Han Yun strolled down the bustling main street of Misty Spring City, weaving through the crowd with one hand tucked casually into his robe sleeve. He wasn't in a hurry—he rarely was. Not when things were already lining up just right.
A flick of his fingers brought the tracker panel back to life before his eyes.
[Target: Ye Fan]
Location: Misty Spring City – Eastern Pavilion District
Establishment: Cloudveil Terrace (High-class Restaurant)
Status: Dining – Accompanied
Notable Nearby Presence: Liu Yuelan (Liu Branch Elder's Granddaughter)
Han Yun clicked his tongue lightly, a grin slowly forming on his lips.
"Of course he is," he murmured.
Where else would a rising chosen one be? High-end restaurant. High-profile company. Probably sipping spirit wine with a picturesque view of the koi pond. Probably halfway into convincing the Liu Family heiress that he was misunderstood and noble beneath it all.
"…Shamelessly smooth."
He didn't rush there immediately though. First, a detour.
Han Yun passed through the marketplace, casually stopping at a small vendor that sold polished spirit fans and handmade accessories. He browsed briefly, then purchased a simple folding fan with a silver dragon motif and a faint enchantment for cooling Qi. Not for function.
For aesthetic.
As he tucked the fan into his sash, he adjusted the folds of his robe and ran a quick hand through his hair to neaten it just slightly—not too tidy, not too disheveled. Just enough to make someone look twice without understanding why.
He wasn't going to attack Ye Fan.
Not yet.
He just wanted to see.
See how far Ye Fan had come.
See what kind of expression he'd wear when they locked eyes again.
After all…
There's no way in hell that righteous young master from back then would recognize the quiet beggar he once swore to "teach a lesson."
Han Yun smiled to himself.
"Let's have lunch, brother Ye Fan."
Han Yun stood at the entrance of Cloudveil Terrace, easily the biggest, flashiest restaurant in the entire city. White jade steps. Fragrance of spirit herbs leaking through the windows. The sound of slow music played by some overpriced formation instrument floated in the air like it was trying too hard to sound elegant.
His steps were calm, even. Chin slightly lifted. Robes sharp and clean, hair neat. His whole posture said: someone important, probably annoying, definitely not to be questioned.
The two bouncers outside barely gave him a second look. One of them glanced at his robes, then at his face—paused for a moment—and then subtly straightened his own back.
Neither of them said a word.
They just stepped aside politely and gestured him in like he belonged there.
Han Yun walked through the entrance without a word, one hand resting behind his back, the other casually fingering the folding fan at his waist like he was born with it.
Act like you've been here before, even if you haven't. That was rule one for a professional scammer.
Inside, Cloudveil Terrace lived up to its name.
Wide open space. Floating platforms of polished wood suspended over a shallow, mist-covered pond. Every table was separated just enough to feel private, and the air was thick with the kind of quiet that came from money where no one raised their voice, but everyone made sure they were seen.
Han Yun stepped in like he knew the layout by heart. His eyes moved slow, deliberate—like someone used to sizing people up in a room.
And then he spotted them.
Ye Fan, of course, couldn't help but stand out.
Sitting near the balcony, with the sunset at his back, dressed in light robes with faint golden embroidery. Across from him sat a girl—young, elegant posture, with the Liu family's insignia stitched into her collar. Her expression was cool but polite, the kind that knew exactly what kind of power she held.
Han Yun squinted just slightly. So that's Liu Yuelan.
The two looked like they'd been painted into a scroll. Golden boy and noble heiress. Picture perfect.
"Tch," Han Yun muttered.
He picked a table—not too close, not too far. Three tables off to the left, just enough to overhear if things got interesting, but not enough to draw suspicion.
The waiter approached.
"Welcome, honored guest. May I recommend—"
"Something light," Han Yun cut in smoothly, keeping his tone low but steady. "And a pot of chilled cloud-leaf tea."
He slid a mid-grade spirit stone across the table, one hand lazily resting near the edge like he'd done it a hundred times.
The waiter bowed slightly and left.
Han Yun leaned back in his seat, posture relaxed, gaze drifting just past Ye Fan's table without staring directly. From the outside, he looked like someone casually enjoying a quiet meal in a nice place.
On the inside?
He was already watching everything. Expression. Body language. Voice tone.
Han Yun sipped his tea slowly, eyes half-lidded as his gaze shifted—not toward Ye Fan this time, but to the girl sitting across from him.
She stood out in a very different way.
Twin tails, tied neatly with silk ribbons. Slightly pink hair, probably the result of some minor bloodline or spiritual inheritance. Her face had a soft, innocent charm—wide eyes, gentle smile, and a manner of nodding and responding that screamed politeness. The kind of demure elegance that made people drop their guard without realizing it.
