I Only Wanted to Stay Unseen, Until...

The trio returned to the guest courtyard, where Chen Haunt and the others had been waiting. The moment Chen Haunt's eyes landed on Pay Ling, his blood ran cold, then boiled. Pay Ling was swaggering in, his arm casually draped around Chen Mave's waist, their bodies so close they might as well have been glued together. Chen Haunt froze, his mind struggling to process the sight. Then, like a spark igniting dry tinder, rage flared within him.

This punk dares to grope his sister?! The thought roared in his mind. He had only instructed Chen Mave to be nice to Pay Ling, to deceive him, to lull him into a false sense of security—all for the purpose of using his flesh and soul to refine the Summon Soul Banner. But this… this was beyond the plan. How dare this lowlife lay his hands on her, and in public no less?!

His fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as he took a step forward, ready to tear Pay Ling apart. But before he could act, Cheung Joer'tin shot him a subtle, warning glance. The message was clear: Not now.

Chen Haunt forced himself to take a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he reined in his fury. Cheung Joer'tin cleared his throat, his voice calm but firm as he broke the tension. "It's getting late," he said, his tone measured. "You two should go and rest."

Pay Ling agreed instantly. With a hand still resting on Chen Mave's waist, he steered her toward his courtyard. Chen Mave, for her part, didn't resist, though her expression was unreadable.

Chen Haunt's face darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. But he held back. Once Pay Ling and Chen Mave were out of earshot, he turned to Cheung Joer'tin, his voice low and seething. "What the hell is going on?"

Cheung Joer'tin shook his head, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. "The brat knows nothing about our plan. He's completely in the dark."

Chen Haunt's brow furrowed, but Cheung Joer'tin continued before he could interrupt. "When Chen Mave and I found him, he was sipping tea in the market, completely at ease. There was no hint of him trying to flee. In fact, it was he who suggested coming back to the mansion. He's smitten with your sister's charm, dreaming she's fallen for him. This is perfect for our next move."

Chen Haunt's eyes narrowed, and Cheung Joer'tin pressed on. "Think about it. Using a dead corpse for the banner's blood sacrifice versus using a live, vibrant cultivator for the ritual? It's night and day difference. A cultivator brimming with vitality will maximize the banner's potential—top-tier quality. But if we kill him now and use his corpse, the banner's power will be diminished. That's why we've been working to gain his trust since the day we rented the Corpse Cloud."

Chen Haunt's rage began to ebb as the logic sank in. He nodded grudgingly, though the image of Pay Ling's hand on his sister's waist still burned in his mind.

Not until the ritual is complete. He had put too much effort into this to botch it now. If Pay Ling catches wind of his plan, the punk fight tooth and nail. Even if they only manage to control Pay Ling by cutting off one of his arm or a leg—it'll diminish the banner's value. They can't afford that.

Chen Haunt exhaled sharply, his fists still clenched. He knew he had to keep calm, but the thought of Pay Ling touching his sister made his blood boil. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "But tomorrow… tomorrow, I'll make sure that punk suffers every torment imaginable in the array. Only then will my hatred be quenched."

His voice dropped to a guttural snarl, low and menacing. "Supplies are gathered. The blades are sharpened. The runes are etched. Everything's ready. Tomorrow, we haul him into the mountains."

Hwong Hyen let out a snort. "Tch. We wouldn't be scrambling like this if Sil Deshah hadn't botched the prep," he sneered, his voice sharp as a shard of glass. "Forced us to prepare in Lothgar City's for extra stocks. Now we've got jarl Drainwood's hounds sniffing too close—how're we supposed to bury all the evidence?"

Chen Haunt's lips twitched, a flicker of his usual icy composure returning as he waved a dismissive hand. "It's no matter," he said, his tone cold and smooth, like a blade sliding from its sheath. "Drainwood's a spineless sort—always playing the gracious jarl, bowing to every faction with a smile. Pay Ling's no kin to him, no ally worth a damn. The jarl will turn his blind eye, as he always does."

