As the two reached the edge of the sect's inner courtyard, Mu Qinglan slowly pulled herself free from Han Yun's arm, standing tall—even if her balance still swayed a little.
"Alright," she said, brushing her robe off like the past few hours of leaning on him for survival didn't happen. "We part ways here."
Han Yun raised an eyebrow. "Aww, already? No 'thank you for saving my life, Han Yun, you're so reliable and devastatingly charming'?"
Mu Qinglan gave him a blank look.
Then, "You talk like that again, I'm telling the medical hall to accidentally stitch your mouth shut."
He grinned. "Kinky."
She blinked once, slowly. Then turned away with a sharp flick of her sleeve. "Goodbye."
"See you soon, Qingqing!"
Her footsteps didn't falter—but her fingers curled slightly at her side. He's so infuriating…
As she disappeared around the path, Han Yun finally let out a sigh. A long
one.
"…And there goes my boar-hunting quest."
He rubbed his face, dragging his palm down.
"My spirit stone. My dagger. And no pork for dinner. All gone in the name of plot interception."
He turned to head back toward the quest board, mentally preparing himself to explain the 'boar got away' excuse—
But then, from across the courtyard, a voice loud across the courtryard.
"HAHAHA! I got it with one strike! You all saw that, right?"
Han Yun paused mid-step.
A small crowd had formed, mostly outer and inner disciples alike, all buzzing around a single figure at the center. The guy stood with a wild grin on his face, holding up a massive boar husk—the Three-Eared Forest Boar, tusks and all, tied with rope like a trophy.
He had messy spiky brown hair, eyes that gleamed with youthful fire, and that perfect sharp-featured, sword-in-the-mouth grin that practically screamed "Main Character."
The disciples around him laughed too hard, praised too loud, and clung to him like spiritual leeches. Every sentence started with "Brother Yiran" and ended with "you're amazing!"
Han Yun's smile froze.
'That's my fucking boar.'
And then—ding.
[System Alert: High Fortune Density Target Identified.]
[Name: Feng Yiran]
[Destiny Thread Detected — Chosen One Class Individual]
[Background: Newly discovered black-grade talent. Origin: remote
farming village.]
[Role: Protagonist / Heaven-Favored]
[Status: Trackable]
Han Yun's eyes narrowed. His body moved before he even thought.
He calmly fixed his robes. Straightened his posture. And began walking.
Each step was measured. Casual. Smooth.
'Finally, here comes Cow #2.'
The long-awaited golden goose.
And Han Yun was going to shake hands with fate itself.
As Han Yun casually approached, slipping into the edge of the crowd, he flicked his finger behind his back, opening the system panel for deeper intel.
The data loaded fast, and the details didn't disappoint.
[Target: Feng Yiran]
Cultivation: Qi Gathering Realm – Late Stage (approaching Peak)
Class: Heaven-Favored Chosen One
Heritage: Unknown to self – Hidden Bloodline
Biological Lineage: Son of Zhao Xingtian, Sect Master of the Steel-Fist
Sky Hall (Eastern Continent)
Background Summary:
Born under pursuit, Feng Yiran's mother fled to the Southern Continent while pregnant, escaping assassins from rival sects. She perished shortly after childbirth, and Feng was taken in by a pair of humble farmers who raised him as their own.
Grew up as a regular field worker—handsome, honest, simple-minded, popular in his village.
Six days ago, awakened his dormant bloodline after a chance encounter with a broken cultivation manual behind his family's barn. Qi responded to him unnaturally fast.
Since joining the Thousand Peaks Immortal Gate, he's risen at blinding speed—outperforming disciples who've trained for years.
Reputation: Growing rapidly. Seen as a rising star. Known for his cheerful personality, heroic sense of justice, and very punchable handsomeness.
Narrative Role: Lead Protagonist / Romantic Hero / Fated Clan Heir
Projected Fortune Density: EXTREMELY HIGH
Han Yun stared at the panel blankly.
He watched as Feng Yiran lifted the boar tusks high, laughing with his adoring crowd. His voice boomed like a protagonist in a martial arts drama: "It's nothing really! Just some lucky instincts!"
A girl from one of the sect's outer divisions giggled too loud and handed him a towel to wipe his hands. Another one—not even trying to hide it—was feeding him fruit like he was a prince.
