Mo Huyan didn't respond immediately.

Instead, she studied him again—this time with a far more deliberate, reassessing gaze. It was as though she were peeling away layers, trying to reconcile what she saw with what she knew.

The cultivator standing before her was, by all conventional measures, nothing more than a Foundation-Building nobody. Talented, yes. Abnormally so. But still far too young, far too early in his path, to be entangled with concepts like reincarnation, soul cycles, and the fundamental mechanisms that governed existence itself.

At his stage, he should have been worrying about which laws to begin comprehending. Which path to walk. Which sect genius to provoke—or which junior sister to chase.

These were matters that swallowed emperors and shattered immortals.

They did not belong to someone of his cultivation.

And yet.

Countless thoughts spiraled through her mind, one after another, colliding and dissolving. Her violet eyes deepened, becoming like two ancient pools that had witnessed the rise and fall of eras.

Finally, she raised a slender hand.

"Enough," Mo Huyan said, stopping him before he could bow again.

Her voice was calm, but sharp—each word landing like a nail driven into flesh, carrying unmistakable weight.

"There's no need to perform any further," she continued. "I know exactly how much you 'respect' me."

Then her gaze hardened.

"I'll tell you about the reincarnation cycle—but only on one condition."

Wang Chen's heart skipped a beat.

"You must tell me how you plan to get me out of this palace," she said slowly. "It doesn't even have to work."

Her lips curved into a thin, dangerous line.

"As long as you can convince me that you believe it is foolproof… I will tell you everything I know about the reincarnation cycle."

The air turned heavy.

This wasn't idle curiosity. This was a test—of conviction, of resolve, of whether his urgency was born of desperation… or something deeper.

Wang Chen felt a chill crawl up his spine.

His eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise flashing across his face. He hadn't expected her to corner him like this—so directly, so ruthlessly.

The truth was simple.

He did have a plan.

But it was incomplete. Risky. Untested.

He had intended to use it merely as leverage in negotiations, never truly expecting to be pressed this far. Never expecting her to demand it outright.

For the first time since this conversation began, doubt flickered through his thoughts.

What if she saw through it?

What if she dismissed it as madness?

But the moment had already arrived. There was no retreat left.

Wang Chen inhaled slowly, steadying his breathing.

I've already said too much, he thought. At this point… I might as well say everything.

He lifted his gaze and met Mo Huyan's eyes directly—no evasion, no theatrics.

Then, after a brief pause, he began to speak.

Wang Chen studied her face for a brief moment, making sure her attention was fully on him.

Only after confirming her gaze hadn't drifted did he flick his wrist.

A banner unfurled into existence—tattered, ancient, its surface rippling with faint soul-light. Countless whispers echoed softly from within, like the breathing of the dead.

The Thousand Soul Flag.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked calmly.

Mo Huyan barely spared it a glance before answering, her tone flat and unimpressed.

"Of course I do. Isn't that the low-quality Realm Gate you like to show off?" she said coolly. "It can barely allow your consciousness to connect with the Upper Realm. What exactly are you planning to do with it?"

"…."

Silence descended.

Her words echoed again and again through the dim, frigid expanse of the first floor. Even the resentful ghosts wandering nearby froze mid-drift, instinctively retreating as if sensing danger in the stillness itself.

Low-quality Realm Gate.

Barely allows consciousness to connect.

Each phrase struck Wang Chen like a dull hammer.

Of course, this wasn't new information. Mo Huyan had mentioned it before—casually, almost dismissively. Back then, he hadn't cared. At the time, simply being able to glimpse the Upper Realm had already felt miraculous.

But now?

Now those words carried weight.

If what she said was true—and she had no reason to lie—then this Realm Gate would be useless for physical traversal.

Which meant…

A year later, when the Morning Glory Divine Alchemical Sect's recruitment ceremony began, he wouldn't be able to enter the Upper Realm at all.

The realization settled heavily in his chest.

Wang Chen frowned, rubbing his temples as a dull ache spread behind his eyes. One problem stacked neatly atop another, like an endless tower of inconvenience and impending disaster.

Why does everything have to be this troublesome?

He exhaled slowly, regaining his composure—but a bitter thought lingered at the back of his mind.

When I get the chance… I really need to focus on increasing my luck.

Because at this rate, fate itself seemed to enjoy watching him suffer.

After a brief pause, Wang Chen decided to stop dwelling on it.

