The moment Zhuo Yi-Fan's boot touched the pagoda gate's first step, the air itself seemed to still. The raucous energy of the procession, the paper plane incident, the candy throwing spree..... All was now a distant memory, swallowed by the Lin Clan's looming shadow.

  Then—

  *"BENEFACTOR!"*

  A horse-cart careened into the courtyard. Atop it stood the paper-airplane boy, chest inflated as he continued his declaration:

  "Esteemed Benefactor! On this most fortuitous day of your birth, this humble mortal dares to offer words of reverence and goodwill! Though my lifespan is but a fleeting whisper compared to your eternal journey, I pray the—"

  *Thwip.*

  A pill struck the driver between his two fingers.

  "Take this," Zhuo called. "Empowers muscles. Hypothetically improves the eardrums and hence will help with the hearing you just loss."

  The driver scrambled away before the boy continued undeterred:

  "—Nine Heavens bless you with boundless wisdom, unshakable Dao resolve, and breakthroughs that shake the very foundations—""

  "This humble one is Tang Sanzi," interjected a voice like grinding stones. The Heaven Fleeting Demons Sect disciple stepped forward, his sky-blue robes barely stirring. "Peak Foundation Establishment. I funded this... performance." His eyelid twitched. "He practiced the entire ride."

  ".........May the Thunder God make your path be free of tribulations, May your spirit shine brighter than celestial jade, and your legend inspire generations yet unborn. I am honored to witness even a sliver of your radiance. Happy birthday, Venerated One—may your ascension be swift and your glory everlasting."

  The boy had continued to give his speech, determined to not break it. He started it on the moving cart, proceeded to landing on the ground and catching his luggage, and ended when the driver got his tip and ran off, all in a smooth talking flow.

  Zhuo Yi-Fan turned to his nearest guard, unbothered by their supposed inferior status when compared to a Young master, "Say what? If I give him a few more Spirit Stones, won't I directly become God?"

  The guard snorted out a chuckle. The others relayed the joke to their neighbours one by one.

  Lin Qi-Fan, woken up by the speech and out of daze said, "They are like school children, whispering a joke across the classroom without letting the teacher know."

  Zhuo Yi-Fan playfully retorted, "Of course you were in majority control during these things. During the examinations I alone had to use all my mental power to make sure we didn't lose a mark."

  Yi-Fan held up a hand. "Enough."

  "That's the end of the speech sir!"

  *Silence.*

  Zhuo Yi-Fan deflected, "That speech is too much for a man who is around the same age as you..... in fact, you may be a few months older! Call me benefactor again in those halls, and all the other Young masters will set you as their target. Also....... My birthday is in tomorrow's eve!"

  Before the boy could say anything in reply, he continued walking across the gate and down the pavement towards the pagoda; resuming his conversation with Tang Sanzi- "Peak Foundation at twenty? Your Sect's wasting talent!"

  Tang Sanzi's lips curved into slight disappoint and partial laughing at the same time, "This humble one is actually still only fifteen! My sixteenth birthday isn't until next month. Do I look THAT old?!"

  The courtyard went preternaturally still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

  Zhuo Yi-Fan's fingers twitched—just once—against his thigh. *Fifteen?* Peak Foundation Establishment. His mind raced through: The implications coiled in his gut like ice. This was the first time he'd encountered a junior who could look him in the eye in terms of cultivation without craning his neck.

  Lin Qi-Fan's whistle echoed in their shared mind. "Well, That's terrifying!"

  Zhuo Yi-Fan talked back- "Still not as terrifying as most of your uncles and father going after your head!"

  Yi-Fan forced his voice into casual curiosity. "Your sect must be formidable to cultivate such talent. Odd that I've never seen or heard of that sigil."

  Tang Sanzi's sleeve fluttered as he gestured eastward. "The Heaven Fleeting Demons Sect was born in the far eastern islands—founded to resist the Zhou Dynasty's conquest of Gojoseon and the Eastern Islands. When the war ended with the latters acceptance of Zhou Dynasty as their overlord, the sect... diversified into the Empire itself. It is now one of the only few Superior grade sects in the Eastern and Southern Continents." A shrug. "Though I am a Zhou Dynasty citizen, I'm from an insignificant branch of the Tang bloodline of Gojoseon. Barely worth mentioning."

