By the time the last of the visiting disciples finally left his residence, Lu Ming felt as though he had aged at least ten years.
The room, which should have been a peaceful retreat for an arrogant inner sect villain, now looked like the aftermath of a social disaster.
Someone had helped themselves to his tea without asking, another had left sunflower seed shells on a table, and one enthusiastic junior had declared, with sincerity, that Senior Brother Lu's "cold and decisive style" in the courtyard would become legendary among the younger disciples.
Lu Ming had smiled through the entire conversation with the dead-eyed expression of a man who could feel destiny tightening a noose around his neck.
Only after the door shut behind the final guest did he allow himself to collapse into a chair near the window.
For a long moment, he said nothing. He simply stared out across the floating peaks of the Heavenly Sword Sect while the late afternoon light stretched across the clouds and turned the stone bridges gold.
Then he covered his face with both hands and groaned.
"This is not villainy," he muttered. "This is a reputation management crisis."
The system panel appeared with its usual infuriating calm.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Current Assessment
Villain Reputation: Expanding
Fear Level: Moderate
Misinterpretation Rate: High
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lu Ming peeked through his fingers at the glowing panel.
"Misinterpretation rate?" he repeated. "Why is that even a category?"
The system did not answer directly, which Lu Ming had begun to understand was its preferred method of emotional abuse. Instead, a new line of text appeared.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Host's actions continue to produce unintended social outcomes.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lu Ming dropped his hands and sat up straight.
"That sounds suspiciously like you're blaming me for this world being full of people who can't understand basic insults."
The panel flickered once before returning to its usual stillness.
Lu Ming clicked his tongue and pushed himself out of the chair. Arguing with the system had become a deeply unsatisfying hobby, but he was running out of other outlets for his stress.
He crossed the room and began opening cabinets, drawers, and storage chests in search of anything useful for a nighttime trip to the western mountains. If the herb mission could be completed before dawn, then he might still salvage this increasingly unstable plotline.
The original novel had described the spiritual herb only briefly. It was called Frostshade Dewleaf, a pale silver plant that grew from steep cliff faces where cold mist gathered before sunrise.
Shen Qinghe was supposed to discover it by chance during a training errand, harvest it, and later use it in an alchemy sequence that would accelerate his cultivation.
If Lu Ming reached the mountain first and took the herb, then the story would bend without visibly breaking. The system would get its theft, Lu Ming would get his villain points, and Shen Qinghe would hopefully remain too ignorant to be offended.
At least, that was the plan.
Plans, however, had become less reassuring ever since Lu Ming arrived in this world.
He opened a lacquered chest and found several silk robes folded so neatly that he was offended on behalf of the original owner.
Beneath them sat a leather satchel, a few travel talismans, several small jade bottles, and a dagger with decorative engravings that looked too expensive for practical use.
Lu Ming picked up one of the bottles and uncorked it carefully. A sharp medicinal scent rose immediately.
He frowned. "Recovery pills?"
A fragment of memory surfaced. The original Lu Ming often carried minor healing pills, spirit-restoring pellets, and talismans that shielded against beasts, poison, or weather changes.
He had also been a little paranoid, which was the first personality trait Lu Ming had encountered that felt genuinely useful.
He set the recovery pills aside, collected the most practical talismans, then searched for a map. After several minutes, he found a rolled parchment tucked into the back of a drawer.
It showed the sect peaks, nearby forests, and the western mountain range in enough detail for a disciple to travel alone without immediately falling off something sacred.
Lu Ming spread it across the table and studied the route.
The western cliffs were not terribly far if one traveled by sword, which he could not yet do with confidence. On foot, the trip would take much longer, and the trails became dangerous after nightfall. That meant he needed either a ride, an escort, or a reckless disregard for survival.
As he weighed those options, the system panel flashed.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Mission Reminder
Objective: Steal the protagonist's spiritual herb
Time Remaining: 43 hours, 12 minutes
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lu Ming narrowed his eyes at it.
