Old Lü, with countless [ Image-Capturing Stones ] and [ Recording Tablets ] shoved in his face, felt more helpless than facing an ancient Spirit Beast.
He still clutched the cooking spatula tightly, his wrinkled face filled with terror and confusion. Facing the reporters' absurd questions about "cultivation child-rearing methods" and "sweet potato mysticism," he opened his mouth, making he-he sounds in his throat, eyes about to roll back and faint.
At this critical moment.
"Everyone move aside! Stop pushing! Can't you see you're scaring the old man?!"
A righteous shout exploded like thunder through the outer crowd.
Immediately after, Steward Liu, who normally only collected money and did his job, now transformed into the most dutiful bodyguard. Sweating profusely, he forcibly carved out a path, roughly pushing away several reporters about to shove microphones into Old Lü's mouth.
"Move! Let Manager Wang through!"
With Steward Liu's shout, the crowd automatically parted.
A middle-aged fat man wearing a brand-new deep blue steward's robe, hair combed meticulously, even dabbed with osmanthus oil, strode in purposefully.
Manager Wang.
His face no longer showed its usual sinister calculation. Instead, he wore a complex expression mixing heartbreak with loving relief. His acting skills were so exquisite that secular film stars would be ashamed.
He rushed to Old Lü in several steps, supporting the tottering old man. His eyes instantly reddened within a tenth of a second.
"Old Lü! You've suffered!"
This cry, full of deep emotion, made those who heard it grieve and listeners weep.
The surrounding reporters instantly became like sharks smelling blood, their image-capturing stones flashing wildly, recording this touching scene.
"Everyone! Fellow sect members!"
Manager Wang turned around, facing the cameras, taking a deep breath, his voice choking, "I'm the manager of this area, Wang. This child A-Song... how pitiful!"
He pointed at the dilapidated courtyard, voice breaking with tears, "This child had a bitter fate—parents died early, ended up in our servant quarters. Back then he was thin as a monkey, couldn't even eat his fill. It was me! It was all of us here, the village elders, who fed him one mouthful at a time until he grew up!"
"Just before the Grand Ceremony!"
Manager Wang suddenly raised his voice, looking indignant, "A wealthy merchant from outside came with a full 300 low-grade Spirit Stones to bribe me! Wanted me to swap A-Song's name with his good-for-nothing son! Even threatened that I wouldn't be able to keep this steward's robe!"
The crowd erupted in commotion.
"But I slammed the table right then!"
Manager Wang straightened his back, righteously, "I said: 'The Azure Cloud Sect's future cannot be measured by money!' Though this child is poor, he has talent! Though I, Wang, am also poor, my backbone... is straight!"
"Excellent!"
From the crowd, someone (probably a plant arranged by Steward Liu) led the cheering, and thunderous applause erupted.
Steward Liu timely played along, wiping tears and adding, "That's right! Everyone doesn't know—Manager Wang even saved his own cultivation pills for this child! Often braved wind and snow in the middle of the night to bring warmth, food, and clothing! For this child to have today, Manager Wang deserves the primary credit!"
"..."
Old Lü, held tightly in Manager Wang's embrace, was completely stunned.
Bringing warmth? Sending pills?
This fat bastard only had the sourest expression when collecting Spirit Grain each month. He never even looked at them properly otherwise! A-Song nearly starved to death several times, surviving only on rations Little Seven saved from between his teeth!
"No... that's not..."
Old Lü, being an honest man, instinctively tried to explain, "Wasn't it Little Seven who bought A-Song's medicine? When did you ever..."
Before he could finish, he felt someone viciously pinch his side.
It was Steward Liu's hand.
Simultaneously, something hard was pressed into Old Lü's palm. By feel, it was a low-grade Spirit Stone.
Behind him, Steward Liu hissed in a voice only they could hear, "Old fool, shut up! If you dare talk nonsense, forget about staying in the sect! Take the money and nod along!"
Old Lü's body stiffened.
Though honest, he wasn't stupid. He knew that if he exposed them now and offended these two local tyrants, he, Er Ya, and Little Seven would likely face mortal danger.
With trembling hands, he gripped the threatening Spirit Stone, finally lowering his head, forcing an awkward, humiliated smile, saying nothing more.
At the outermost edge of the crowd, hiding in the shadows, Mo Fan took in this entire scene.
He wasn't angry.
On the contrary, watching Manager Wang bask in the spotlight, eloquently turning black into white, claiming all others' credit as his own, Mo Fan's lips curved into a relieved smile.
"Good... this is perfect."
