Chapter 175

After clearly seeing the faces of these two, Han Li sighed inwardly—they were the two disciples who, like him, had only reached the eleventh level of cultivation. One had an aged face but eyes glinting with cunning, the other was simple-minded, clearly a greenhorn with no worldly experience.

Such a strange pair approaching him surprised Han Li somewhat. But after a moment's thought, he vaguely guessed their intent.

"Senior brothers, what do you want?" Han Li asked politely but coldly, his tone unmistakably distant, trying to discourage them.

Clearly, this Senior Xiang had thicker skin than Han Li imagined. Not only did he ignore Han Li's coldness, he cheerfully launched into familiar chatter:

"Hehe, Senior Han, do you have any good plans for tomorrow's journey into the forbidden zone? We three are the weakest in magic power—we're likely to be the first to get wiped out in a clash with other sects! Why not discuss a strategy together?"

Hearing this, Han Li blinked a few times without speaking, but now he was certain of their purpose—he had guessed their intent almost perfectly.

It seemed this old schemer planned to gather other low-level disciples to act and fight together, making things safer and increasing their chances of survival.

But Han Li knew well: such an alliance had both advantages and drawbacks.

With everyone clustered together, the area they could search shrank drastically, making the discovery of spiritual herbs painfully rare. Even if they found some, who would ultimately own them? Hard to say—most likely, ownership would still be decided by strength.

Han Li had zero interest in such an alliance—he'd gain nothing, and was far more likely to be used as cannon fodder.

As for this old schemer, he certainly had no good intentions—he was clearly planning to fish in troubled waters, hoping to profit from the chaos.

Seeing Han Li remain silent after his speech, the old man grew anxious and couldn't hold back:

"I have an idea—would you like to hear it? It'll ensure everyone's safety through this journey!"

The old man put on an air of profound mystery, his face full of secrecy, his forehead wrinkles bunching together—Han Li found it both infuriating and amusing.

Beside him, the yellow-haired youth clearly admired this old schemer deeply; though silent, he constantly wore an expression of unquestioning deference.

Since he had no intention of joining their alliance, Han Li refused outright:

"Sorry, I never travel with others, and I have no plans to now. If you want to form a partnership, find another senior brother."

Han Li spoke plainly and thoroughly.

He knew only by showing he wasn't some naive novice could he make the other give up completely and stop pestering him. Otherwise, with so few fellow disciples here, if Senior Xiang sensed even the slightest chance, he'd relentlessly pursue his target. Han Li had no desire to be tormented by him endlessly.

After hearing this, the old Xiang realized he'd picked the wrong target. This youth looked young, but spoke with seasoned precision—he was clearly a hardened veteran. He said no more, gave a faintly disgruntled farewell, and left.

The direction they headed was toward another disciple seated on a rock.

Han Li smiled faintly, turned back, and resumed observing the other disciples worth noting. But this time, he saw "Sister Chen" standing with another plain-looking woman, while a few self-proclaimed young elites lingered nearby, watching them.

Han Li's lips twitched. For some reason, he found those men utterly unpleasant. Finally, he decided ignorance was bliss—he found a quiet spot, closed his eyes, and rested.

By the next morning, all disciples gathered again atop the mountain, lined up in order, waiting for the arrival of other immortal sects.

They waited for hours, yet not a single figure appeared. Han Li cursed inwardly, nearly convinced the other sects were deliberately delaying to exhaust the Huang Feng Valley disciples' strength.

Worse still, Han Li was troubled by an odd coincidence: during the lineup, "Sister Chen" stood directly to his right. Her familiar feminine scent drifted into his nose now and then, stirring unwelcome thoughts—he felt as if he'd returned to that intensely sensual night.

To hide his discomfort, he reluctantly lowered his head, feigning nervousness, yet scolded himself inwardly: it was just a pretty woman—how could she make him lose composure like this?

Still, Han Li admired the elder Li at the front—he maintained his gaze toward the sky without moving a muscle for so long. Was he wandering in the heavens, or lost in deep thought?

Suddenly, Han Li felt a stir among the crowd—something was happening!

He couldn't help but lift his head.

All the disciples around him tilted their necks toward one side of the horizon; Han Li followed their gaze.

In the blue sky, several starlike lights flickered, growing larger. Moments later, a string of dark dots appeared.

Beneath the dark dots, silver light shimmered—as if the dots rode upon these starry beams, descending from beyond the heavens.

Seeing this marvel, the crowd grew even more agitated.

"Quiet! What kind of behavior is this? These are the Qingxu Sect's flying artifact—the Snow Rainbow Silk! Don't make a spectacle and disgrace Huang Feng Valley!" A short, stout middle-aged overseer turned and rebuked sharply.

His words worked—the commotion immediately died down, though occasional murmurs still lingered.

Now the dark dots were clear: they were cultivators clad in gray Daoist robes. Most were true Daoist priests, holding fly whisks and wearing topknots. But a few wore only Daoist robes—their other attire was entirely secular, clearly lay disciples.

Han Li and the others saw clearly: beneath their feet was a flawless white rainbow, sparkling with silver dots, dazzlingly bright—no one knew what gems were embedded in it.

As Han Li studied it closely, the white rainbow descended, carrying the Qingxu Sect disciples to the mountain, landing directly opposite Huang Feng Valley's group.

The lead Daoist gently waved his hand—and with a flash of white light, the rainbow vanished, replaced in his palm by a silk-like object.

"I didn't expect it to be Master Li leading this time. This humble Daoist Fuyunzi greets you!" The Daoist stepped forward with a warm smile, his tone suggesting familiarity.

"Hmph! If you, ox-nose, can come, can't I?" Master Li crossed his arms, bluntly retorting.

"Hehe, in our respective sects, you and I were the last to reach Core Formation. Who else is left to do the errands?" The Daoist waved his fly whisk carelessly, his smile unchanged.

"You ox-nose is full of tricks—you tricked me last time. Don't even think of pulling the same stunt again!"

"Master Li, what are you saying? A bet is a bet—what's this talk of trickery?" The Daoist laughed it off.

Master Li's eyes flashed with cold light—he seemed ready to rage—but then remembered something, his anger subsided, and he muttered bitterly:

"My iron essence—forged into your Qingjun Sword, boosting its power a bit more, right? I spent over a decade refining just that one piece—and now it's all yours, ox-nose!"

His words dripped with resentment—he clearly still ached over the loss of the iron essence.

"Ha! So the famed Master Li actually cares about a mere scrap of iron essence? Very well—I've brought something even better this time. If we win this wager, it'll more than make up for your loss last time." The Daoist stroked his beard, smiling pleasantly.

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