The crowd ascended the mountain, drawn solely by the promise of the book.

Since the Han man understood the situation, his actions were swift. He wielded his umbrella defensively, his slender sword flashing in four directions as he retreated rapidly, until the dim light at the window cast his faint silhouette. His retreat was toward the small cottage—the princess was inside!

As soon as he steadied himself, he realized the cottage had not been attacked at all. Behind it rose the Western Hills, now growing even darker under the setting sun. At that moment, Zheng Fanren was seen dashing up the mountain, his umbrella spinning with incredible force, offering him full cover as he withdrew.

Zheng Fanren shouted, “If you want the Divine Tome, follow me!” The entire purpose of Wan Lixing’s journey was that very book. Even as they set out from the pawnshop, Zheng Fanren had surmised that the mysterious tome would be their objective. Having lost the Swastika Mystic Device, the great mystic artificer would surely lay all blame and hope upon that strange book.

Seeing Zheng Fanren disappearing into the mountains, the Han men ceased their attack and stayed to guard the cottage, making no further move. Wan Lixing, however, paid them no heed and led his followers straight toward the rear of the mountain.

…

The Nangong Estate sprawled magnificently over several acres. Yet at night, only the sound of rain remained. Lanterns hung at the turns of various corridors and pavilions, gently swaying in the evening breeze and casting dim light.

The Han Empire’s architecture followed no strict standards. Houses were built according to the terrain, geography, or the owner’s whim, often resulting in features that reflected personal taste. Although the second young master of the Nangong family was known for his unruly ways, the estate’s grandeur showed that its owner possessed refined sensibilities. The Han valued wealth but abhorred vulgarity; the Nangong Estate was not only elegant but also exuded a subtle charm.

Within an ancient and graceful study, shelves lined with antiques and books flanked the room. At the center stood a pine-wood desk, atop which glowed a shaded lamp.

Seated behind the desk was Nangong Xun, the current head of the clan. Behind him stood a massive calligraphy screen, ink still fresh and bold, displaying the words:

“Heaven and earth are all yellow, let the mysterious remain among men.”

He took a slow sip of warm tea, turned a page without glancing at his eldest son, who had already been waiting in the room for some time.

His reading was unhurried. Only after a long while did his gaze settle on the last few words of the page. Gently closing the somewhat worn volume, he sipped his tea once more, and finally looked up to signal his son to speak.

“Father, the Wan family has mobilized nearly two hundred men—they say it’s all for a strange book.”

The old master said nothing, instead slowly gesturing toward the bookshelf.

Following his father’s gaze, Nangong Qi noticed a gap among the line of books, just wide enough to fit a single volume.

“Your second brother lent it to him. It used to sit right there,” Nangong Xun remarked casually before withdrawing his hand.

Nangong Qi couldn’t help but gasp in surprise, earning a sharp look from his father.

He quickly composed himself and asked respectfully, “Shall we retrieve it?”

“Retrieve what? It now belongs to Zheng Fanren. Not everything in this world is the property of the Nangong family.”

Nangong Qi, now deeply intimidated, bowed even more respectfully and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The old master seemed somewhat displeased, but still explained, “The Murong Shushan party has already set out.”

Nangong Qi immediately understood his father’s intent. Rumor had it that the Murong and Wan families had formed an alliance. The old master wanted to test the truth of this—after all, the strange book was originally his, and his willingness to let it go showed it was of little importance.

…

The rain had stopped. Fires dotted the small meadow in the mountains, illuminating the gathering. Zheng Fanren looked around and saw the crowd staring at him as if he were some rare treasure, their eyes burning with greedy desire.

That book was powerful enough to vanquish a master of mystic devices—who knew what other secrets it might hold? How could they not covet it?

Murong Shushan, seeing Zheng Fanren silent, mocked, “Zheng Fanren, it seems the treasure is ill-suited to remain in your hands!”

Zheng Fanren smiled in return. “That’s a fair point. So, which of you should I give it to?”

Murong Shushan glanced at Wan Lixing, who remained silent, his expression confident.

He spoke in a low voice, “Wan Lixing, this is the Han territory, not your own Anxi, is it?”

Wan Lixing gently fanned his paper fan and replied in a clear voice, “Indeed, this is Han land. But the laws of Han do not forbid my coming to this remote wilderness, do they?”

Murong Shushan understood his implication—out here, anything could happen without consequence.

Seeing neither man willing to make the first move, Zheng Fanren thought, “It seems the rumors of their alliance are not to be trusted.”

There was no need to linger on this for now; he proceeded according to plan and said loudly, “Gentlemen, perhaps you should first confirm whether I truly possess the Divine Tome?”

Wan Lixing replied at once, “That’s exactly what we wish to see!”

Murong Shushan nodded silently.

“This mysterious book fears neither water nor fire—an ordinary book would never suffice.”

With that, he drew the “Mystic Perception of Heaven and Earth” from his robe. Wan Lixing immediately tossed him a torch.

…

The book rested atop the torch for more than ten breaths, yet remained unscathed. Wan Lixing and Murong Shushan stared at it as though bewitched, their eyes alight with desire.

Seeing this, Zheng Fanren felt somewhat reassured, though his face remained stern. He raised his voice, “Gentlemen, I am a man without cultivation, once no more than a servant of the Nangong family. Who would have thought I’d come into possession of such a treasure? Though I do not comprehend its mysteries, since it is of such importance to you both, I am willing to give it to you. However, I would not wish for blood to be shed here. Therefore, I have a proposal—may I be allowed to speak?”

Murong Shushan looked to Wan Lixing, who continued to fan himself and nodded with a smile, though he thought to himself, “This is not my territory. No matter what method, I’ll seize the moment, snatch the book, and escape—that’s the smart play.”

Seeing their acquiescence, Zheng Fanren continued, “But before I speak, I must tell you both the origin of this book…”

Murong Shushan urged impatiently, “Out with it!”

Zheng Fanren feigned reluctance. “I shouldn’t say it, but the situation leaves me no choice.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, visibly troubled, “It was given to me by Her Highness the Grand Mystic Princess as a token of her affection.”

A stunned silence fell over the gathering. The Grand Mystic Princess’s token of affection?

Just then, a seasoned voice rang out, “What outrageous nonsense!”

The crowd was startled. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

At that instant, the book in Zheng Fanren’s hands began to float toward the direction of the voice as if drawn by an unseen force.

Wan Lixing shouted, “Damn it!”

Murong Shushan was momentarily confused, but chaos erupted among his followers. Those at the back tried to surge forward, blocked by those in front, and curses flew back and forth.

Murong Shushan quickly regained his composure and bellowed, “No one move!”

At his command, silence fell. The mysterious voice had vanished.

Wan Lixing extended his right hand, each finger channeling a thread of mystic energy—five golden threads, fine as hair, circled his fingertips. He pressed his palm to the ground and called out, “Mystic Sense Technique!”

Zheng Fanren had read about this ability in the book. It was said that true masters could sense fluctuations of mystic energy within several miles, though only a Sealed Mystic could perceive the most subtle shifts.

Murong Shushan watched intently, afraid to disturb him.

In the center of the meadow, Zheng Fanren stood dumbstruck, muttering again and again, “My token of affection… my token of affection…”