Not just the Drunken Cat Imperial Lady — even the Black-Flame Lord, who had been secretly lurking in this canyon for several thousand years, was completely baffled.
The Ground-origin Yin Flame had vanished like a firework.
Silently. Without a trace.
Wasn’t it said that nothing in the world could disturb the serenity of the Ground-origin Yin Flame? Then how had it simply… disappeared?
And more pressingly — when the Black-Flame Lord raised his gaze to the cavern ceiling, he discovered that the Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb he had been tending for thousands of years, waiting for this very moment of maturity, was gone.
The urge to weep and slam his head against the nearest wall was nearly irresistible. What kind of wretched existence was this? He’d been ambushed and crippled by enemies long ago, his body destroyed until he had no choice but to convert entirely to an elemental form — that much he’d made his peace with. But then, against all odds, he had stumbled upon a divine-grade medicinal herb that had somehow emerged in the heavenly realm. He had taken it as a sign that fortune had finally turned in his favor, that after millennia of hardship it was at last his turn to be the winner. He had nursed and guarded that herb for thousands of years — and then, in the final month before it fully matured, a random pair of human lovers had wandered in and stolen it out from under him.
Thousands of years of painstaking effort. Destroyed in an instant.
The Black-Flame Lord felt a pang in whatever he had left of a chest — a hundred times sharper than the day he had watched the Temple Master steal away his childhood sweetheart and first love without a backwards glance.
He had moved every piece of Drip-Flame ore produced in the Black-Flame Canyon over the centuries, arranging it all around the herb to provide energy for its growth. He had risked his life time and again to deliberately trigger the Ground-origin Yin Flame’s eruptions, using them to accelerate the herb’s maturation.
And then, with one month left to go, someone had reached in and taken it right from under his nose.
If he still had intestines, the Black-Flame Lord would have knotted them with regret.
It was like that first love all over again. If he’d known that despicable Temple Master would steal her away, he would have moved faster — gotten her with child so she’d be bound to him, or at the very least ruined her looks so that even if she left, she would have been left with him first. At least then he’d have had something…
“AAAAAARRGH!”
The Black-Flame Lord’s fury was approaching critical mass.
He was on the verge of launching himself at Yueyang — when the young man stepped forward with a disarming smile and, without missing a beat, launched into an absolutely baffling tirade:
“Excuse me, are you the owner of this place? Because I have to ask — how does anyone abandon their post right when their precious herbs are ripening? That’s extremely irresponsible ownership. And sure, this soul-anchoring herb isn’t that remarkable to look at, but your ancestors clearly cared enough to plant it, and you can’t just leave it unattended like that. If I hadn’t come in here mining and happened to notice it, who knows what might have happened to it? We did you a favor harvesting it for safekeeping, and this is how you greet us? Don’t you feel the least bit ashamed?”
The Drunken Cat Imperial Lady stared.
The Black-Flame Lord’s jaw dropped wide enough to swallow a heavenly toad whole.
He stood motionless while Yueyang finished his lecture, paused to catch his breath and take a drink of water, and only then did the Black-Flame Lord shake himself out of his stupor. He pressed down his outrage and asked, with a peculiar mix of disbelief and cautious hope: “Did you just say… soul-anchoring herb?”
Could this idiot actually have mistaken a divine-tier Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb for a common soul-anchoring herb? Were his eyes even functional?
Though, if true… the Black-Flame Lord felt a sudden flood of warmth rush through his elemental core. Going in swinging was clearly out of the question — the moment a fight broke out, the boy might accidentally destroy the herb, and that would be irreversible. But if he could talk it back… perhaps the wheel of fortune hadn’t stopped turning after all.
Heaven above, was this not the legendary mercy that always leaves a door ajar?
If he could recover the Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb, he might break through to Sky-rank tier six — even tier seven. Perhaps tier eight. That herb was divine-grade. With tier eight power, the skeleton-man Leiqie and all his ilk would be dealt with in a single breath. Even that accursed Temple Master Jiaotu wouldn’t be his match — and then he would take back every woman Jiaotu had ever stolen, strip his household bare, and make absolutely sure that treacherous first love understood what it meant to have chosen wrong…
He had wasted pity on her. He saw that now.
“Ahem. I must, ah… extend my sincerest gratitude for your timely intervention.” The Black-Flame Lord summoned every scrap of composure he possessed. “While the soul-anchoring herb may not seem significant to others, it was planted by my ancestors with their own hands, and carries deep sentimental meaning for our lineage. My grandfather, my father, and I — we have tended and guarded it across these long millennia. I was only forced to step away because an old enemy arrived at our gate. To think that you wandered in during that very window and took the trouble to preserve it for us — the gratitude I feel is beyond words.”
It nearly made him physically ill to speak of his grandfather and father in tones of filial reverence, given that he had personally killed both of them on his way to claiming the Lord’s seat. But words and flatulence served similar purposes sometimes — you held your nose and carried on.
“I thought something like that must be going on,” Yueyang said, looking tremendously self-satisfied. “An object placed so prominently in such an important spot — there had to be some significance to it.”