Han Yun slowly blinked.
'You gotta be kidding me…'
This guy was textbook. Lost noble bloodline, orphaned background, sky-high talent, tragic mom, dumb-luck encounter with a power boost, and now riding a wave of divine plot energy straight into stardom.
And worse, he didn't even know.
He had no idea his rapid rise wasn't just luck, or effort—it was in his veins.
Han Yun gave a long, slow sigh.
'This idiot doesn't even know, that he already lost one of his golden opportunities.'
The image of Mu Qinglan, bleeding and guarded in that cave, flashed through his mind. That soft crack in her eyes when she started trusting him, that rare twitch of a smile… yeah. That moment? It was supposed to be Feng Yiran's.
'Oops.'
'Guess I intercepted fate.'
But for now, all of that was tucked behind his cheekiest, friendliest grin as he stepped into the circle.
Feng Yiran stood tall and beaming, boar tusks slung over his shoulder like trophies, surrounded byfellow disciples.
Han Yun clapped his hands together and projected his voice just loud enough.
"Senior Brother Feng, right? I heard the rumors, but damn, seeing it up close? You're built different!"
Feng turned, blinking once as if trying to place him. The ever-present smile didn't fade.
Han Yun kept going, slipping in smoothly like he'd always been there.
"Taking down a Three-Eared Forest Boar alone? Not just anyone can do that!"
The crowd nodded, as if Han Yun's praise carried some official confirmation stamp.
"I mean, the beast's hide is thick as iron bark," Han Yun added, doing a very convincing mix of admiration and overacted awe. "And those tusks? That thing could've gored a carriage!"
Feng Yiran chuckled, scratching his head humbly. "Haha, it was nothing, really. Just got lucky, I guess."
Han Yun grinned. What a classic humble protagonist.
Feng Yiran smiled wide. "Thanks, uh…?"
"Han Yun," he said, bowing politely. "New inner disciple. Heard your name the first day I got here."
Feng seemed genuinely flattered. "Appreciate it, Junior Brother Han."
Han Yun kept the grin on his face.
'Yeah, keep smiling, golden boy. Let's be friends.'
'Let's be real close.'
As the conversation circled around Feng Yiran like a glowing halo of admiration, Han Yun's grin remained steady—but behind it, gears were already turning.
'Let's see… what should I do with this cow…?'
Getting close was obvious. But how close? And how fast?
Play the long game.
Be a suck-up. Smile. Gather intel. Learn how this walking protagonist ticks… then decide whether to steal his fortune piece by piece or just rip it all out like a bad root.
Han Yun turned slightly toward Feng, eyes gleaming with just the right balance of curiosity and admiration.
"So," he started, lowering his voice a bit to sound more personal, "I heard some rumors... are they true?"
Feng blinked. "Rumors?"
Han Yun leaned in, keeping his tone friendly but a little gossipy. "That one of the elders took you in? Not just that, but as a foster son? That's seriously rare, right?"
Feng scratched the back of his head, clearly trying to sound humble but unable to hide the pride creeping into his voice. "Ah, yeah. Elder Bai took me in after I awakened my talent. Said I reminded him of someone from his youth."
'Ugh, Sure.' Han Yun mentally rolled his eyes.
"That's incredible," Han Yun said aloud, eyes wide. "Getting an elder to notice you is hard enough—becoming their foster kid? That's… that's basically becoming sect royalty."
Feng waved a hand modestly. "It's not that big a deal…"
"But it is!" Han Yun cut in quickly, layering on the praise. "Most inner disciples would kill to even be given a personal lesson by an elder, and you—you've got one bringing you in, guiding you, protecting you…"
He leaned a bit closer, voice dropping like a whisper between brothers. "Must be nice."
Feng Yiran's smile widened a little. "He's been kind to me, yeah. Even gave me a special cultivation technique to help with my Qi circulation."
Han Yun nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
Special technique? Nice.
Foster father? Even better.
Unknowingly heir to a super powerful eastern sect? Perfect.
He chuckled, then clapped Feng on the shoulder. "You really are the main character, huh?"
Feng looked confused. "What?"
"Nothing," Han Yun said quickly, laughing it off. "Just saying—you've got a hell of a journey ahead of you."
