The air in the remote canyon clung to Lu Chenyuan like damp wool—thick, metallic, and unmoving. Every step he took sent a faint crunch through the scree-strewn ground, each sound absorbed swiftly by the looming cliffs around him. This was the stage he had chosen, a silent arena where the truth would remain buried, and illusion would become his weapon.
The location was perfect: a crumbling wall of rust-colored shale, steep and treacherous. Pebbles slid intermittently down its face like anxious whispers. Few dared venture here, and fewer returned when they did. It reeked of old tragedies and latent danger—just the kind of place a desperate man might stumble upon something best left forgotten.
In his worn foraging basket, tucked beneath a layer of common herbs, lay the props of his deception: sulfurous yellow stones, carefully dirtied scraps of blank talisman paper, and decaying wooden slats. There was no true danger in his bundle—only the carefully assembled pieces of a believable lie.
Before he made his 'discovery,' Lu Chenyuan spent nearly an hour moving slowly near the canyon's entrance, mimicking the aimless path of a struggling cultivator. He crouched to pluck herbs, glanced nervously at the cliff, paused to sniff a plant. All the while, his spiritual sense probed outward, feeling for that elusive presence—the one that never quite revealed itself but never seemed to leave him alone. He sensed nothing concrete. Still, he continued, acting as though someone watched from afar.
Then, with practiced hesitance, he approached the cliff face and began to dig—not deep, just enough to seem hopeful. He unearthed a sulfurous stone, frowned, sniffed it, and swiftly buried it again, his hands trembling slightly. He repeated this several times, each act a page in the performance of a man chasing ruin disguised as fortune.
The heart of the illusion was a shallow crevice he had scouted earlier. Hidden behind a shelf of loose rock, it had the look of an ancient wound. There, he carefully placed the dampened talisman scraps and the rotted wood, giving the impression of an abandoned cache. Around it, he scattered the sulfurous stones, hinting at volatile ore just beneath the surface. Then he churned the surrounding earth, smearing dirt onto his clothes, scuffing his boots, and adding just enough chaos to make it believable.
He played his part to the end. Gasps of alarm, muttered curses about "unstable energies," feigned awe and growing dread. At one point, he let a thread of his Qi flare subtly against a sulfurous rock, producing a faint acrid scent—just enough to feel real. Each movement was calculated to feed the narrative he was building for unseen eyes.
Still, uncertainty gnawed at him. The canyon distorted sound, its cold air muffled and strange. The presence—if it was still there—remained intangible. But Lu Chenyuan didn't let up. He had to act as though every blink, every tremble, every bead of sweat was being scrutinized.
Finally, he enacted his retreat. Clutching his herbs and casting wide-eyed glances at the crevice, he stumbled away from the site, movements stiff with feigned panic. He didn't run outright—too suspicious—but maintained a hurried, jittery pace as he made his way toward the safer outskirts of Serpent's End.
Only when he reached a ridge overlooking the canyon did he feel it: that subtle prickle, a fleeting pressure brushing against his senses. High above, at the edge of vision, something shifted. A flicker, a weightless shadow—gone as soon as it appeared. Not proof, but enough. He exhaled through tight lips. The bait had likely been taken.
The return journey blurred in a haze of tension and weariness. By the time he reached the clan's courtyard, his legs ached and his nerves were frayed raw.
Shen Yue and Uncle Liu were waiting. Their worry was written plainly across their faces.
"They saw?" Shen Yue asked quietly, reaching for his hand, her fingers cool and grounding.
"I believe so," Lu Chenyuan said, his voice heavy. "The scene was convincing. If the observer reports back, the Prefecture will investigate. It's too close to the hills. They'll treat it as a potential hazard—possibly an ancient war cache, maybe illicit mining remains."
"And if the watcher wasn't with the Prefecture?" Uncle Liu asked, his voice low.
"Then they'll still be cautious. A fool stumbling on volatile relics is trouble. They'll hesitate. Maybe even back off, thinking I attract misfortune more than opportunity."
The following days were taut with nervous anticipation. Every gust of wind felt like a whisper, every rustle in the trees a herald of discovery. No one left the courtyard without purpose. Lu Chenyuan kept them grounded, their routine inward, focused, silent.
The Moonpetal Leaf sprout continued to grow, oblivious to the gambits made on its behalf. Now boasting five elegant, glowing leaves, its presence was like a tiny star, steady and consuming. But the Heartwood Nodule that fed it was fading fast.
Shen Yue's cultivation had deepened; her Qi had become clearer, her spiritual root edging ever closer to its true awakening. She infused the sprout daily with Wood Spirit Qi, her touch gentle, her focus unwavering.
[System Notification: Moonpetal Leaf exhibits robust health and accelerated development. Current stage: Advanced Sprout. Demands for pure Wood Essence increasing. Wife Shen Yue's nurturing effectiveness +5%. Spiritual Root (Variant - Wood) awakening progress: 62%. Host gains insight into critical growth thresholds of celestial herbs. Clan Prosperity Meter: 50/100.]
The Prosperity Meter rising to 50 felt like sunlight breaking through mist. It was still a long road, but a vital threshold had been crossed. The system's insights were growing sharper, more urgent. Soon, the Moonpetal Leaf would need a greater infusion of essence—something pure, potent, and rare.
Then, exactly one week after the canyon deception, Uncle Liu returned from a carefully planned outing, his expression pale but triumphant.
"Chenyuan," he whispered, voice trembling with disbelief, "they've sealed off the canyon! Prefecture guards. Men in Li Clan robes. And I saw two more—silent, sharp-eyed men—they match the descriptions of Xue's agents."
Lu Chenyuan's breath caught.
"They're combing the cliffs," Uncle Liu continued, eyes wide. "The story being passed around is that an unstable ancient deposit was uncovered—maybe explosives, maybe worse. No one's allowed near. There's fear, real fear."
A long silence followed.
Then Lu Chenyuan exhaled, slow and deep. "It worked."
The trap had been sprung. The illusion consumed. The serpent's ruse had drawn the enemy's eyes away from their true heart.
It was a precious reprieve—brief, fragile, and costly—but it was theirs. Lu Chenyuan knew it wouldn't last. The truth would emerge, sooner or later. But for now, they had bought time. And in that sliver of light, they had to move—quickly, decisively—before the darkness found them once more.