“Yes, yes, absolutely. It holds profound meaning. Whenever I look upon it, I am overcome with memories of my grandfather and father — their patient teachings, their noble example…” The Black-Flame Lord arranged his expression into something approximating devoted filial piety.
“Well, in that case — I’ll give it back. A soul-anchoring herb is no use to me.” Yueyang was magnanimous.
“Ahem—!” The Drunken Cat Imperial Lady nearly choked on a response. She had never once in her life seen a treasure enter Yueyang’s hands and depart again — and she opened her mouth to say as much before catching herself. The Black-Flame Lord was watching. Something was clearly happening here. She snapped her mouth shut and silently lamented that she was nowhere near as naturally suited to this kind of performance as Wuxia would have been. At least she knew enough to recognize that Yueyang was managing perfectly well without her.
“That said,” the Black-Flame Lord said carefully, “if you would be willing to return it, I would naturally wish to express my gratitude in a manner befitting the kindness. After all… nothing in the world can replace the bonds of family.”
“Oh, I’m not doing this for any reward,” Yueyang said, waving a hand. “My mother raised me to always help others. You think a reputation like ‘the heavenly realm’s most considerate young gentleman’ builds itself? That said, if you insist on expressing your feelings, I can hardly refuse — it would be rude to dismiss someone’s genuine sincerity. Not that I need anything in particular. These Drip-Flame ore pieces, for instance — I don’t want them at all. Catie and I aren’t greedy people. Even if you absolutely insisted on dividing them fifty-fifty with us, I would have to push back. That would simply be far too much.”
He delivered this performance — all shameless longing wrapped in elaborate protests of disinterest — with the convincing air of a young heir on his first adventure who hadn’t yet figured out how to want things without pretending not to.
“Agreed. What indeed is more precious than family?” The Black-Flame Lord nearly choked on his own words. “These… Drip-Flame ore pieces are fine materials, but they pale against the sentimental value of what you’re returning. I agree to divide them equally with you.”
What an absolute fool, the Black-Flame Lord thought with something approaching glee.
How in the world had this boy stumbled his way into the heavenly realm? With this level of naivety and this depth of stupidity, his continued survival was frankly a miracle. Probably he had that woman as a guardian.
But foolish family heirs appearing before him as if delivered by fate — that was a gift. Anyone else would have fled the moment they saw him. Yet here was this idiot, digging ore, chattering about soul-anchoring herbs… All the Drip-Flame ore in the entire mountain combined wasn’t worth a single leaf of the Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb. But that was the purpose of idiots in the world — to illuminate the intelligence of their betters.
Seeing the Black-Flame Lord agree, Yueyang clapped his hands together with delight and turned back to the Imperial Lady: “See, Catie? I told you he’d agree. A little reason goes a long way. What are you waiting for? Start mining — with this much Drip-Flame ore, we can commission a whole set of flame-iron fittings for Simba!”
The Drunken Cat Imperial Lady did not trust herself to speak. She turned away quickly.
Without pausing to switch tools, she simply leveled the Golden Dragon-Slaying Spear and began jabbing at the hanging stalactites of Drip-Flame ore.
The Black-Flame Lord watched her amateur mining technique and felt the last of his misgivings dissolve. A pair of hopeless bumpkins, that’s what they were. The moment the boy handed back the Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb, he would peel him apart slowly, layer by layer — fry first, then reduce to a simmer. And as for the woman, who clearly had genuine combat ability despite her inexperience in the wider world… well. He allowed himself a private smile.
“Keep going, dig as much as you can — but remember, we’re only taking half,” Yueyang announced, affecting the manner of a spoiled young master whose meals were served to him in bed. He made no further mention of the soul-anchoring herb, only urged the Imperial Lady to dig faster. The Black-Flame Lord took this as further confirmation that the boy fully intended to return the herb — he had noticed the young man glancing toward his storage ring several times as though about to produce it, then hesitating, apparently worried the deal would fall apart if he moved too soon. Hence the frantic mining, to lock in the transaction first.
Heaven above. Was this not exactly the kind of fortune that arrived just when you’d given up hope?
“Come now, little brother — there’s no need for all that effort,” the Black-Flame Lord said, with what he hoped sounded like avuncular warmth. “After several thousand years of guardianship, I’ve accumulated a modest stockpile of… ahem, Drip-Flame ore myself. To properly express my gratitude, I’ll not only give you everything I’ve stored away, but also a ‘White Tiger Pearl’ — quite rare in the heavenly realm. Its grade isn’t the highest, but for that lion war beast of yours — Simba, was it? — it would certainly be beneficial. And it comes from the lower realm, which makes it a genuine novelty up here…”
The Black-Flame Lord had nearly offered something grander, then reconsidered. A pampered clan heir would have seen plenty of high-grade heavenly artifacts. Something exotic from below might catch his attention more reliably.
“It’s beautiful!” Yueyang’s eyes went wide the moment he saw the White Tiger Pearl, lit up like a child confronted with sweets.
“No need to keep digging — too much trouble. Along with the ore and the Pearl, I’ll also share with you the location of a hidden treasure trove. A genuine cache, and extremely dangerous — so dangerous that most people wouldn’t dare pursue it. Don’t be embarrassed to accept it, little brother — you’re practically family now!”