Then after that as soon as Han Yun returned to his humble inner disciple courtyard—a modest stone hut nestled behind a quiet spiritual bamboo grove—he locked the door, collapsed into his chair, and immediately opened the system panel with a gleam in his eyes.
[You have gained 698 Destiny Points.]
[Source: Interference with Romantic Fate Thread – Mu Qinglan]
[Target: Feng Yiran – Current Total Destiny Points: 12,302]
Han Yun whistled low, grinning like a bandit who just cracked a vault.
"Almost seven hundred points just from one cave date?" he muttered. "And this guy's still got over twelve thousand?"
He leaned back, letting the number soak in.
"This cow… is practically leaking milk."
Without wasting time, he flicked through the system shop, checking the "affordable" options first. After browsing through a dozen low-tier junk techniques and weird-sounding "cultivator dating simulators" (which he pretended not to see), he locked onto something actually useful.
[Purchase: Middle-Grade Talisman Crafting Manual – 150 Destiny Points]
[Confirmed. Item Delivered to Inventory.]
"Alright," Han Yun nodded. "Let's make some of my own explosives now, save on future scams."
He kept browsing.
And then—he saw it.
A shimmering panel pulsed faintly near the bottom of a hidden category titled
[Ancient Lost Techniques – Incomplete].
[Name: Heaven-Shifting Flow (Incomplete)]
Type: Hand-to-Hand Combat / Defensive / Countering Style
Origin: Forgotten Sect – Flowing Mountain Palm Temple
Description:
A rare martial path based on deflection, redirection, and energy inversion. Ideal for cultivators with poor physical strength or no weapon proficiency. Every strike received becomes a potential counterattack. Designed to wear down stronger enemies and defeat raw power with timing, control, and technique.
Mastery allows the user to turn their opponent's force against them, breaking even Qi-based attacks through subtle movement and controlled force redirection.
Price: 900 Destiny Points
Status: Not Yet Purchased (You currently have: 575 Destiny Points)]
Han Yun stared at the description.
Then sat back, hand to his chin.
"This… is perfect."
He had no swordsmanship, no flashy techniques, and no plan to swing a saber around like a confused theater extra.
A fighting style that countered stronger opponents? That punished brute force and timing mistakes.
This was exactly the kind of technique someone like him needed. Someone who played smarter, not harder.
"…And of course it costs 900," he groaned, facepalming.
Even after the Qinglan hijack, he was still 300 points short.
After that day, Han Yun's life shifted gears.
He is an inner Disciple of Thousand Peaks Immortal Gate, anda professional protagonist leech in training.
At first, his plan was simple: wait for Ye Fan to return from the wilderness and gracefully insert himself back into the chosen one's life. Maybe stir up a few more sabotage opportunities, snag some fate threads here and there.
But the more he thought about it…
The more it could wait.
Why chase the same cow twice when you've already got one milk fountain walking around the sect in broad daylight?
He shelved Ye Fan for now.
Instead, he focused on two things: his own cultivation, and worming his way deeper into Feng Yiran's golden circle.
And so the days passed.
Han Yun kept his profile low. Quiet. Not flashy. Not loud. But always present.
He cultivated diligently, always in private, and broke through to Qi Gathering Realm – First Stage without so much as a whisper. No flashy bursts of Qi. No screaming to the heavens. Just quiet, steady growth—like a parasite strengthening itself while its host fattened up.
Meanwhile, he became a familiar face in the crowd that followed Feng Yiran.
Every time a challenger arrived—usually some prideful inner disciple who couldn't stomach the idea of a newcomer skyrocketing past them—Han Yun was there. Arms crossed, quietly observing.
And every single time…
The challenger lost.
Sometimes it was a clean knockout. Other times, it was a drawn-out match where Feng Yiran's raw instinct and ridiculous physical strength just overwhelmed his opponent.
But it always ended the same—Feng standing tall, and the crowd erupting with cheers like he'd just saved the continent.
And Han Yun?
"Oh, the way you slipped that counter in the third strike? Genius, Brother Yiran!."
"That punch? I swear it caused a shockwave."
"Honestly, I've never seen someone use such clean movement so early in Qi Gathering."
Feng Yiran would grin, slap him on the back, and laugh like they were best friends already.