The air thickened with the weight of their schemes. With a curt nod, Chen Haunt dismissed the squad after the final details of their plan were set.

——

Meanwhile, within Pay Ling's courtyard.

"J-Junior Brother Pay, it's late… I really should rest," Chen Mave stammered, her voice a fragile thread stretched taut. She'd endured his wandering hands—those insolent fingers brushing too close, too bold—for far too long. Seizing a fleeting gap in his grip, she wrenched herself free and darted for the door.

"Senior Sister Chen, why? Where are you going?" Pay Ling's voice chased after her, laced with a petulant reluctance.

Bang!

The door slammed shut with a thunderous clap. Her answer was as clear as it was final.

Pay Ling's leering grin melted away. His face hardened, frown etched deep with suspicion. His breath hitched, a faint tremor of panic slipping through his exhale. The realization crashed over him like icy water: Chen Haunt, Chen Mave, and their squad—they meant him harm.

His mind raced, piecing together the jagged shards of truth. Chen Haunt was Chen Mave's elder brother. The rest of the squad, a pack of loyal hounds, clearly favored her over him, the newcomer. Their cultivation levels towered above his own. Even Chen Mave, with her fourth-layer strength, matched him blow for blow.

However… they'd let his brazen antics slide. He'd tested their patience—sliding an arm around Chen Mave's shoulder on the trek back from the market, letting his fingers linger on her waist. By all rights, Chen Haunt should've descended on him like a vengeful storm, or Cheung Joer'tin should've pummeled him into the dirt with fists like iron mallets. At the very least, they could've cast him out of the squad, left him to fend for himself among the wilds.

But they hadn't. They'd watched, waited, their silence a coiled serpent biding its time. How could they stomach his insolence unless they were plotting something darker? The thought sent a shiver racing down his spine, cold and electric.

"Tonight, I've got to reach Lady Willow again…" Pay Ling muttered to himself. He clapped his hands sharply, summoning a servant for tea and supper.

Moments later, a female servant slipped inside, carrying a tray that rattled faintly in her grasp. Pay Ling's eyes narrowing as suspicion coiled tight in his chest. "Who are you?" he demanded. "You're not the one from this morning."

The servant kept her head bowed as if she feared meeting his stare would unravel her entirely. "Immortal Master," she murmured, "this morning… it was my sister who served you."

"Why the switch?" Pay Ling pressed, his eyes tracing her every twitch—the way her fingers tugged nervously at her sash, tightening it as though it were a noose she couldn't escape. He softened his tone. "Not saying you're bad—just curious why they changed you."

Her breath hitched, a stifled sob breaking free as she crumpled to her knees with a dull thud. "Immortal Master, please!" she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "My sister didn't mean to spill your whereabouts! The director of the courtyard—he's already dragged her away for punishment. I beg you, spare my family! Mercy, Immortal Master! Mercy!" She pressed her forehead to the cold floor, kowtowing with such force that the boards groaned beneath her.

Pay Ling's frown deepened. "What's this nonsense?" he said, his voice low and edged with unease. "I never told anyone to punish your sister."

She froze, her trembling form radiating terror so palpable it prickled against his skin. When she didn't answer, he leaned forward. "Speak clearly," he urged,. "Tell me everything—maybe I can sway the director, save her."

After a pause she whispered. "It… it was Immortal Master Chen's order. They said you told my sister to keep secret, but she didn't—so she deserved it. The director… he dragged her away."

Pay Ling's face hardened, his jaw tightening as a cold dread slithered up his spine. He sat back, the rickety chair creaking ominously beneath him. "Did Senior Brother Chen and Senior Sister Chen ask about me when they returned?" he asked, his voice flat, betraying nothing.

The female servant nodded, tears streaking her cheeks.

"And your sister—she didn't tell them anything at first, did she?"

"No…" she choked out, her sobs muffled against the floor.