The Black-Flame Lord watched with some impatience as Yueyang visibly wrestled between desire and dignity, the very picture of a well-bred heir too proud to look greedy.
“Well… since you’re pressing me so sincerely,” Yueyang said at last, with great dignity, “I suppose I can accept.”
The Black-Flame Lord inwardly screamed.
“As for the treasure location — I won’t go,” Yueyang added. “Mother always said dangerous places were to be avoided. But I’m happy to hear the secret.”
The Black-Flame Lord’s contempt was bottomless.
He would share the coordinates, of course. The boy would go racing off toward certain death on his own. Admittedly, the Black-Flame Lord fully intended to kill him here and now — but that didn’t mean he couldn’t also steer him toward a Central Temple treasure vault he’d spent years locating. It was the most valuable intelligence he’d ever acquired in his long campaign against Temple Master Jiaotu, and sharing it cost him nothing.
Yueyang nodded along enthusiastically, practically glowing.
Then, after pocketing the White Tiger Pearl and a substantial pile of ore, he reached into his storage ring and actually produced the herb — holding it casually in one hand as though it were a sprig of roadside wildflowers.
The Black-Flame Lord nearly died on the spot. Handling the herb that carelessly could destroy it — only the fact that any violent move might do worse kept him rooted in place, trembling.
To keep the boy cooperative for the exchange, the Black-Flame Lord turned to the Drunken Cat Imperial Lady with sudden effusiveness — praising her spearwork, complimenting Simba’s discipline and valor, and producing from somewhere a ‘Dorothea Pearl Necklace,’ originally prepared as a gift for that long-lost first love. The piece had a genuine restorative effect on the wearer — preserving youth and vitality — and was rated at the quasi-Sacred level. He presented it to the Imperial Lady with elaborate apologies and expressions of goodwill.
She, naturally, showed no intention of accepting it.
Before she could decline, Yueyang reached over and took it himself.
Then, just as he was about to pass the Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb across, he paused. “Oh — that fire just now. Was that Ground-core Lotus Fire? How did it just vanish like that?”
“Ground-core Lotus Fire?” The Black-Flame Lord nearly told him to get his eyes checked, but the herb was right there in the boy’s outstretched hand, and so he swallowed it: “That’s right, you’ve got a sharp eye. As for why it disappeared — honestly, I can’t explain it myself. Perhaps… perhaps it was the spiritual protection of my ancestors, watching over this herb from beyond. When I think of my grandfather and father, I can barely hold back the tears—”
“Got it. Well, since you’ve told such a moving story, here’s your soul-anchoring herb back.” And Yueyang pressed the herb into the Black-Flame Lord’s hands.
The Black-Flame Lord’s first reaction was pure, incandescent joy.
His core sang. His entire being practically vibrated with triumph.
But one second later, as he cradled the herb in a protective shell of energy and looked down to confirm it before storing it away — a cold, terrible stillness settled over him.
What he held was a soul-anchoring herb.
An ordinary, unremarkable, completely worthless soul-anchoring herb.
How?
He had watched the boy take out the Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb with his own eyes. When had it changed?
He stood motionless for three full seconds.
Then understanding arrived, and with it, a fury unlike anything he had felt in his extremely long and extremely bitter life. He hurled the soul-anchoring herb to the ground and turned on Yueyang with a roar: “You little — you tricked me?!”
Yueyang looked thoroughly innocent. “You wanted a soul-anchoring herb — that’s what you said. You said your ancestors planted it themselves, that generations of your family had tended it with their own hands. That’s a soul-anchoring herb. What else would it be? Unless…” He tilted his head. “Unless you actually mistook your own ancestors’ beloved soul-anchoring herb for a Fire God Soul-Tempering Herb? Your eyesight might be even worse than mine.”
The Drunken Cat Imperial Lady could hold it no longer.
She burst out laughing.
“You dare make a fool of me?! I’ll kill you!” The Black-Flame Lord had experienced genuine rage before — the day Jiaotu took his first love, the day his father named his brother heir — but nothing came close to this. This human boy hadn’t just stolen from him. He had stayed, toyed with him, strung him along, extracted a Pearl and a pile of ore and a treasure location, and then handed him a weed with a straight face. Death was too quick. Eighty-one days of slow suffering, minimum, before the end—
“You know,” Yueyang said thoughtfully, his eyes glinting, “I’m not just interested in the treasure vault. I’m also quite fond of Sky-rank tier-six Black-Flame soul crystals.”
He smiled.
“Since you agreed to give me one, I’d hate to be rude and refuse.”
“He agreed to what?” The Drunken Cat Imperial Lady blinked.
“Just now. I asked him silently, inside my head — and he didn’t say no. Silence is consent, so…”
The Drunken Cat Imperial Lady stared at him.
“…Have you no shame whatsoever?”
She wasn’t sure whether she felt more like laughing or apologizing on his behalf to the Black-Flame Lord, who was currently vibrating with a fury that had no adequate outlet. Facing an opponent like Yueyang, she could only conclude — it really was a tragedy.