Definitely cute. Pretty even.
But not like Qinglan.
This one had more of a gentle maiden feel. The kind of girl most cultivators would fall for without thinking twice.
Han Yun, though?
He preferred his women cold, sharp-tongued, and more likely to stab him than serve tea.
Still, curiosity was habit. He tapped open his system panel and discreetly ran a scan on her.
[Liu Yuelan]
Affiliation: Liu Family (Branch) – Misty Spring City
Status: Non-Chosen
Cultivation: Qi Condensation – Peak
Talent Grade: A
Personality Flag: Reserved / Observant / Calculative
Notable Traits: Spirit Affinity – Illusion / Mental Techniques
He leaned back slightly, brows raised.
"So that's how it is," he muttered under his breath.
From the outside, Liu Yuelan looked harmless—every inch the sweet young lady. But behind that smile and soft eyes, the system painted a very different picture.
Smart. Calculated. Dangerous in her own way.
Han Yun sat there for a few minutes, casually sipping his tea, posture relaxed—but the longer he sat, the more annoyed he got.
The layout of Cloudveil Terrace was spacious. Elegant. Well-spaced. Too well-spaced.
He could see Ye Fan and Liu Yuelan clearly—watch the way she smiled just slightly too often, the way he leaned in a little more than he probably should—but not a single word reached his ears.
Damn formations. Sound-isolation barriers were woven into the platforms, meant to preserve "privacy and peace" for the city's esteemed guests.
He narrowed his eyes slightly at the scene. Then, with a light sigh and a quiet clink of his teacup back into the saucer, he stood up.
A waiter passed by, and Han Yun raised a hand lightly, not rushing, not drawing attention.
"Excuse me," he said with a calm smile. "Would it be too much trouble to move me to a seat with a better view? The sunlight from this angle's a little harsh."
The waiter blinked once, glanced at the mostly-shaded corner Han Yun had just been sitting in, then quickly nodded. "Of course, honored guest. We have a spot just off the central bridge. Shall I guide you?"
"Please."
He followed, taking slow steps behind the waiter, eyes scanning just enough to track Ye Fan's table again.
Not too close.
But close enough this time.
Han Yun eased into his new seat, resting one arm along the table, fingers lightly tapping the side of his cup while his ears tuned in—finally catching the soft rhythm of conversation.
Or rather… monologue.
Ye Fan's voice was clear now—low, a little too serious for the setting, words spilling with the cadence of someone who didn't realize they were talking too much.
Han Yun blinked slowly, watching the guy from across the pond.
"…Is he venting?"
It wasn't even subtle. Ye Fan was going off about his past, something about how the elders turned on him, how the clan betrayed his father, how hard he's been cultivating, how no one believed in him until recently, and how everything he had now was earned with blood and pain.
Han Yun's expression didn't change, but internally?
He was watching a train slowly crash.
You're not even drunk, he thought. Why are you giving her the whole backstory arc already?
Across the table, Liu Yuelan was the picture of gentle attentiveness.
Head tilted slightly, fingers delicately wrapped around her teacup, soft smile never fading. She nodded at the right moments, occasionally giving a quiet "mm" or "I see."
It looked like she was hanging on every word.
But Han Yun wasn't buying it.
Not for a second.
Her posture was too perfect. Her reactions a bit too timed. There wasn't a single tell—no shift in expression, no break in her rhythm.
This girl's good.
She was listening, sure. But what she was thinking?
No one in this room could guess.
Especially not the guy across from her.
As Han Yun picked at the dish placed in front of him—some steamed spirit lotus over rice, more presentation than substance—he kept one ear trained on the conversation across the water.
Finally, Liu Yuelan spoke.
Her voice was soft, but carried easily in the space between tables.
"We'll be staying in Misty Spring City for a while," she said. "My family's here to watch the upcoming tournament."
Ye Fan nodded quickly. "I heard. Your father mentioned it when we spoke. He said he reserved seats in the pavilion. I'll be there too—he invited me to join the VIP section."
Of course he did.
Han Yun didn't look up, but internally, the picture formed easily.
Ah… so that's how it is.
Ye Fan sitting in the VIP stands, next to the daughter of a wealthy branch family, sharing tea while her father looks on with that approving noble-parent nod. The pieces lined up well enough.
And it wasn't a bad play.
Ye Fan was young, handsome, hardworking, and brimming with talent. From any family's point of view, that's the kind of guy you want tied to your bloodline. Even better if he had a tragic past and all.
Han Yun glanced toward Liu Yuelan briefly.
She still wore that calm, composed look. Not too warm, not cold either.
