silent tide… and caught something.

  Something interesting.

  His lips curved.

  “What a coincidence,” he murmured inwardly. “Is the world tempting me again? Inviting me to commit murder and personally deliver myself to the sect’s wrath?”

  Two familiar auras.

  Li Yuxue. Sheng Xia.

  And a third—unknown—wearing the inner sect uniform.

  Chen Mo’s gaze turned distant, his perception locking onto them.

  “Well then… let’s see what our honored inner disciples are carrying.”

  His spiritual sense slipped toward their storage pouches with the precision of a surgeon.

  Li Yuxue.

  Fifty spirit stones. A few mundane items. Nothing of value.

  “A pauper,” he muttered inwardly.

  Sheng Xia.

  A few hundred spirit stones. Several jade slips. Jade boxes containing spiritual plants. Daily necessities. Respectable, but hardly impressive.

  The unknown male disciple fared no better.

  Chen Mo clicked his tongue.

  “Inner sect disciples… and this poor? What are they even doing at an auction house?”

  Still, disappointment did not mean disinterest.

  He extended his spiritual sense further, following them at a careful distance. Conversations were often more valuable than possessions. Information was a currency even the rich underestimated.

  He let their voices drift into his perception, silent as a shadow trailing under the noon sun.

  If nothing else… perhaps fate had decided to entertain him.

  “Junior Sister Li, what do you think?” Sheng Xia asked as the three of them stepped away from the Auction House, the crowd still buzzing like a disturbed hive behind them.

  Li Yuxue exhaled slowly. “Very expensive… My heart is still pounding just recalling those prices.”

  Luo Yan laughed lightly. “And this was only a small-scale auction. The grand one at the end of the year will even have Foundation Establishment materials.”

  Li Yuxue’s eyes widened.

  “Foundation Establishment…” she whispered, as if the words themselves carried weight.

  Luo Yan smiled. “It’s good to watch and learn. Maybe one day we’ll be among those wealthy families, bidding without blinking.”

  Sheng Xia gave a soft, rueful smile. “People think inner sect disciples are fortunate. They don’t know there are ten thousand of us. The competition is fiercer than outsiders can imagine. Only those with strong backing or family inheritance can truly compete.”

  Luo Yan’s expression sharpened. “That’s why we need to open other routes. Find other opportunities.”

  Sheng Xia glanced at him. “You mean…?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ve made up my mind. The clues are too consistent to ignore. I need to act soon. And I hope you’ll come with me. If we can obtain that inheritance… just imagine the possibilities.”

  Sheng Xia’s brows knit slightly. “You said it’s not even within this region. And it might be dangerous.”

  “Opportunities and danger walk the same road,” Luo Yan replied calmly. “I’ve already decided. I’m meeting Steward Mu later to arrange matters. I need your answer now. Are you in or out?”

  For a moment, silence hung between them.

  Sheng Xia hesitated. Then she nodded.

  “I’m in.”

  —

  Not far away, hidden within layers of restrained aura and f

  Shadows, Chen Mo listened.

  An inheritance.

  Outside the region.

  Arrangements with a steward.

  His lips curved slowly.

  “So… the world isn’t just tempting me to commit murder,” he mused inwardly. “It’s offering a guided tour.”

  Sometimes, spirit boats were bought.

  Sometimes, they were borrowed.

  And sometimes… fate delivered something far more valuable than a boat.

  Chen Mo quietly withdrew his attention from Li Yuxue.

  Third level of Qi Refining. Steady progress. Admirable, even.

  But no threat.

  The scales in his mind tipped and settled. He had once regarded her as a possible future variable. Now she was… background noise. A minor character drifting along her own small current.

  “I am a forgiving person,” he mused inwardly with faint amusement. “A benevolent soul.”

  He would allow her to live a few more years.

  His focus shifted.

  Luo Yan.

  Now there was weight.

  Chen Mo’s spiritual sense tightened, narrowing like a hunter’s gaze. He followed the subtle fluctuations of Luo Yan’s aura as the man eventually parted from the two women and headed toward the northernmost edge of the city.