If the Thousand Soul Flag was merely a low-quality Realm Gate, then logic dictated that mid-grade—and even high-grade—Realm Gates must exist as well. This wasn't a dead end. At most, it was an inconvenience.

Countless possibilities flickered through his mind, branching endlessly—but none of them surfaced on his face. By now, he had grown accustomed to this little performance of his. Acting, it seemed, was just another form of cultivation.

The languid, careless air around him subtly shifted.

What had once felt relaxed now carried an oppressive depth, as if an unseen abyss had opened behind his calm eyes. In an instant, Wang Chen no longer resembled a struggling Foundation-Building cultivator—but an unfathomable expert who had seen too much of the world to care for trifles.

"Hm," he said indifferently. "Do you really think I would joke about something this serious?"

He lifted the Thousand Soul Flag slightly, the faint cries within it whispering like restless tides.

"You must have already noticed," he continued, voice steady, "that I didn't kill some of the resentful ghosts. I stored them inside this banner instead. If you were placed within it as well, taking you out of this palace would be effortless—nothing more than a matter of convenience."

His eyes narrowed slightly, a teasing glint flashing through them.

"But now that I think about it…" he added lazily, "should I even bother freeing someone as ungrateful as you in the first place?"

A faint smirk curved the corner of his lips.

Mo Huyan's expression darkened instantly. The temperature around her seemed to drop as her violet eyes turned cold.

"Hmph!"

The sound was sharp, unmistakably displeased.

Wang Chen froze for half a breath—then burst into laughter.

"Haha! Just look at your face," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm joking. Relax."

His tone softened, losing its edge.

"I'm already indebted to you," he said more sincerely. "Whether you tell me about the reincarnation cycle or not doesn't change anything. I'll do my best to get you out of this place."

He met her gaze squarely.

"That's my promise—to you as a friend."

"A promise… as a friend…"

Mo Huyan repeated the words quietly.

She didn't know why, but the moment they settled in her heart, an inexplicable wave of disappointment washed over her—subtle, quiet, and completely unwelcome.

She turned her eyes away, expression unreadable, as if afraid of letting that fleeting emotion be seen.

After that, silence fell.

It wasn't the peaceful kind, but the awkward, unsettled stillness that crept in when words had already gone too far—and nowhere near far enough. Neither of them spoke. The barren wind of the first floor howled faintly in the distance, carrying with it the low, indistinct murmurs of wandering resentful ghosts.

After another breath of time passed, Wang Chen coughed lightly, breaking the tension.

Social exchanges had never been his strength. In any of his lives. He could decipher laws, steal fate, and grasp authorities that terrified the heavens—but reading the thoughts of others had always remained a blind spot.

Mo Huyan, meanwhile, seemed to have regained her composure. Whatever complicated emotions had stirred moments ago settled back beneath her calm exterior, buried deep where no one could easily reach them. Her violet gaze shifted, no longer resting on Wang Chen, but on the Thousand Soul Flag held in his hand.

"Getting inside this Soul Flag shouldn't be difficult," she said evenly. "In practical terms, I have long since lost my physical body. The form you see before you is nothing more than my soul projection."

As she spoke, her figure shimmered.

The air around her rippled, and then—without warning—her body fractured, bursting apart into countless motes of light. Each fragment glowed softly, like fireflies suspended in a moonless night, drifting and pulsing with quiet power.

"Nether Empress—!" Wang Chen called out instinctively, alarm flashing through him. He hadn't expected this—certainly not so suddenly.

"Don't worry…"

Her voice echoed gently from the swarm of lights, calm and reassuring.

"Just let me try this once."

The firefly-like motes began to move, drawn together by an invisible force. They formed a luminous stream that circled the Thousand Soul Flag slowly, cautiously—like a river testing unfamiliar terrain.

For a brief moment, resistance appeared.

The stream trembled. The lights flickered unevenly, as if something unseen was pushing back.

Wang Chen's heart sank.

His expression darkened, the first thought flashing through his mind clear and sharp: It failed.

But then—

Swoosh.

The resistance vanished.

In an instant, the stream of light was pulled inward, swallowed whole by the Thousand Soul Flag. The glow collapsed upon itself, disappearing without a trace.

Mo Huyan was gone.

The banner fluttered once, faint whispers rising from within its depths—before falling completely still.

The Thousand Soul Flag had accepted her.

To it, the Nether Empress was no different from any other soul.

It had absorbed her.

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