Finding out where Xia Song lived was surprisingly easy.

  Not that I expected much of a challenge. Cultivators had a terrible habit of getting into dick measuring contests over everything, and it seemed that extended to architecture too.

  The Ash Estate loomed ahead like it had something to prove. And gods, did it try.

  White stone walls, polished so bright they reflected the sun. Over those walls, tiered wooden pavilions rose like stacked paintings—curved roofs, gold trim, and so many imported trees it looked like a botanical garden. The main gate was carved with phoenixes, ice lotuses, and at the center of it all, a blazing emblem of lotus and flame marked the estate proper.

  It probably cost more than half of Red Cloud Town's architecture.

  I stared at it for a long second.

  "It's so ugly."

  "Agreed," Qiu answered. "It's the building equivalent of a bride covered in powdered chalk and ten pounds of jewelry."

  I nodded. "Somehow impressive and hideous at the same time."

  "Hey!" a voice barked.

  A guard. Older, but still sharp-eyed. His posture screamed 'veteran,' and his tone had zero tolerance. "No loitering!"

  I gave him a sloppy bow and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a local prayer. Then I kept walking.

  Turned out being filthy and dressed in patchwork rags gave me invisibility. If people saw me at all, they saw a problem to avoid. I didn't just blend into the scenery—I was the scenery. Stinking, silent, invisible.

  Truly phenomenal skill on my part.

  "Stop praising yourself," Qiu muttered. "You rolled in a horse stable. I was there."

  "To master disguise," I replied solemnly, "one must be willing to suffer."

  Qiu made a noise of disgust but didn't argue.

  I looped the estate again, for the fifth time. Different jacket, different grime, same broken sandals. No one looked twice. I noted the guard rotations, entrance points, side exits, the spots where the wooden pavilions stacked too tight to allow clean lines of sight.

  Honestly? I'd expected more vigilance. Maybe the arrogance came free with the décor.

  "There is something unsettling about how easy this is," Qiu said. "The guards should have noticed by now."

  "People ignore what they don't want to see," I replied. "Beggars make them uncomfortable. So they pretend we're not there."

  I stopped near a pile of stacked firewood, scratching a mark into the dirt with my toe. "So. What do we know?"

  "Twenty-one visible guards," Qiu recited. "At least four at the main entrance. Two shifting pairs on rotation around the walls. A couple of Qi signatures near the front gate—most likely Qi Refining guards. Are you sure this is a wise decision?"

  "Nope."

  "Are you still going through with it?"

  "Yep."

  Qiu sighed. The sound was long-suffering and full of doom.

  "Trust the process," I said. "Heaven helps those who help themselves."

  "Does Heaven also help those who disguise themselves with dung?"

  "Spiritual dung."

  Qiu didn't dignify that with a response.

  Everything was set.

  Now I just had to commit arson.

  I ducked back into the abandoned hovel I'd claimed, tossing aside a half-eaten stir-fry bowl and sweeping the makeshift cloth cover off my war stash.

  Twelve bottles of alcohol clinked together like the world's cheapest war drum. Strong stuff, too—snagged from Old Man Yu's back shelf when he was too busy crying to notice. Some of it probably expired. Some of it probably counted as poison. All of it very flammable.

  Next to the bottles, I had three jagged chunks of red crystal, each one radiating a steady, pulsing heat. Not enough to burn on their own, but enough to feel the singe if I were to hold them.

  Qiu's voice hummed. "Still no clear classification on these. They're fire-aligned, that much is obvious. But beyond that..."

  "They burn. That's all I need." I scooped them up, wrapped them in cloth, and stuffed them into my satchel.

  "Your plan is arson."

  "My plan is artistic arson," I corrected. "Very different."

  Qiu did not sound convinced.

  I double-checked my bottles, gave them a gentle shake just to hear the slosh. The red crystals would act as ignition, and the alcohol would do the rest. Even the weak stuff would go up like a beacon with enough spread. And I planned on spreading it everywhere.

  "Alright," I said. "Go time."

  "Before you do," Qiu said slowly, "what is the plan beyond setting their estate on fire? Because unless you've suddenly cultivated teleportation, I don't think 'winging it' counts."

  I slung the satchel over my shoulder and grinned.

  "Eh. You'll see."

  Then, the sigh of a soul who knew exactly what was coming.

  "Very well. Begin your… plan."

  "I believe in the process."

  "And the process is...?"

  "Things just work out for protagonists in cultivation novels!"

  There was another pause.

  "We're going to get beaten to death, aren't we?"

