Inner Herbal Forest finally shimmered open on the third day evening, a crowd had already gathered outside the glowing fissure. Disciples, elders, and servants all stood in eager anticipation, murmuring with restless curiosity.

The scent of herbs filled the air, mixed with the faint copper tang of spiritual energy. One by one, the surviving disciples emerged from the luminous mist — some limping, others supported by friends, their robes torn, their expressions weary yet triumphant.

Each carried bags stuffed with rare herbs and beast cores, proudly showing their trophies to the watching elders.

"That's Lee Sheng from Elder Yuan's branch! He brought a Spirit Horn Root!"

"And Wei Ling from Elder Hong's group — a full basket of Blood Petal Orchids!"

"Good heavens… so many returned early this time!"

The elders nodded approvingly, taking mental notes, whispering among themselves about rankings, future prospects, and political benefits.

But as the minutes passed, and the glow of the portal began to fade, a murmur of confusion spread through the crowd.

"Wait… wasn't there one more inside?"

"Yes… Elder Mei's disciple — Mo Han, wasn't it?"

"He hasn't returned yet?"

A ripple of unease went through the gathered disciples. Some whispered that he had probably perished in the deeper regions. Others smirked quietly, secretly pleased that the mysterious healer who had stolen so much attention might finally be gone.

Even the elders began to look toward Elder Mei, whose expression remained calm, though her eyes gleamed faintly with silent concern.

And then—

A deep, resonant sound echoed from the fading portal.

Thud… Thud… Thud…

The ground trembled with each step that followed.

The light rippled — and a massive emerald ox stepped through, its fur shining faintly under the morning sun. Its enormous horns glowed with faint runes, and its steady, calm eyes swept across the stunned crowd like it was walking through its own pasture.

The disciples gasped.

"What… in the heavens…"

"An offering beast of the Inner Forest? That's a spiritual ox!"

"Who could tame something like that—"

Their question died mid-sentence.

Because seated cross-legged atop the ox's broad back was Mo Han.

His robe was tattered, his hair disheveled, and his aura impossibly dense — calm, yet terrifying. His skin shimmered faintly with traces of golden light, the unmistakable signature of someone who had just broken through a major realm.

He opened his eyes as he emerged from the mist, his gaze sharp yet peaceful. Behind him, faint wisps of dual energy — red and white — danced in the air before fading away.

"Impossible!"

"He—he even brought the ox out alive!"

Even the elders leaned forward, their expressions a mix of astonishment and disbelief.

Mo Han stepped down from the ox's back, landing lightly on the ground. The moment his boots touched earth, his aura flared subtly — vast and refined, radiating the unmistakable power of an Elder Rank cultivator.

The crowd fell silent again.

Elder Mei's lips curved upward ever so slightly.

A moment later, the heavy steps of boots echoed across the courtyard. The crowd parted instinctively as the Vice-Patriarch of the Eternal Night Mansion, Lord Yuan Yao, descended from the central balcony.

He was a man of grand bearing — tall, dressed in layered black and silver robes, his long hair streaked with white, eyes gleaming with wisdom and weight. His very presence carried an air of authority that made even the senior elders bow.

"Everyone," he began, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard, "the forest trial is complete. You have all done well."

His gaze swept across the gathered disciples — pausing for just a heartbeat on Mo Han before continuing.

"This trial was not merely to test your strength, but your will, your endurance, and your loyalty to the sect's path. Many of you have proven worthy, returning with rare herbs and valuable experiences."

A murmur of pride rose among the disciples.

The Vice-Patriarch raised his hand for silence. "However," he continued, his tone deepening, "our true battle begins now. In two weeks' time, the Elder Rank Tournament will commence — the one that will determine our sect's right to remain within the Golden Crow Syndicate."

The weight of those words settled over the courtyard like a heavy fog.

"If we fail," he said, "the title of Dual Cultivators — the very essence of our foundation — will be struck from the records. They call us corrupt, pleasure-seekers, defilers of purity. They say our path weakens the soul."

He paused, his eyes sharp as blades.

"Then let us show them our strength."

A wave of energy rippled through the crowd as disciples straightened, their blood boiling with renewed fervor.

Yuan Yao continued, voice rising, "In two weeks, you will stand before the eyes of the realms. Train harder than ever before. Sharpen your blades, refine your minds, and let your passion burn bright! Keep the name of the Dual Cultivators shining until the heavens themselves bow to it!"

"YES, VICE-PATRIARCH!" the disciples roared in unison, their voices shaking the courtyard.

Even the ox snorted proudly, stomping once as if echoing their spirit.

Yuan Yao turned his gaze once more to Mo Han, studying him. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. "And you, young one," he said, "you've made quite an entrance."

Mo Han inclined his head respectfully. "It was a fortunate journey, Vice-Patriarch."

"Fortune favors the capable," Yuan Yao replied, then looked to Elder Mei. "You have chosen your disciple well."

Elder Mei bowed slightly, though her eyes never left Mo Han.

The Vice-Patriarch gave one final nod. "Rest well, all of you. Two weeks from now — we rise together."

With that, he turned and left, his robes billowing like storm clouds.

When the crowd began to disperse, Elder Mei moved forward, her expression soft for the first time in public memory. She approached Mo Han, her voice quiet but warm.

"You made it back," she said. "And in one piece."

Mo Han smiled faintly. "I promised I would."

Her eyes lingered on him, sensing the subtle but immense shift in his aura. "You've broken through," she said simply, her tone carrying pride. "You found it, didn't you?"

Mo Han nodded. "The Spirit Well."

Elder Mei's composure slipped for a heartbeat — her pupils dilated slightly, her hand tightening around her sleeve. "So it truly exists…" she whispered. "The legends were true."

"It's real," Mo Han confirmed.

A soft breath escaped her lips — relief, respect, and something like awe. "Good. That's why you're different."

As she turned to leave, she added softly, "Prepare well for the tournament. I expect you to carry our banner."

"I won't disappoint you," Mo Han replied.

But not every gaze upon him was warm.

From the shadowed colonnade nearby, Tang Zin stood silently, her arms crossed, her crimson robe blending with the dusk. Her eyes, sharp as daggers, followed every movement of Mo Han and Elder Mei.

Her teeth clenched.

"So he survived…" she muttered, her voice low and bitter.

A servant standing nearby dared to whisper, "Lady Tang, shall we—"

"Enough." Her tone was cold as frost. "He's gained too much attention now. One wrong move and the elders will shield him. I'll wait."

Her lips curled into a dangerous smile. "Let him shine in the tournament. The brighter his light burns — the sweeter it will be when I extinguish it."

As Mo Han walked away, the sunset cast his shadow long across the courtyard. The disciples watched him with awe, some with envy, others with fear.

And high above, Tang Zin's gaze followed him — burning with silent rage.

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