The night in the Eternal Night Mansion was calm, quiet — almost deceptively so. The faint hum of spirit lamps glowed through the stone corridors, and from Mo Han's residence came an unusual sound — the frantic scratching of a quill against paper.

Inside the stone house, Fatty Lambu sat hunched over a wooden desk, scribbling furiously on a stack of parchment. His chubby face glistened with sweat, lips moving silently as he wrote line after line. His sleeves were rolled up, hair sticking out wildly, and Dambu, the tiny fire chicken, sat on his head like a glowing ornament.

Across the room, Chi Kai and Jia Kai watched with confusion and growing concern.

"Fatty," Chi Kai said finally, "you've been writing since dawn. What are you doing, a novel?"

"Not a novel!" Fatty snapped without looking up. "A financial record! Every stone, every coin, every herb expense of this insane operation!"

He slammed his quill down dramatically, spinning the parchment toward them. "Here! Read and despair!"

The sisters leaned in — their eyes widened almost immediately.

"Spirit Hawk feathers — 700 aura stones. Golden Boar tusk dust — 900 aura stones. Fire Salamander oil — 650. Transport cost, market taxes, bribes to merchants, and Dambu's feed—"

"Wait," Jia Kai interrupted, "you're feeding that chicken spirit food?"

Dambu chirped indignantly and pecked her sleeve.

"Of course!" Fatty huffed. "He's my business partner."

Chi Kai's eyes flicked to the bottom of the parchment — and her expression changed to disbelief. "Wait. You mean we're down to only... one hundred aura stones?"

Fatty nodded miserably, slumping back in his chair. "Exactly one hundred. Just enough to buy a small candle and cry under its light."

The sisters exchanged worried glances.

"This can't go on," Jia Kai said firmly. "Mo Han's busy training and fighting. He doesn't think about money — but we can't keep bleeding our savings dry."

Chi Kai nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. "We have to help him somehow. We should learn a craft — something that earns aura stones."

Fatty blinked. "Craft? Like what?"

"Anything," Chi Kai said. "Alchemy, talisman making, beast training — even selling potions in the city. If we each master one skill, we can support the expenses."

Fatty rubbed his chin, considering. "Hmm… I could start a food business. Spirit chicken stew, maybe?"

Dambu squawked in horror, flapping his wings.

Jia Kai laughed. "You're hopeless, Fatty. But… the idea isn't bad. Let's divide it — I'll learn talisman crafting, Chi Kai can try herb alchemy, and you… you figure out something that doesn't involve cooking your pet."

Fatty scratched his head. "Fine, fine. I'll find something. But it better be something that makes aura stones fast. Because at this rate, if Mo Han doesn't win that tournament, we'll be eating moss by next month."

The sisters laughed softly, but their smiles carried the same weight of worry.

---

Inside the Hall of Elders...

The thirteen elders of the Eternal Night Mansion had gathered once more, not to deliberate politics, but to gamble.

At the center of the long stone table lay an enchanted crystal orb, its surface glowing faintly. It displayed miniature projections of the disciples currently inside the Inner Herbal Forest, their auras flickering like candle flames within the misty illusion.

The patriarch was absent — deliberately so. This was a private indulgence of the elders, a tradition older than most of the sect's records.

"Ha!" Elder Yuan slammed his fist down. "I place two Master-grade talismans on my disciple, Lee Sheng. He's the best among the herb division, and his control over lightning vines will secure him the top five."

Another elder, the fiery-tempered Elder Hong, laughed boisterously. "Your Lee Sheng can't even hold his bladder when he sees a spirit bear! I'll wager one frost artifact on my girl, Wei Ling. She's already claimed three rare herbs in the first hour."

Around the table, laughter and arguments flared. Spirit coins, talismans, and even heirloom weapons exchanged hands in a storm of bets and boasts.

But amidst the commotion, two women stood apart — their rivalry sharper than any blade.

Elder Mei, calm as winter frost, and Elder Lady Park, eyes glinting like venomous jade.

"So," Lady Park said smoothly, "you've chosen to bet on your little prodigy, Mo Han?"

Elder Mei inclined her head slightly. "Yes."

Lady Park smirked. "Brave. Or foolish. The boy's talented, yes, but he's no match for the disciples who have trained under master-level guidance for decades. Not to mention…" Her lips curved cruelly. "He seems to attract enemies like flies."

Elder Mei met her gaze unflinchingly. "Enemies are proof of strength. Mediocrity walks unchallenged."

Without another word, Elder Mei reached into her sleeve and placed a shimmering scroll on the table. The others fell silent.

"By the heavens," Elder Yuan breathed. "That's a Master-rank Combat Scroll!"

The scroll glowed faintly, inscribed with golden sigils. Only the most powerful of techniques could bear such a seal.

"I wager this," Elder Mei said softly, "in support of Mo Han."

The air went still. Even Lady Park's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, she laughed.

"You're bold, Mei. Very well — I'll match your bet."

She snapped her fingers, and her servant laid a crystal dagger upon the table. It gleamed with internal frost. "A Spirit Dagger of the Ninth Rank, infused with my own blood. I'll place it against your scroll."

Elder Yuan grinned. "Now it's getting interesting."

All around the hall, excitement buzzed. Bets increased, voices rose, and the illusion orb flickered with the pulse of spiritual energy. Somewhere within that orb, the faint golden outline of Mo Han moved steadily toward the forest's heart — toward the Spirit Well.

By evening, word of the elders' gambling had spread like wildfire — and it didn't stop there.

---

The Gambling Square, a secret courtyard tucked behind the alchemy division, was overflowing with disciples. Crystals floated in midair, each displaying the names of participants inside the forest. Wagers were shouted, coins clinked, and talismans glowed as disciples placed bets on their chosen heroes.

"The odds for Mo Han are 1:5!" a voice called. "Elder Mei's disciple, the healer turned fighter! Place your bets now!"

"Ha! The odds are that high because he'll be dead by tomorrow!" another laughed. "Put me down for 200 stones on Lee Sheng!"

Fatty Lambu, however, was not laughing.

He stood quietly near the edge of the square, arms crossed, Dambu peeking from under his collar. His eyes gleamed with the kind of focus he usually reserved for food.

He had received the news hours earlier — from his small network of servant informants working secretly in various elder households. Each message had confirmed it: the elders' bets were serious this time, and Mo Han's odds were sky-high.

"This is it," Fatty whispered. "The biggest opportunity."

He opened his pouch and took out a weapon — a beautifully crafted spirit mace with runes etched across the handle. It glowed faintly with red light.

The attendant at the betting stand gawked. "That's a fine weapon! Worth at least 3,000 aura stones. You sure you want to risk it?"

Fatty nodded, his face unusually solemn. "All in. For Mo Han."

The attendant grinned, jotting it down. "At 1:5 odds, if he wins, you'll walk away with fifteen thousand aura stones."

"Good," Fatty said, exhaling deeply. "Then I'll finally stop eating Dambu's leftovers."

The fire chicken chirped, offended.

As the attendant sealed the bet, murmurs rippled through the crowd. "That's the fat-disciple who follows Elder Mei's boy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. He just bet his whole weapon. Either he's crazy or he knows something."

Behind Fatty, the disciples continued shouting and cheering — their laughter echoing through the courtyard like thunder.

But Fatty's mind was quiet. He looked toward the distant mountains, where the forest shimmered faintly under the moonlight.

"Don't die in there, Brother Mo," he murmured. "I just bet our future on you."

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