Did she like him?
Hard to say. She didn't seem to mind him, that much was obvious. She wasn't brushing him off. But there wasn't any visible spark either.
She was simply—polite.
Measured.
Too polished to read.
Han Yun chewed slowly and tapped his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl once.
After finishing the last bite, Han Yun set down his chopsticks with quiet satisfaction. He hadn't expected much from the food, but it turned out better than it had any right to be—flavorful, well-balanced, and not overly flashy.
He wiped his mouth slowly, then reached for his cup and took a final sip of tea.
"…Alright," he murmured to himself, sliding the cup back into the saucer with a light clink. "Let's stir the pot."
He stood.
Hands moved with practiced grace as he straightened the folds of his robe, adjusted the drape of the black fabric, and made sure his folding fan sat just right in his sash—half-visible, half-teasing, a proper accessory for someone playing at refined elegance.
Then, he shifted his expression. Calm. Warm. A faint trace of admiration, like someone gently stunned by beauty he hadn't expected.
He walked toward their table—posture controlled, steps even, face unreadable but pleasant.
As he approached, he let his eyes settle only on Liu Yuelan. Not even a glance at Ye Fan.
When he reached the edge of their platform, he offered a small bow—not too deep, but with just enough formality to keep from being rude.
"Apologies for the intrusion," he said smoothly. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the terrace."
His tone was soft, admiring.
"I rarely see someone carry themselves with such grace. Forgive me, but would you allow me to sit for just a moment?"
Still no glance toward Ye Fan. As if the boy wasn't even part of the conversation.
Han Yun waited with the faintest smile.
Just enough to make it clear: this wasn't about politeness.
It was very, very deliberate.
Liu Yuelan blinked, slightly surprised—but not offended.
She answered politely, her voice as measured as ever.
"Liu Yuelan," she said simply, offering a faint nod. "And you are…?"
Han Yun offered a pleasant smile in return, voice smooth.
"Han Yun. Forgive me again, I don't usually make a habit of disturbing strangers, but your presence was difficult to ignore."
She gave a small smile. "...You're quite forward."
"Only when the setting calls for it," he said, still not once acknowledging the other person at the table.
That other person—Ye Fan—was currently boiling in silence.
[Ye Fan's POV]
What the hell is this?
The moment that guy walked up, everything shifted. His timing was flawless—just after dinner, just as things were settling, right when Ye Fan was starting to feel like the conversation might finally go somewhere deeper.
And then this robed peacock shows up, acting like Ye Fan didn't even exist.
Ye Fan clenched his jaw, holding his cup a little too tightly.
He had no idea who this man was. His face was unfamiliar. His robes looked expensive. The way he carried himself screamed "young master from some remote sect or noble line." He didn't have any overwhelming pressure or anything just this calm, collected arrogance that grated every nerve in Ye Fan's body.
Han Yun didn't even spare him a glance.
Didn't nod.
Didn't say hello.
Nothing.
Just walked up, complimented Yuelan, asked to join them like Ye Fan was invisible.
'Who the hell does this guy think he is?'
Ye Fan's mind was already spinning—trying to figure out what background Han Yun might have. Could he offend him? Could he not?
And most of all—
Why the hell did Yuelan answer him so politely?
She didn't seem flustered, but she wasn't dismissing him either.
Ye Fan kept quiet, trying to stay composed, but his fingers were drumming lightly on the table. His thoughts were getting louder.
He didn't recognize this bastard.
Didn't realize at all. This was the same beggar he swore to teach a lesson.
Han Yun felt it the moment he sat down.
The tension.
Ye Fan didn't say anything, but the air around him was stiff, fingers twitching slightly as he gripped his cup. He didn't look relaxed. Not at all.
And Han Yun?
He didn't need to be told. He knew.
Ye Fan was pissed.
But that was exactly what Han Yun wanted.
He leaned forward slightly, just enough to appear engaged with Liu Yuelan, while the corner of his eye caught every flicker of Ye Fan's frustration.
Han Yun knew what he looked like.
He wasn't that handsome in the same way Ye Fan was. Not the classic, sharp-jawed, heroic type. And he didn't have the natural charisma or raw, physical presence like Feng Yiran.
But he had something else.
Presence.
Control.
He understood posture. Pacing. Tone.
He knew how to keep his voice low, calm, with just enough softness to draw attention. He moved like someone who didn't need to prove anything—someone you watched without meaning to.
And more than anything, he knew how to act.
Not as in pretending to be someone else.
But to play the part you expected to see, just long enough to step in without resistance.
He didn't need to be the most handsome.
He just needed to be the one who knew how to make someone like Ye Fan feel off-balance.