He mentally wanted to applaud Manager Wang. "This scapegoat... no, this honorary title—the more firmly you wear it, the better."
A-Song having Superior-grade Spirit Roots and being the Sect Master's personal disciple wasn't just glory—it was an enormous vortex. Countless eyes would scrutinize his background and past.
If Mo Fan, this "cousin" without any backing, were the puppet master, tomorrow the sect's intelligence division would investigate his background: Where did a mere servant get money for medicine? How did you detect Spirit Roots? Do you have ulterior motives?
Then, his Necromancer identity would definitely be exposed.
But now it was different.
Manager Wang voluntarily jumped forward to take the heat, claiming credit for "recognizing talent" and "devoted cultivation." So all future investigations into A-Song's background would target Manager Wang.
This was the perfect "physical firewall."
"Sometimes greed serves as protective coloring."
Mo Fan pulled down his bamboo hat, looking at the fat manager still enjoying his moment in the spotlight, a trace of pity in his eyes. "Enjoy it well. When A-Song truly grows up someday and discovers you're a fraud... that scene will be beautiful indeed."
Decision made.
Since someone was taking the heat up front, now was the best time to retreat.
Mo Fan didn't need to go home and pack because all his valuables—including Mo Yan (Summon No. 001) and Summon No. 003, plus the "Body Forging Record"—were in his storage pouch.
"Farewell, award-winning actors. The stage is yours; I'm going to level up."
He turned around, preparing to move against the frenzied crowd flow, quietly slip toward the waste area in the back mountain, and spend a period of undisturbed seclusion there.
However.
Just as Mo Fan's foot stepped out of the crowd, about to slip into a quiet alley nearby.
A sudden change occurred.
The originally noisy, clamorous sky suddenly became deathly silent.
Those dozens of flying swords and paper cranes competing for news in the air seemed to suddenly lose spiritual power support, falling like dumplings with clattering crashes.
A spiritual pressure even more terrifying and pure than during the Spirit Root Ceremony descended without warning over the entire servant quarters.
The feeling was like a flock of chattering sparrows suddenly having a golden-winged great roc descend overhead.
The air froze.
Manager Wang, mid-speech, opened his mouth but made no sound; reporters taking notes had pen tips snap; Old Lü's spatula clattered to the ground.
Everyone instinctively looked up toward the sky.
Mo Fan was no exception.
When he clearly saw the two figures suspended in mid-air, his pupils, relaxed from his plan's success, instantly contracted to pinpoint size.
There were no auspicious clouds, no ceremony.
Only two people, standing on wind, quietly looking down at the ants below.
On the left—white robes like snow, Spirit Sword on his back, cold and proud expression—it was the personal disciple who casually cleared the screen in Qingmu Town that day: Luo Yu.
And on the right...
Wearing green robes, middle-aged scholarly appearance, hands clasped behind his back, eyes indifferent as if containing no emotion.
Azure Cloud Sect inner sect elder—Golden Core mighty one, Liu Yun.
Boom!
Thunder seemed to explode in Mo Fan's brain.
Why would such high-level big shots come to this dirty, chaotic slum?!
Was it because A-Song had Superior-grade Spirit Roots and they came for a "home visit"? Or... did that Chief Elder feel uneasy and specially send people to verify whether A-Song's background was clean?
Whatever the reason, for Mo Fan, this was catastrophic.
Leave?
Under a Golden Core elder's nose, a servant sneaking away furtively would be like writing "I'm suspicious" on his forehead.
Stay?
He'd encountered these two in Qingmu Town and even taken Luo Yu's 20 Spirit Stones as "compensation." Though he'd disguised himself well then, what if... what if they recognized him?
What if that Golden Core elder on a whim scanned his body and discovered the necromantic power within?
Trapped between a rock and a hard place.
Mo Fan's feet seemed nailed to the ground—the instinctive rigidity of prey encountering a predator.
He forced himself to lower his head, blending with the kneeling crowd, even holding his breath.
"Please don't notice me... please don't notice me..."
However, what he feared came to pass.
Elder Liu Yun in mid-air seemed to casually scan the pathetic reporters and servants below.
But when his gaze swept past the crowd's edge—that figure about to slip into the alley—
Mo Fan clearly felt that indifferent gaze linger on him for... 0.1 seconds.
Even just this negligible instant made Mo Fan feel stripped naked and thrown into an ice cave, the necromantic fire deep in his soul trembling.
"Damn..."
Mo Fan stared fixedly at ants on the ground, cold sweat instantly soaking his back.
"This time... this is really bad."