"You really love deadlines for someone who contributes nothing useful."
He turned back to the table and tried to think practically. If he left immediately, he could reach the western foothills before night deepened. From there, he would climb toward the mist cliffs and search until dawn.
It would be exhausting and inconvenient and probably damp, but at least he would be away from Shen Qinghe and all the disciples currently turning his random comments into mythological commentary.
That alone made the trip worth it.
After packing the satchel, changing into darker outer robes, and tucking the map inside his sleeve, Lu Ming moved toward the door with grim determination.
The moment he opened it, he nearly walked straight into someone.
He stopped so abruptly that the satchel at his hip swung into the doorframe.
Standing in the corridor, calm as moonlight and equally unwelcome, was Shen Qinghe.
Lu Ming felt his soul leave his body, circle the room once in disbelief, then return only because there was nowhere else to go.
For a heartbeat neither of them spoke.
Then Lu Ming summoned the last scraps of his dignity and said, "Junior Brother Shen. What a deeply surprising place to find you."
Shen Qinghe inclined his head politely. "I apologize for arriving without notice."
Lu Ming wanted to ask why the protagonist was outside a villain's private residence at dusk, but he was afraid the answer would worsen his condition permanently.
Instead, he forced a restrained smile. "Is there something you need?"
Shen Qinghe's gaze shifted briefly to the satchel, the darker robe, and the rolled map tucked into Lu Ming's belt.
"You appear to be going somewhere."
Lu Ming fought the urge to hide every suspicious object on his person with his body.
"I enjoy evening walks."
Shen Qinghe looked past him toward the sky, where the sun was already fading behind cloud and stone.
"In travel gear?"
Lu Ming's smile sharpened by half a degree. "I like to commit to the experience."
A faint pause followed. Then, to Lu Ming's growing alarm, Shen Qinghe said, "In that case, perhaps our paths align."
The words settled into the corridor like a curse.
Lu Ming stared at him. "I'm sorry?"
"I am also leaving the sect this evening," Shen Qinghe replied. "I have an errand in the western mountains."
For one terrible second, Lu Ming heard nothing except the sound of doom carefully adjusting its robes.
The western mountains.
Of course.
Why would fate ever allow a straightforward solution when it could instead arrange a joint outing with the man destined to break his spine in Chapter 27?
Lu Ming kept his expression carefully blank while his mind screamed loud enough to disturb birds three peaks away.
"That is… fortunate," he said, because he had apparently lost the ability to lie convincingly under pressure.
Shen Qinghe watched him with that same measured attention he had shown earlier. "Senior Brother does not seem pleased."
"That is your imagination."
"Is it?"
"It is a very active imagination."
Shen Qinghe's lips moved very slightly, not quite a smile but something dangerously close to one. Lu Ming disliked it immediately because the man looked far too good doing anything even remotely human.
"I came," Shen Qinghe continued, "to return something."
He extended a hand.
In his palm lay a folded square of pale cloth trimmed with blue stitching.
Lu Ming frowned. "What is that?"
"You dropped it in the courtyard."
Lu Ming took the cloth automatically and unfolded it. It was a handkerchief, probably his, and it smelled faintly of cedar and medicinal herbs.
He looked up, suspicious. "You came all the way here to return this?"
Shen Qinghe did not seem embarrassed by the question. "It seemed improper to keep it."
That was such a reasonable answer that it became suspicious again.
Lu Ming tried to decide whether the protagonist was testing him, gathering information, or simply behaving like an unnervingly upright person for reasons that offended common sense.
Before he could arrive at a conclusion, Shen Qinghe glanced once more at the satchel and said, "If Senior Brother is heading west, we could travel part of the road together. The mountain trails are less troublesome with company."
Lu Ming nearly choked on air.
Company.
As though they were fellow disciples on cordial terms and not a villain-protagonist pairing one bad misunderstanding away from attempted manslaughter.