  That direction…

  Interesting.

  The architecture grew broader and more fortified. Defensive formations pulsed faintly beneath stone streets. And there, stretching across a massive dockyard platform of carved jade stone, were the sect’s transport vessels.

  Spirit boats.

  Some sleek and narrow like blades meant for speed. Others broad and imposing, layered with formation engravings that shimmered faintly under the sun. They rested above the ground, hovering slightly, tethered by luminous arrays that anchored them in place.

  Merchants loaded crates. Cultivators boarded in groups. Disciples checked manifests.

  Orderly. Regulated. Watched.

  Chen Mo’s eyes darkened slightly.

  So this was where the arteries of the southern territory pulsed.

  He extended his perception carefully, brushing against the boats one by one. Formation signatures. Ownership imprints. Tracking marks. Defensive arrays layered like scales on a dragon’s hide.

  His earlier thought of stealing directly from the sect now seemed… na?ve.

  “These aren’t simple vessels,” he murmured inwardly. “Each one is practically a mobile formation core.”

  But Luo Yan had not come here idly.

  Chen Mo’s attention sharpened.

  If this inner sect disciple was arranging travel beyond the region for some inheritance…

  Then perhaps Chen Mo wouldn’t need to steal a boat at all.

  Perhaps he could simply board one.

  Silently.

  Luo Yan wasn’t stopped by the city’s law enforcement at all. With a flash of his inner sect token, the restrictive formations parted like obedient curtains, and he entered the dock area without delay.

  Chen Mo remained still several streets away, his spiritual sense stretched to its limit but steady. Fortunately, Luo Yan had not yet stepped beyond his range.

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  The inner disciple eventually entered a modest yet fortified office near the central dock platform.

  The plaque read: Steward Mu.

  Inside, two auras met.

  Ninth level of Qi Refining.

  Sharp. Controlled. Seasoned.

  Chen Mo’s perception thinned itself like silk and slipped through the cracks of the room’s formation, careful not to ripple.

  Steward Mu leaned back in his seat.

  “Friend Yan, long time no see. How is your father, Steward Shen? I’ve invited him many times to join law enforcement. He could easily lead a team here. Much better than that outer sect post.”

  Luo Yan smiled politely. “Father is a steady person. It’s been a long time since he gave up on Foundation Establishment. He prefers a peaceful life.”

  Mu gave a soft snort. “Unfortunate.” He sighed. “Foundation Establishment is a great hurdle. Even I am not confident.”

  A pause.

  Then his eyes narrowed slightly.

  “So… are you also a peace-loving man like your father?”

  Luo Yan’s smile shifted. Not polite now. Decisive.

  “Brother Mu, I agree to your terms. With Brother Mu accompanying us, I’ll feel much more confident.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes flickered.

  Terms.

  So there had been negotiations before.

  Mu’s expression brightened. “Good. Then when do we depart?”

  “The sooner the better,” Luo Yan replied. “That depends on Brother Mu’s arrangements.”

  Mu tapped the table once, thinking.

  “Three days. A large vessel departs in three days. Its route is compatible enough with what you described.”

  Three days.

  Large vessel.

  Compatible route.

  Chen Mo’s thoughts aligned like pieces of a formation clicking into place.

  So Luo Yan planned to travel beyond the region. Not alone. Not recklessly. With a law enforcement leader at ninth level Qi Refining as escort.

  An inheritance outside this region

  And transport already arranged.

  Chen Mo’s lips curved slightly in the quiet hotel room.

  Chen Mo sat in stillness, fingers lightly tapping the wooden table.

  He needed to board that vessel.

  Not wanted.

  Needed.

  Forging an identity was the obvious path… and completely impractical.

  Sect identity tokens recorded aura signatures with precision. They were not crude badges one could replicate with clever carving. They were living imprints. Forging one required mastery far beyond him. And seeking help? Impossible. Time was short, and trust was a currency he did not spend.

  No.

  There was only one road left.

  Sneak in.

  Dangerous.

  Feasible.