He didn't notice the glint in Han Yun's eyes. Didn't question why Han Yun never asked for anything.
Never challenged him.
Never tried to stand out.
After a few more days of well-placed flattery, helpful "accidental" appearances, and acting just charming enough to be unthreatening, Han Yun had finally secured his spot in Feng Yiran's golden circle.
They called themselves "sworn brothers" and "sworn sisters" like some sect-approved fairy tale family. But Han Yun had eyes—and more importantly, a functioning brain.
They weren't here for brotherhood.
They were here to leech.
Disciples who were mid-tier at best suddenly clung to Feng Yiran like spiritual ticks, laughing too hard at his jokes, hyping up every Qi movement like it was divine revelation, and offering him gifts that were definitely paid for with someone else's spirit stones.
Han Yun, of course, fit right in.
He laughed when they laughed. He nodded along to their praise. He even offered to carry Feng Yiran's extra herbs one time. And when Feng called him "Brother Han," he smiled like it meant something.
But deep down…
Han Yun watched. He learned. He memorized habits, speech patterns, relationships, and weaknesses.
'A little jealousy here, a little pride there... maybe twist a rumor or two.
Stir the pot just enough for people to start doubting each other. Turn this happy parade into a battlefield—one where the golden boy's luck starts slipping.'
Well, but there's no need to rush it, so he put that aside for now.
The next golden morning sun poured through the mist-draped peaks, casting soft beams of light across the courtyard stones. The Qi in the air was thick and fresh, like dew that hadn't yet been spoiled by the noise of the day.
Han Yun sat cross-legged in the middle of the courtyard, robes fluttering gently in the breeze, completely still—aside from the faint pulse of spiritual energy swirling around his body.
Eyes closed. Breathing calm.
For once, he wasn't thinking about some scheme.
'If there's one thing I love about this world… it's definitely this.'
The sunlight on his face. The warmth of Qi feeds into his meridians. The subtle sense of progress.
This was peace. This was clarity.
Then—
Tap.
A light touch on his shoulder.
Han Yun's eyes snapped open, instantly alert, his body tense as if he were about to be stabbed by a spirit beast.
Instead, he turned to see…
A grumpy-looking old man squinting at him like he'd just insulted a cultivation manual.
The elder was small—almost hunched—with long, scraggly white eyebrows and a beard that somehow looked both majestic and annoyed. His plain brown robe was wrinkled, and he carried a scroll under one arm and a bamboo stick in the other like a disciplinarian from some ancient academy.
"Too stiff," the old man grunted.
Han Yun blinked. "...Huh?"
The elder flicked his bamboo stick toward Han Yun's back. "Your spine's curving like a snake. Posture wrong. Breathing's too shallow. You'll end up with a twisted meridian and a broken pelvis at this rate."
Han Yun sat up straighter. "Wait, who—"
"Quiet," the elder snapped, already circling him like a hawk inspecting its prey. "Hands relaxed. Tongue up. Stop clenching your jaw—what, you cultivating or chewing on rocks?"
Han Yun opened his mouth to reply but got smacked lightly on the head with the stick before he could form a single word.
"Don't talk while I'm speaking. Think you're special? I've seen spirit pigs with better form."
"..."
The elder adjusted Han Yun's hands slightly, nudged his shoulder back into place, and made one final tweak to the angle of his knees before stepping back, observing him like a sculptor checking their clay.
"Better."
Han Yun stayed frozen, still unsure what had just happened. "Um… senior?"
"Elder Lin," the old man muttered, already turning away, waving one hand lazily behind him. "Library Hall. Don't come unless you're serious about learning."
Han Yun turned, confused. "Wait, why are you even—?"
"I've seen thousands of disciples cultivate," Elder Lin interrupted, not even looking back. "You're talented, sure, but that's not why I stopped."
Han Yun blinked. "Then why—"
"It's been a long time since I saw someone smiling during cultivation like it was the best thing in the world," Elder Lin said quietly, voice fading with distance. "Don't ruin that."
Smack!
One final light whacked to the head from his stick as he left the courtyard, just because.
Han Yun sat there, dumbfounded.
Then rubbed his head.
"…What the hell just happened? Did I just get blessed or bullied?"