He opened his mouth to refuse, but the system panel sprang up so quickly that it nearly hit him in the eye.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Proximity Event Detected
Maintaining contact with the protagonist may increase mission efficiency.
Suggestion: Accept shared travel arrangement.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lu Ming wanted to set the system on fire.
He could, of course, refuse anyway. There was no direct order attached, only that infuriating recommendation. The problem was that refusing too strongly might make Shen Qinghe curious, and curiosity in protagonists was rarely survivable.
So Lu Ming did the only thing a doomed villain with limited options could do.
He stepped out of his doorway and said, with all the warmth of an unwilling funeral guest, "Very well. We can travel together until the road splits."
Shen Qinghe nodded once. "Thank you, Senior Brother."
Lu Ming locked his residence behind him with the air of a man sealing his own tomb.
They descended the inner sect paths side by side beneath a sky turning steadily violet. Lamps were being lit across the bridges, their amber light wavering in the mist.
Other disciples bowed as Lu Ming passed, then stared openly at the sight of Shen Qinghe beside him, clearly unsure how to interpret the pairing.
Lu Ming could not blame them. He also wanted an explanation.
For the first several minutes, neither of them spoke. The silence was not hostile exactly, but it was thick enough to make every footstep sound significant.
Lu Ming broke first, mostly because his nerves needed somewhere to go.
"You said you had an errand," he remarked, keeping his tone casual. "Western mountains are a broad destination."
"They are," Shen Qinghe agreed.
Lu Ming waited.
When nothing followed, he clicked his tongue softly. "That answer contains almost no information."
Shen Qinghe glanced at him. "Senior Brother also gave a broad answer when I asked where he was going."
"That was because I value mystery."
"And perhaps I do as well."
Lu Ming looked at him sideways. "You are extremely difficult to talk to."
"I have been told that before."
The honesty of the reply caught him off guard. For a fleeting instant, Lu Ming almost laughed.
Almost.
They crossed the final bridge leading away from the main sect grounds and entered a narrower mountain path lined with dark pines. Evening wind moved through the trees with a low hush, carrying the scent of stone, cold water, and distant rain.
As the sect lights receded behind them, Lu Ming became more aware of the landscape around them and of Shen Qinghe's quiet presence at his side. The protagonist walked with unnerving balance, every step measured without seeming cautious. Even in low light, he moved like someone who trusted both his body and the terrain.
It was terribly protagonist-like.
Lu Ming resented it on principle.
To occupy himself, he tried recalling the original timeline. In the novel, Shen Qinghe's trip to the western mountains had been solitary. He had encountered a rogue beast, narrowly avoided a cliff collapse, then stumbled upon the Frostshade Dewleaf during the final hour before dawn. No mention had been made of Lu Ming anywhere near that sequence.
Which meant this shared journey was already a deviation.
The thought made Lu Ming itch with unease.
He needed a reason to separate from Shen Qinghe before they reached the mist cliffs. If the protagonist saw him harvesting the herb, subtlety would die on the spot.
After another stretch of silence, Shen Qinghe spoke.
"Senior Brother Lu."
Lu Ming braced instinctively. "What."
"You seem tense."
Lu Ming turned to him with a look of polite disbelief. "I'm walking through the mountains at night with a man I publicly insulted this morning. What emotional state would you recommend?"
A pause followed, then that almost-smile touched Shen Qinghe's mouth again.
"Fair."
Lu Ming nearly stumbled.
The protagonist was not supposed to be amusing. He was supposed to be cold, talented, righteous, and mildly repressed until the story decided to torture him attractively.
This version had all those qualities, but there was now an additional undercurrent of dry humor that made him substantially more dangerous.
Lu Ming faced forward again. "I preferred you when you said less."
"That can be arranged."
"Please do."
They continued down the path until the trees thickened and the trail narrowed into a rocky shelf overlooking a drop steep enough to humble philosophy. Mist drifted up from the ravine below, silver under the rising moon.
Lu Ming slowed unconsciously.