  —

  Walking down the street without getting the usual "ugh, peasant" look was… weird.

  Before, people would glance at me, sneer a little, then move on. No second glances. Just the quiet, ambient disdain reserved for the dirt-poor. Now? No glances at all. Heads down. Eyes forward. The kind of silence people gave you when they weren't sure if you were dangerous.

  Not hard to figure out why.

  The robe helped. Stolen from Old Man Yu, probably something he bought to impress a merchant's widow and failed miserably. I'd layered on every vaguely spiritual trinket I could dig out of my bag. Beads. Bangles. A cracked talisman that pulsed weakly with green light. A carved bone trinket hanged from my belt. Altogether? I looked like a lunatic trying to cosplay a cultivator.

  Except I didn't look like a lunatic.

  I looked like a cultivator lunatic.

  And apparently, that was enough.

  "Are you certain this ensemble will pass inspection?" Qiu asked flatly.

  "No one's said anything yet."

  "Fear often masks foolishness. Like how no one dares mention the Northsea Sect's eyesore of a mansion."

  "Ah, but this Young Master knows how to act," I said, flicking my sleeves dramatically.

  I marched up to the Northsea Sect's outer estate and cupped my hands, drawing in a deep breath before bellowing at the gate.

  "I CURSE THE DOGS OF THE NORTHSEA SECT! COME OUT AND FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WRETCHES!"

  That got attention.

  Guards moved fast. I counted at least a dozen shifting positions, some already raising crossbows.

  "Six crossbows on your right," Qiu noted.

  I didn't flinch. I flared my Qi, stepped forward, and held my arms behind my back like I had no fear whatsoever. Then I threw on my best righteous-face—equal parts judgment, boredom, and the faint look of someone ready to explode if you said the wrong word.

  The guards paused, hesitation rippling across their formation.

  Nice.

  One of them darted through the inner gate. The rest just stared, unsure whether to shoot or bow.

  "You call yourself a righteous sect," I began, projecting from my chest, "yet you steal from innocent visitors and prey upon foreign cultivators! My Silver Fire Lotus Palace will not tolerate this injustice!"

  Qiu's voice echoed calmly. "Two Qi Refining cultivators incoming. First stage, both."

  I spotted them—mid-forties maybe, both with the graying hair showing them being quite elderly. Robes of bluish-purple. Identical swords at their hip. With great expressions of annoyance.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "You dare cause a scene—" one of them barked.

  "Hmph! Hmph! Hmph!"

  The second opened his mouth, about to draw his sword.

  I cut him off first.

  "Your Northsea Sect dared to rob my juniors! And now you send mere outer hall guards to meet me? Pah! Fools! You think you can bully outsiders and suffer no consequences? Let me warn you—my senior brother has already stepped into Foundation Establishment! He will come down upon your backwater sect like righteous thunder!"

  Both cultivators paused at that I could see the unease on their face.

  I pressed harder, voice rising with every piece of bull shit.

  "You think you can escape punishment? My sect may be unknown to frogs in a well like you, but our mercy is legendary. Had it been him instead of me, your family lines would be dust! Dust!"

  The two guards stiffened. One of them swallowed.

  "Fellow Daoist," the calmer one said slowly, "I must admit I've never heard of the Silver Fire Lotus Palace…"

  "Of course you haven't! Do you think we parade our name for street dogs to bark at? My juniors came here to explore the Valley, and instead, your one of your sect robs us like bandits! If my senior brother hears of this insult, he will erase you all!"

  The nearby guards were starting to shift nervously. A few of them looked like they might believe me.

  Honestly? Thank you, Dad, for your random rants. Cultivator gibberish hit different when said with confidence. And with communication being absolute garbage out here, it's not like any of these low tiers could call to verify.

  "Perhaps you would not mind waiting inside, Fellow Daoist," the second cultivator said carefully. "We… cannot speak for the sect, but we can notify someone more senior."

  "Hmph! Very well," I sniffed, waving a hand. "But you had best hope we come to an agreement. Or your entire province will taste this Young Master's wrath!"

  The cultivators looked very much like they wanted to slap me, but instead, they bowed slightly and ordered the guards to stand down. One of them gestured for me to follow them inside.

  As I stepped through the gate, Qiu asked the obvious question.

  "What now?"

  "Honestly? No idea. Didn't think I'd get this far."

  —

  The estate smelled like expensive incense and wine.

  I kept my chin tilted up as the two Qi Refining guards led me through the front halls, posture stiff, sleeves fluttering like I owned the place. Inside, it was even worse than outside—too much gold, too many carvings, and a ridiculous number of spirit beast motifs on everything from the furniture to the freaking ceiling.