A sigh escaped Pay Ling, but it was a hollow sound, swallowed by the growing darkness in his mind. The servant girl hadn't been punished for revealing his trail—instead, she'd been punished for refusing to. She'd honored his offhand request to stay quiet, a test he'd tossed out to test Chen Haunt's squad, never dreaming she'd cling to it so fiercely. And now, her loyalty had damned her.

"Fine," Pay Ling said at last, his voice steady despite the storm raging within. "I'll speak to the director of the courtyard residency tomorrow. But listen—Chen Haunt and Chen Mave are my sect comrades. They ordered her punishment. If they catch wind I'm pleading for her, it'll look suspicious. So keep your mouth shut. Act like I said nothing. If she's freed, pretend this conversation never happened."

The servant stammered her gratitude through tear-soaked words and scurried out, leaving Pay Ling alone with the ghosts of his thoughts. 

For an hour after supper, he sat motionless. Then, his hands moved pulling non-essentials from his storage pouch—booklet scrolls, a chipped jade trinket, a tattered robe—and scattering them across the room. He mussed the bed, tangling the thin blanket into a nest of chaos, then lay upon it briefly.

The night deepened. Pay Ling slipped the wrapped Blade of Life Hater beneath his pillow. With a breath held tight in his chest, he crept to the back window. Then, with a leap , he vaulted out into the garden of courtyard.

His boots sank into the soft mulch of a flowerbed, petals crushed beneath his weight. Beyond stretched a gravel path, its stones glinting faintly under the sliver of a crescent moon, flanked by tall trees.

Stepping out his suiteroom, Pay Ling checked for watchers and then whispered. "Lady Willow, are you there? Lady Willow…"

Silence answered him, thick and unyielding. His brow furrowed and shifted to another spot, boots crunching faintly on the gravel, and tried again, his tone laced with urgency. "Lady Willow, I've got information to report to Fairy Lith, her highness—please, show yourself…"

Still nothing. 

He kept his voice low, walking out of his courtyard from the rear door, stepping into a narrow lane squeezed between two looming courtyard walls. Still no trace of Lady Willow. His heart sank—had she left?!

Fairy Lith gave him this Footwork Art, demanding mastery within seven days. This trip to Lothgar would likely exceed the time limit!

Normally, shouldn't Willow lurk nearby, checking his progress when the deadline approaching?

Or—and the thought sent a shiver racing down his spine—did she expect Pay Ling to peel Chen Mave's skin first, then to summon her presence?

"Junior Brother Pay!" An icy voice cut through from behind. "Where are you going this late?"

Pay Ling turned calmly. Hwong Hyun drifted down from a nearby treetop like a withered leaf. He landed silently, his appearance shadowed by the shade of trees, exuding a faint spooky feeling.

"Senior Brother Hwong?" Pay Ling replied, injecting just the right note of mild surprise into his tone. "I dropped something important—might've lost it on the road earlier today. I'm heading out to search for it."

Hwong Hyun's gaze locked onto his, found none cracks of suspicion. After a tense beat, Hwong Hyun tilted his head slightly. "Where's your blade?" he asked, his voice low and edged with suspicion. "Why wander out at night without a weapon?"

Pay Ling shrugged, letting a hint of defiance creep into his retort. "It's just a lost item I'm after—why would I need the blade for that?"

Hwong Hyun studied him a moment longer, then gave a slow nod, his guard easing ever so slightly. "What'd you lose? I'll lend a hand."

"A sachet," Pay Ling said. "Old and worn, a keepsake from my late mother. I'd hate to lose it." He described a rough picture of it, the one he'd stolen from a mortal early today—threadbare silk, faded red, a faint whiff of stale herbs.

Hwong Hyun nodded again, his expression unreadable in the gloom. "Listen," he said, his tone softening into something almost paternal, though it rang hollow. "You and Junior Sister Chen have that flower demon monster to tackle tomorrow—get some rest. I know what your sachet looks like now. Go sleep. I'll track it down for you."