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  Lin Qi-Fan snorted inside- "*Liar.*" The way he said "Tang" carried the weight of old money and older grudges—most probably marginalized for his low bloodline.

  "Now we're sent on our *Journey to the West and South*," Tang continued, eyes glinting. "All inner disciples walk separate paths until we regroup at the capital. I chose this one as it made it reunite with my father. A test of—"

  *BOOM.*

  The boy's luggage exploded mid-air as a guard carried it toward the pagoda. Several sharp metallic fragments spread out from it, lunging themselves at the nearby men.

  *Chaos.*

  -Two guards lunged to contain the blast with qi barriers, their boots skidding against stone.

  -Yi-Fan's hand snapped up, creating several qi stream-like fingers, covering and catching a hail of razor-sharp writing implements mid-flight—each tip glistening with dark.

  -A third guard collapsed, his forearm peppered with blackened metal fragments.

  As the smoke cleared, the remaining guards formed a bristling circle around Tang Sanzi, the boy, and the long-gone driver's now-burning cart.

  Zhuo Yi-Fan saw the guard critically injured. His hands and chest pelted with tiny finger-nail sized fragments. He tore off his chestplate and took out a pen of his own and slowly removed each one of it.

  Zhuo Yi-Fan orders- "Condense a foundation layer!". A circular plane, riddles with concentric-circles—array-like patterns appeared while arrays looked suspenseful, usually pulsing with Qi, these seemed quite passive—passive but sturdy.

  The boy wondered out aloud- "Are these too meridians?"

  Zhuo Yi-Fan answers while "No no no! They are foundation layers, solidified cultivation! They are built out on top of meridians, hence they usually map them out.

  Once a Qi Refiner stops...... refining qi, his cultivation degrades and drops down to lower levels. But these condensed—even solidified foundation layers do not degrade a bit! At most, all their energy is sucked out of them, yet these empty husks of foundation layers never disappear!"

  Zhuo Yi-Fan took control of the foundation layer. He moved—vibrated it for a few seconds by pinching it with his hand using all his strength and it turned a little flimsy-flexible. He pushed it with his palm into the chest of the fallen guard, all his tiny, numerous wounds clogged up with the foundation layer which filled the gaps of missing flesh, like warm plastic pushed on to seal a mini-figure. The foundation layer stopped the blood from leaking out.

  The guard stood right up, eating a modern painkiller medicine. Earlier he was Peak Foundation Establishment, now temporarily dropped down to 8th layer. This was Zhuo Yi-Fan's special foundation condensing technique! With it, one can bring out parts of his foundation establishment cultivation itself, and also reabsorb it again, or......... Theoretically reabsorb someone else's.

  Yi-Fan dusted a pen fragment from his shoulder. "Well", he said, voice dripping with false cheer. "Shall we guess who tried to kill us? The driver who fled? Our aspiring poet?" His gaze settled on Tang Sanzi. "Or the visiting disciple from a sect none of us here ever heard of?"

  The boy whimpered. Tang Sanzi merely smiled.

  As the second-in-command—a newly ascended 2nd stage Golden Core expert—vanished in pursuit of the fleeing driver, Zhuo Yi-Fan’s mind replayed the moment the pill had been caught.

  *Two fingers. A cultivator’s reflex.*

  When he had tossed the muscle-enhancing pill earlier, the driver had snatched it from the air with precision—thumb and forefinger meeting in a flawless pinch, the kind honed by years of martial discipline, not the clumsy grasp of a panicked mortal. At the time, Zhuo had dismissed it as luck. Now, with the luggage explosion still ringing in his ears, the truth was obvious.

  He wasn’t just a driver. He was the one who planted the array."

  Zhuo’s lips curled. The man had played his part well—the trembling hands, the wide-eyed terror. But reflexes couldn’t lie. That catch had been instinctive, the mark of someone trained in qi-sensitive movements.

  Lin Qi-Fan’s voice cut through his thoughts. "You noticed it too, huh?"

  "Too late," Zhuo admitted inwardly. "But not too late for reparations."

  Aloud, he turned to the remaining guards. "Make sure the second-in-command knows—alive is preferable. I have questions." The junior guard, the same one from earlier in the candy spree sends out a token after frantically writing a message.

  Then, as if the assassination attempt were merely a minor inconvenience, he refocused on the boy.