  "Here," one of them said, gesturing to a small drawing room. "Please rest. We'll fetch someone from the inner sect who can speak for the sect."

  Both turned to leave.

  "Hold on," I said, voice sharp. "You would leave an honored guest completely unattended? What sect treats its visitors so shabbily?"

  The two cultivators froze. Exchanged a glance. One of them sighed like this was beneath him and nodded to the other before leaving.

  The one who stayed lingered near the door, back straight, expression blank.

  I waited a beat before turning slightly. "What's your name, Daoist?"

  He glanced over. "Li Feng."

  "Mn. And the other strong presence in the mansion? Why hasn't he come to greet me? I can sense someone with real cultivation—not like you low-stage mutts."

  Li Feng's brow twitched. "Young lord Xia is in closed-door cultivation."

  "Hmph." I sprawled across the couch, sinking into the cushions with as much disdain as I could channel. "Naturally."

  Silence stretched.

  I raised my hand and pointed lazily past him. "Daoist Li. That item behind you. Retrieve it for me."

  He turned, squinting toward the back wall. "What item?"

  The second his head turned—

  I pulled the molotov from my sleeve—tightly corked, lined with shards of that fiery crystal—and hurled it straight at the back of his head.

  The glass cracked against the back of his skull, fire flaring as the crystal shards ignited on impact. He screamed as his hair caught, arms flailing wildly, fingers trying to beat down the blaze crawling across his shoulders.

  I was already on him.

  Rushed forward and slammed into his side. One hand gripped his sword before he could draw it—his fingers still curled around the sheath—and I yanked. Steel rasped free. I spun it and rammed it through his back.

  His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just a weak wheeze.

  I held it a second longer, then jerked it free and stepped back.

  Li Feng collapsed in a smoking heap.

  I yanked the blade free and stepped back, panting lightly.

  "You'll die here if you get surrounded here. " Qiu reminded.

  "Yeah, yeah," I said, wiping my hands on the guy's robe. "Let's go."

  I kicked the door open and bolted.

  The hallway was long and polished. The second I saw wood paneling, I hurled another bottle. Fire burst across the walls with a sharp crack, and smoke already filled the halls.

  Screams echoed. Distant at first. Then closer.

  I didn't stop.

  Molotov after molotov. Through doorways, into decorative side halls, over inner balconies. I aimed for rugs, furniture, paper scrolls. Anything that could catch. Heat built in every direction.

  Footsteps thudded on the floors behind me. Shouts—guards calling orders, someone yelling to put the fires out.

  I vaulted a low railing, landed in what looked like a dining hall, and tossed another molotov into the tapestry-lined wall without looking. The fire chased me as I moved, light flickering off lacquered floors and golden trim.

  "How do you even plan to find Xia Song?" Qiu snapped. "This estate is massive!"

  "Not gonna lie, I'm kind of running around randomly here," I shouted, leaping over a table.

  "That is not a plan!"

  "I'm improvising!"

  A massive wall scroll flashed past me—pearls inlaid along the border. Looked expensive.

  My hands moved without thinking. I yanked it down.

  Behind it was a door.

  I blinked. "Huh."

  The door was old with dusty hinges, a worn handle, and half-rotted wood. Didn't match anything else in the gaudy palace.

  I kicked it open.

  Dust billowed out. The hallway beyond looked abandoned—cobwebbed walls, cracked tiles, and a definite not supposed to enter vibe. I didn't care. I ran.

  The fires behind me kept spreading, but ahead, the halls grew colder, darker. No guards here. No screaming. Just the sound of my footsteps echoing against old stone.

  Qi flared somewhere deeper inside the estate.

  I felt them—multiple signatures were moving with urgency.

  I ran harder.

  The corridor narrowed. I caught sight of a paper-thin wall panel and didn't think.

  I jumped straight through.

  The world blurred—then crashed back into place as I tumbled through a side room and rolled onto stone. I looked up.

  One of the 1st-stage Qi Refiners was already there, sword half-drawn, mouth open in shock.

  And just past him?

  Tall. Robes trimmed in silver. Greasy hair. Face like a smirking toad.

  The majordomo.

  Exactly as Old Man Yu described.

  I grinned.

  "Ha!" I barked out a laugh, rising to my feet. "Knew it! The protagonist always prevails!"

  Without waiting another second, I ripped the satchel open, hurled every molotov I had left straight at him, and charged.

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