In the inherited memories of the original owner, this section of trail had a poor reputation. Disciples used it because it was faster than the lower path, but it was also where lesser beasts occasionally wandered at night.
As though his thoughts had invited trouble, a rustle sounded in the brush ahead.
Both men stopped.
Shen Qinghe's hand moved to the hilt of his sword. Lu Ming's hand moved to his dagger, though with considerably less elegance.
The brush shook again. Then something low and dark sprang from the shadows with a snarl that tore through the quiet.
Lu Ming's first thought was that it looked larger in real life than it had in prose.
The beast resembled a mountain lynx if someone had been offended by the concept of moderation and added far too many teeth. Its fur was black with streaks of grey, its shoulders nearly reaching Lu Ming's chest, and its eyes shone a hateful green in the moonlight.
For an instant it crouched on the path, muscles tight and claws digging into stone.
Then it lunged.
Shen Qinghe moved first.
His sword was out in a single bright arc, the steel catching moonlight as it cut through the air with a clean ringing note. The beast twisted unexpectedly mid-leap, avoiding the killing strike but taking a deep wound across its shoulder.
It crashed into the path and whirled back with a scream of pain.
Lu Ming, who had every intention of not dying in the mountains on a side quest, snatched a talisman from his sleeve and slapped it forward with the sort of frantic confidence that only appears when all alternatives are bad.
The paper flashed gold.
A burst of light exploded between them and the beast, blinding it long enough for Shen Qinghe to step in again. This time his sword drove straight through the creature's throat.
The beast shuddered once, clawed uselessly at the stone, and collapsed.
Silence returned in ragged layers.
Lu Ming stood very still with the blackened remains of the talisman pinched between his fingers.
His heart was beating so hard that it felt like another person knocking from inside his ribs.
Shen Qinghe withdrew his sword and turned toward him. "Are you hurt?"
Lu Ming looked at the dead beast, then at the protagonist, then at the dead beast again.
"No," he said. "But I deeply object to the entire experience."
Shen Qinghe glanced at the destroyed talisman in Lu Ming's hand. "That was a high-grade flare charm."
"It was the closest thing available to panic."
A sound escaped Shen Qinghe then, soft and brief. It took Lu Ming a second to realize the man had laughed.
Not a dignified exhale.
An actual laugh.
The offense of this moment could not be overstated.
Lu Ming stared at him. "Did you just laugh at me?"
Shen Qinghe's expression returned to composure with suspicious speed. "No."
"You absolutely did."
"The situation was memorable."
"That is not a denial."
"It is the answer you currently have."
Lu Ming narrowed his eyes, but before he could continue the argument, the system panel flashed brightly.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Combat Assistance Detected
Host provided effective support to the protagonist.
Narrative alignment: Irregular.
No points awarded.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lu Ming read the notice in disgust. "Irregular? I was almost eaten."
Shen Qinghe, apparently hearing only his muttering and not the impossible bureaucracy of a cosmic villain engine, asked, "What did you say?"
"I said mountain travel is vulgar."
Shen Qinghe gave him a long look but did not press further.
Instead, he crouched beside the dead beast and inspected the wound on its shoulder. "This creature should not have wandered so close to the sect roads."
Lu Ming, grateful for a topic that did not include his emotional instability, folded his arms and looked down as well. "Is that unusual?"
"For a Nightclaw Lynx, yes. They prefer the higher cliffs." Shen Qinghe paused. "Unless something drove it down."
Lu Ming's pulse skipped.
In the original novel, the rogue beast attack had indeed happened on the western route, and it was used to hint that the mountain ecosystem had been disturbed by something deeper within the cliffs. Shen Qinghe later discovered signs of demonic contamination near an abandoned cave.
Lu Ming had forgotten that detail completely.
He tried to sound casual. "Could it have been injured?"
"It was hungry," Shen Qinghe said. "And agitated."
He stood again and wiped his blade clean with a square of cloth before returning it to its sheath. The gesture was so efficient it bordered on insulting.