  Over the past few days, he had pushed the Turtle Breath Technique to the first layer. Not profound yet, but it allowed his aura to sink into stillness, faint as dust on an old shelf. Combined with his Spatial Dominion Art, it was enough to attempt something bold.

  His Qi Refining had also advanced, crossing the hundred-point threshold. A small milestone, but a solid one. His techniques were all progressing steadily, roots deepening little by little.

  All except the Primordial Body Art.

  That one demanded brutality. Rank 1 beasts. Fresh energy. Blood and bone refinement. Without a steady hunting ground, it remained stagnant.

  But that could wait.

  Right now, the plan crystallized in his mind.

  Three days.

  On the second night, when vigilance dulled and routines became predictable, he would approach the docks under the cover of darkness. Using his spatial abilities, he would bypass the outer formations without triggering fluctuations. Slow. Precise. Layer by layer.

  Then he would slip onto the designated vessel the same way.

  Once inside, he would find a blind spot. Cargo hold. Storage compartment. Maintenance cavity. Somewhere quiet.

  Hide.

  Travel.

  Disembark beyond the region.

  Chen Mo leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded.

  A large vessel. A law enforcement leader on board. Multiple sect disciples.

  If discovered, consequences would be severe.

  But opportunity and danger walked together.

  And he had already chosen his direction.

  Time thinned.

  Tomorrow, the designated vessel would depart for Cloud Root City, a colossal cultivation hub two months away from the sect gates. A city overseen by two Golden Core masters, its skyline ruled not by flags, but by pressure. Power there was not whispered. It was carved into the air itself.

  For Chen Mo, the distance brought relief.

  The farther from the sect gates, the lighter the sky seemed.

  That night, he approached the docks.

  Turtle Breath Technique circulating quietly, his aura sank until it felt less like a presence and more like an absence. His spiritual sense spread wide, not aggressive, but enveloping, blending into the background fluctuations of the city.

  He located the outer formation encasing the dock district. Layered. Interlocking. Defensive and alert-based.

  Complex for most.

  An inconvenience for him.

  With a single thought, space folded.

  His figure vanished from the shadows of an alley and reappeared inside the restricted zone.

  The docks were far from silent. Lanterns burned. Servants hauled crates. Law enforcement cultivators patrolled lazily in pairs. Merchants argued over manifests. The air carried the scent of spirit wood, oil, and faint medicinal fragrance.

  Relaxed.

  No one here imagined someone would dare infiltrate.

  The formations were not ornamental.

  But to Chen Mo, they were scenery.

  He moved like displaced air itself, slipping between people, brushing past sleeves and armor without disturbance. Every step calculated. Every breath buried.

  Then he saw it.

  The vessel.

  It loomed over the dock like a floating fortress.

  Broad-bodied and multi-tiered, its hull was crafted from dark spiritwood reinforced with engraved metal ribs that shimmered faintly with formation light. Defensive arrays were etched across its surface in intricate geometric patterns, pulsing softly like veins beneath skin.

  The lower hull was thick and reinforced, clearly designed for cargo transport. Heavy crates were being loaded through wide side apertures sealed by shimmering barriers. Above, balconies and enclosed chambers indicated passenger quarters. Further up, a command deck crowned the structure, layered with navigation arrays and wind-manipulation formations to stabilize long-distance travel.

  It was not elegant.

  It was powerful.

  A beast built for endurance.

  Chen Mo extended his spiritual sense and carefully probed the vessel. Formation nodes. Guard rotations. Internal layout. He avoided the command deck entirely, where stronger fluctuations gathered.

  Satisfied, he locked onto the lowest level.

  Space folded again.

  He vanished from the dockside shadow and appeared within the vessel’s underbelly.

  The lowest deck was lined with storage rooms stacked with goods. Crates of medicinal herbs. Bundles of spirit grain. Sealed chests reinforced with minor restriction talismans. The air was dense with mixed spiritual residue.

  Dim lantern stones glowed faintly along the corridor.

  Chen Mo stood still, listening.

  Footsteps above.

  Muffled voices.

  No alarms.

  He had entered the belly of the beast.

  Now he only needed to remain unseen until it took flight.