Wei Ji stood in the shadows, his back pressed against a mossy rock, the faint smell of sap and damp earth filling the air. His eyes were closed, but his senses stretched across the forest like threads of silk.

Through those invisible threads, he could feel everything — the heartbeat of every leaf, the faint movement of insects, the rush of someone running through the undergrowth.

He let out a quiet breath. "So, they really sent another spiritual plant cultivator to replace me," he murmured, voice calm, yet cold. "Well then... I'll let my little soul-seed brother deal with him too."

Far ahead, Han Zukong was already moving through the forest. His steps were light, his body flickering between trees as though melting into them. His face was pale, his breaths shallow, but his eyes were bright — too bright, for someone who had nearly died days ago.

The man chasing him — tall, bare-chested, his long green hair whipping behind him — snarled as he tore through branches. His eyes glowed with faint green light, his veins pulsing with spiritual energy. "Han Ji!" he roared, spittle flying. "Do you think you can run from me forever?"

Wei Ji's lips curled. "So he still thinks that's me."

Han Zukong didn't answer. He slipped into a tree trunk, the bark rippling as he vanished.

A moment later, a nearby tree bulged slightly, and he slid out again several meters away, gasping for breath.

But the man was fast.

Branches cracked. A vine whip lashed out, slamming into the ground where Han Zukong had been standing.

Bang!

The soil exploded, and roots burst upward like snakes. Han Zukong ducked and rolled aside. From far away, Wei Ji's fingers formed a quick hand seal, his expression sharp. Instantly, Han Zukong moved smoother — his steps steadier, his dodge sharper, his reaction faster.

The pursuer clicked his tongue. "Plant Escape, huh? You think you can hide in the forest from me?"

He reached into his spirit bag and drew out a bundle of green seeds, flinging them into the air. The moment they hit the ground, vines sprouted, twisting and forming large, sharp flowers that pulsed with life energy. "Bloom," he commanded.

The flowers opened with a hiss, releasing a wave of poisonous pollen.

Han Zukong covered his nose and leaped backward, retreating into a tree again. The bark shimmered, and his body vanished.

"Run," the man said with a grin. "Run as much as you want. I'll find you anywhere."

He wasn't bluffing. His spiritual sense spread like roots, touching every plant in the area. He could feel Han Zukong's presence flicker from one tree to another.

The man suddenly paused. Sending his subordinate silhouettes away, he opened his eyes wide. His hand paused in mid-air, then he smirked.

"So that's your plan, huh? You lured me away to get to them and your movements looked confident, as if thinking if you finished them, you can deal with me too. Fine. Let's make this fun. I'll let you handle them!".

Wei Ji from afar smirked. "Fool!"

Meanwhile, Han Zukong reappeared behind a fallen log, panting. His sword was drawn — simple, straight, nothing special. His fingers trembled slightly, then steadied as Wei Ji's control guided him.

"Alright," Wei Ji whispered softly, "let's hunt."

The first assassin appeared from the shadows — a woman in black robes, her hands blooming with spiritual vines that shimmered like steel. She struck first, aiming for his throat.

Han Zukong sidestepped, his sword flashing once.

Shiiing.

Blood sprayed in a clean arc. The woman froze mid-step, her eyes wide with confusion as she looked down at the blade lodged in her chest. "Wha—"

Her body hit the ground before the word could finish.

From above, a man cursed. "It's not Han Ji! It's someone else!"

Too late.

The second assassin lunged, twin daggers coated in green poison. Han Zukong moved without hesitation. His blade turned, slicing through the air — one clean strike to the wrist, another to the throat.

He moved so smoothly it almost didn't look like combat. There were no fancy moves, no flaring energy, no martial techniques — just pure, precise motion.

Wei Ji watched through his connection, his lips curving in quiet satisfaction. "Good. Keep it simple. Clean. Efficient."

The remaining three assassins regrouped quickly, spreading out in a triangle formation. "He killed Xinian," one of them barked. "Fuck!"

"Doesn't matter," said the tallest one, forming a seal. "Once I burn him, he will die!"

They attacked at once.

Flame shot forward. Spiritual burning attacks exploded into spears. The air shimmered with black flame energy, every attack coordinated and deadly.

Han Zukong ducked and rolled again, his body twisting with unnatural grace. He deflected a fire ball, sidestepped a spear thrust, and slashed upward — the sound of steel tearing through flesh followed.

The third assassin fell, clutching his neck.

"Three left," Wei Ji whispered, his fingers moving faster, controlling the flow of spiritual energy through his distant puppet.

Han Zukong's sword flickered like lightning. He stabbed through the heart of another, then pivoted sharply, blocking a flame cauldron with the flat of his blade.

Bang!

Soon, the cauldron exploded into black ashes.

Han Zukong stepped through it, eyes cold. His sword thrust once — straight through the forehead of the next opponent.

Only Lanlan remained.

She stumbled backward, face pale. "Wait! Please—"

Han Zukong's body paused. His head tilted slightly. Wei Ji could feel her emotions through the connection — desperation, fear, lies curling behind her trembling lips.

"I can help you," she pleaded. "I know where your body is hidden, Han Ji. I can tell you everything—"

"Lies," Wei Ji whispered, and Han Zukong moved.

The sword flashed once.

Lanlan's voice died in her throat. She stared down at the blade piercing her chest, her lips trembling. A faint smile flickered for a moment — bitter, regretful — before her eyes went still.

She fell to the ground, her body surrounded by the fallen leaves.

Han Zukong stood there, chest rising and falling slowly. His hand trembled faintly as blood dripped from the sword tip.

Wei Ji closed his eyes, exhaling softly. "Rest now, little brother. You did well."

The forest was silent again, save for the faint rustle of wind.

Then, a sound came. A soft crunch of boots against dead leaves.

Wei Ji's senses flared.

The man who had been watching from above stepped down from a tree, landing lightly. His eyes were cold, his aura sharp, every movement dripping with calm confidence.

He crossed his arms. "So you're done cleaning up for me," he said, voice deep and amused. "Good. Now, let's dance."

Wei Ji's lips curved faintly, though the man couldn't see him from afar. "So it's finally your turn!"

The man reached into his spirit bag again, pulling out a handful of seeds that pulsed with energy. "Don't disappoint me mortal."

Wei Ji smirked. "I'm afraid I'll be the one who will get disappointed!"

The man dropped the seeds onto the ground.

"You won't make it, I'll just toy you!"

They burst open instantly — blooming into thick, blood-red vines that twisted like living snakes. The forest began to pulse with spiritual energy, every leaf vibrating with the coming storm.

Wei Ji's eyes glinted, his voice a whisper carried by the wind.

"Then let's see who survives the night."

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