  The boy was still babbling about his experimental talisman brushes when Zhuo cut him off.

  "Enough. Servants—replace his materials." He shot the trembling youth a look. "Next time, announce your scientific endeavors *before* they explode.

  This man right here tried to spiritually replicate a human hand's meridians into paper, earlier in the procession, the explosion was just because of the folds. He's trying to create prosthetics, not explosives!"

  The boy nodded so vigorously his hair whipped into his eyes.

  Then came the real question. "Who arranged your carriage?"

  "The Azure Wheel Cart Company!" the boy blurted. "But—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "This specific cart was provided by... Senior Tang, I just pleaded to hop along in it."

  Every guard’s hand went to their weapon. Tang Sanzi, still standing with that infuriating neutrality, didn’t even blink.

  Yi-Fan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "How inconvenient."

  Lin Qi-Fan corrected- "Though all these may sound like incredible coincidences, and actually are, I think the Tang boy's innocent!

  I overheard him talking to his father. He owns the Chamber of Commerce in the neighbouring mortal town if I remember correctly. He did not even know you, he couldn't be an assassin."

  "Well, though most probably he really IS innocent, but if he managed to pull off a genius move by acting dumb there—where there was no chance of anyone below Golden Core realm with their divine sense overbearing him, I would still let him a sliver longer as respect!"

  They reach the stairs of the first floor, with the rest of the pagoda looking like a sentient labyrinth or a beating dungeon.

  But just the, the steward emerged from the pagoda’s shadowed archway, his crimson robes whispering against the polished floor. In his hands, a jade cup glistened with aged wine, its surface so flawless it reflected Zhuo Yi-Fan’s face like a distorted mirror.

  "Ninth Young Master," the steward intoned, bowing just a hair too shallow. "A token of the household’s… esteem."

  Yi-Fan’s eyes flicked to the cup. The steward’s grip was wrong—thumb and index pinching the rim, middle finger braced beneath the base. A ceremonial hold, yes, but one that kept the heel of his palm conspicuously distant from the jade.

  *Too distant.*

  "How thoughtful," Zhuo Yi-Fan murmured. He reached out—not for the cup, but the steward’s wrist. His fingers brushed the man’s pulse point, feather-light.

  The steward’s heartbeat stuttered.

  Zhuo Yi-Fan smiled. "Your meridians are sluggish today, Uncle. Stress?" He traced a nail along the steward’s inner wrist, where a faint sheen of oil clung to the skin. "Or perhaps… contact toxins?"

  The steward’s breath hitched.

  In one fluid motion, Zhuo plucked the cup, rotated it to expose the poison-smeared base, and pressed it into the steward’s now-trembling palm. "Drink. Or explain to the Venerables why our wine steward palms neurotoxins."

  The cup clattered to the floor, wine pooling like blood between them.

  Lin Qi-Fan commented from within, again! "My guy used two poisons instead of one! One in the glass and one in the wine itself, we gotta respect that!"

  Seventh Brother lounged against a vermilion pillar, one booted foot extended just enough to graze the path. His smirk faltered as Zhuo Yi-Fan approached—because Zhuo didn’t *adjust*. No sidestep, no pause. He walked as if the obstructive limb were mere mist.

  Seventh Brother’s knee twitched. *Should he—?*

  ***Crack.***

  Zhuo’s kick snapped his brother’s leg at the shin, the sound like a green branch breaking underfoot. Seventh Brother collapsed with a scream, his two golden core guards surging forward—

  —only to freeze as the lead guard descended the staircase, his mid-golden core aura flattening the torch flames.

  **"Problem?"** the guard asked, thumb stroking his sword’s tassel.

  Zhuo stepped over his writhing brother. **"Seventh Brother tripped. Again."** A glance back at the guards. **"Someone fetch a bonesetter. And a leash."

  As Zhuo ascended toward the clan hall, his mind raced.

  -The driver was no mere servant—his reflexes marked him as either an assassin or a saboteur.

  -Tang Sanzi’s involvement with the carriage was too coincidental. The 'travel quest' his sect gave lacks evidence—perhaps he isn't from a Superior grade sect at all and is just an Old Monster in disguise.

  -The steward’s poison attempt suggested internal factions were moving against him.

  -And his seventh brother’s petty ambush? Almost comforting in its predictability.

  But one thing was certain—this birthday was far from over.