Chapter 29

Master Mo’s expression was blank, his eyes half-lidded, one hand firmly pressed on Han Li’s wrist.

All his attention was focused on the strength of Han Li’s true qi; he remained silent for a long while.

After a cup of tea passed, he let out a deep breath, as if expelling all his frustration, then suddenly opened his eyes—a flash of sharp light shot from his cloudy gaze, making it unbearable to meet his stare.

His face darkened; clearly, he was displeased with Han Li, yet no rebuke escaped his lips.

He coldly waved his hand, signaling Han Li to follow him.

Han Li obediently trailed behind him; though intrigued by the mysterious figure beside him, he knew this was not the time to ask random questions.

After entering the room, Master Mo sank wearily into a high-backed armchair, his back pressed firmly against the cushion, half-sitting, half-reclining. The sharp light in his eyes had faded, returning him to the appearance of a long-ill man.

The mysterious figure followed him closely, never leaving his side; after he sat, the man stood rigidly behind the chair, motionless.

Han Li knew Master Mo was in a foul mood and dared not speak first to provoke him; instead, he imitated the mysterious figure, walking to the center of the room, bowing his head toward Master Mo, wisely staying still and waiting for the other to speak.

Long minutes passed without a word; Han Li grew uneasy and couldn’t hold back—he quietly tried to lift his head and steal a glance at Master Mo.

“If you want to look, just look. Why sneak around?” Master Mo’s cold, sharp voice cut through the air as Han Li had barely raised his neck.

Han Li stiffened, then obediently lifted his head, letting his gaze sweep across Master Mo’s face a few times before quickly withdrawing it.

His face showed no change, but inside, his heart churned like a storm-tossed sea.

How had Master Mo’s face become so grotesque? His ashen complexion was now faintly veiled in a thin layer of black mist—black mist that seemed alive, sprouting countless tiny tendrils that writhed and clawed across his face. Even more chilling was that Master Mo had abandoned his usual rigid expression; now he wore a cruel, resolute look, fixing Han Li with a hostile gaze, a faint sneer curling at his lips.

Han Li sensed something was wrong; unease curled around his heart, and a thread of danger began to spread through the room.

He stepped back half a pace, alert and cautious, slipping his hand into his sleeve to grip the iron tube hidden there—only then did his tense nerves ease slightly. Suddenly, Master Mo’s low, mocking voice reached his ear.

“Do you think such petty tricks are worth showing off?”

Master Mo moved—strangely shifting from half-reclining to standing, he gave a sinister chuckle, then blurred forward like a ghost, appearing beside Han Li, staring at him with a cold, mocking “hehe.”

Han Li’s face paled—he knew something was wrong and tried to raise his arm, but his body went numb, frozen in place.

Only then did he notice: the man’s fingers had just withdrawn from a point on his chest.

Too fast—he hadn’t sensed a single movement.

“Master Mo, what are you doing? If I’ve done something wrong, just say so—why immobilize me with a pressure point?” Han Li could no longer maintain his usual composure; he forced a smile as he spoke.

Master Mo said nothing, only pounded his back a few times and coughed lightly, appearing frail and ancient, barely able to stand.

But Han Li had just seen how swiftly Master Mo subdued him—he dared not believe this was an ordinary sick old man; instead, this performance only deepened his wariness.

“Master Mo, you are of high station—why bother with a mere disciple? Unseal my pressure point. Whatever punishment you wish, I’ll accept it without protest.”

…

Han Li uttered several more flattering, humble words.

But Master Mo ignored him entirely, reaching into his sleeve to retrieve the iron tube, holding it in his hand, and watching Han Li’s performance with mocking disdain.

Seeing this, Han Li’s heart sank to its deepest depths; his hope of swaying the man with words vanished completely.

The man showed no sign of giving him even the slightest opening.

Han Li slowly fell silent, his face growing calm, meeting Master Mo’s gaze with a cold, emotionless stare.

In that instant, everything in the room seemed to freeze—utterly silent, as still as the calm before a storm.

“Good! Good! Good!” Master Mo suddenly spoke three “good” words in rapid succession.

“No wonder I, Mo Juren, chose you. Even now, facing peril, you remain unmoved—your composure proves I didn’t waste my investment in you.” He praised Han Li outright.

“What exactly do you intend to do with me?” Han Li ignored Master Mo’s praise and asked directly.

“Heh. What to do with you?” Master Mo repeated Han Li’s question without answering.

“What I do with you depends entirely on how you behave.”

“What do you mean?” Han Li frowned, sensing part of the man’s plan.

“I won’t explain. With your wit, you should already grasp some of it.”

“I can guess only a small part—I still don’t understand the full picture, the cause and effect.” Han Li didn’t deny it; he admitted frankly.

“Good. That’s the right attitude. If you have questions, ask me directly—don’t keep them bottled up inside.” Master Mo smiled slyly; the black mist on his face thickened further, making his features even more monstrous.

“I know you’ve always distrusted me—you never truly saw me as your Master. But that’s fine. I never truly saw you as my disciple.” Master Mo gave a light snort.

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