Lu Ming looked at the corpse and felt a useful thought click into place.
If the Nightclaw Lynx had been forced down from the higher cliffs, then the upper route might be more dangerous than expected. That gave Lu Ming an excellent excuse to suggest a split later under the pretense of scouting or caution.
He only needed the timing.
They resumed walking, though now more carefully. The path climbed higher through broken stone and thinning trees until the forest gave way to open slopes. Above them, the western cliffs rose like dark walls against the sky, their edges wrapped in silver mist.
Lu Ming recognized the landscape immediately.
They were close.
Far too close.
His nerves tightened with every step. Somewhere among those cliffs, Frostshade Dewleaf clung to wet stone and waited to become the reason his life worsened.
He needed to separate from Shen Qinghe now.
Before he could invent a convincing excuse, however, Shen Qinghe slowed and looked toward the upper ridge.
"There is something ahead," he said quietly.
Lu Ming followed his gaze.
At first he saw nothing except rock and drifting mist. Then a faint glimmer caught his eye, pale and silvery among the dark cliff face.
His stomach dropped.
The herb.
He had found it.
At the exact same moment, Shen Qinghe said, "That appears to be—"
Lu Ming acted on instinct.
He pointed sharply toward the lower ravine on their right and said, with all the authority panic could provide, "Did you hear that?"
Shen Qinghe turned at once toward the darkness below.
That bought Lu Ming perhaps one heartbeat of time, but desperation is a powerful architect of terrible decisions.
He grabbed a second talisman from his sleeve, activated it with a pulse of spiritual energy, and threw it toward the ravine.
A shrill burst of echoing sound exploded through the rocks, followed by a shower of false sparks and the convincing roar of something large and furious waking up in a terrible mood.
Shen Qinghe's hand went to his sword again.
"What was that?"
Lu Ming widened his eyes with theatrical sincerity. "It sounded dangerous."
The roar echoed a second time, louder now, because the talisman apparently believed in commitment.
Shen Qinghe stepped toward the ravine edge, listening.
Lu Ming took one smooth step backward toward the cliff path.
"I'll check the upper ridge," he said immediately. "We should not be attacked from two sides."
It was, Lu Ming thought, a brilliant lie made possible only by circumstances and fear.
Shen Qinghe turned back toward him, clearly weighing the idea. Moonlight caught the side of his face, sharpening the line of his jaw and the cool focus in his eyes.
"Be careful," he said at last.
Lu Ming had expected suspicion.
He had not expected concern.
For a fraction of a second, the response robbed him of momentum. Then survival reasserted itself.
"Obviously," he said, and before fate could revise the agreement, he turned and headed up the narrow cliff trail alone.
The mist thickened almost immediately, cool against his face and heavy with the scent of wet stone. His pulse hammered in his ears as he climbed toward the silver glimmer he had seen from below.
After several quick turns around the rock face, the herb came into full view.
Frostshade Dewleaf grew from a crack in the cliff wall where pale moisture had gathered in a natural hollow. Its leaves were narrow and translucent, each one edged with fine silver veins that seemed to hold moonlight inside them. A single droplet of clear liquid trembled at the tip of the tallest leaf, catching the dim light like crystal.
Even Lu Ming, who had no particular feelings about medicinal botany, had to admit it was beautiful.
Then the system panel appeared again.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Target Item Located
Harvest the spiritual herb to complete theft sequence.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Lu Ming exhaled slowly and crouched beside the plant.
"Right," he murmured. "Quietly, quickly, and with no witnesses."
He reached into his satchel for the small jade knife he had packed earlier, ready to cut the stem at the root exactly as the original Lu Ming's memories instructed.
Below, somewhere in the mist and stone, the false beast-roar echoed one last time and faded.
The mountain seemed to hold its breath.
Lu Ming steadied his hand and lowered the blade toward the silver stem, unaware that several turns down the cliff path, another presence had already started moving silently upward through the fog.