Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 502: NEITHER ALLY OR ENEMY

Chen Mo stared at the woman before him—a wild card wrapped in silk and shadow, impossible to read.

"So... you’re going to help me?" Chen Mo asked, voice flat, cutting straight to the heart of it.

Ye Youlan tilted her head, then flopped onto the bed with lazy grace, stretching like a cat basking in moonlight.

"Not quite," she purred. "A little bit, maybe. But don’t be fooled, darling. I’ll still come for your life. Just... not as aggressively as I could."

Chen Mo’s jaw tightened. Her casual control over his fate grated against every fiber of his being.

Owing his survival to someone else, especially her, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"How do you plan to help?" he pressed, wasting no time on pleasantries.

Ye Youlan propped herself on one elbow, her smile sharpening.

"My advice? Flee. But don’t just run like a scared rat. Flee smartly. Three days from now, an elder from my sect will come for your head."

Chen Mo’s frown deepened, a cold knot forming in his gut.

"How am I supposed to escape a sect elder?" he shot back. "I don’t have the strength to fight one, and I’m not fool enough to think I can hide from someone from the Nether Abyss Sect."

The realization had settled like lead after learning who she was.

The Nether Abyss Sect moved freely in unorthodox lands, trackers unmatched, assassins who could sniff out a hidden cultivator like hounds on a blood trail.

Worse, fleeing to orthodox territory wasn’t an option; the alliance there wanted him just as dead.

Ye Youlan rolled her eyes, the gesture almost playful despite the stakes.

"Don’t be stupid," she said. "You wouldn’t last a day before they carve you into pieces."

She sat upright now, her casual air giving way to something more deliberate.

"But I’m feeling generous tonight," she continued. "And... well, it might be fun to see the rage in that old fool’s eyes when he realizes you’re still breathing."

Chen Mo leaned forward slightly, every muscle tense, waiting.

"Hide in the Tomb of Heavenly and Demons," she said. "Use the opportunity to grow as fast as you can before you’re forced to leave."

His eyes narrowed, anger flaring hot in his chest. Was she mocking him? The Tomb of Heavenly and Demons was a death trap even for elite cultivators, riddled with ancient traps, cursed beasts, and forbidden arrays.

Worse, it only opened once every fifty years, and the next cycle was far off.

"You’re toying with me," he said, voice low. "The Tomb only opens every fifft years. It’s nowhere near time. I’d just be serving myself to your elder on a platter."

Ye Youlan’s smile widened, but it held no warmth.

"Hmm. That’s what most people think," she admitted. "But someone like me, someone who’s claimed a divine artifact from that very tomb, has a certain... connection to it. I feel its pulses, its rhythms. And right now, it’s whispering to me."

She leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"The Tomb will open one week from now."

Chen Mo’s mind spun.

His first instinct was to call her a liar. Trusting her felt like stepping onto a frozen lake, beautiful, but one crack away from drowning.

What if she was setting him up, luring him to a place where her sect could corner him with ease? Yet the alternative was grim: stay here, and the elder would find him. Run blindly, and he’d be hunted down like a dog.

He fell into deep thought, weighing every angle.

"So?" Ye Youlan prompted, her smile now openly curious. "What’s your decision?"

She knew it was absurd to expect his trust.

No sane person would believe her so easily, not with a bounty on his head and her sect’s reputation for betrayal.

Chen Mo met her gaze, his own eyes hard as flint.

"I’ll need to leave now if I’m going to make it in time."

Her brows lifted in genuine surprise.

"Oh?" A soft laugh escaped her. "Decisive. I like that."

She rose fluidly, pulling the assassin’s hood back over her dark hair. The movement was almost theatrical, as if she were stepping off a stage.

"Alright, then," she said. "I’ll leave you to it. Have fun... and try not to die."

With that, she slipped to the open window, her silhouette merging with the night’s shadows.

A faint breeze carried the last trace of her perfume, and then she was gone.

Chen Mo didn’t hesitate. He grabbed only the essentials, his chipped sword, a small pouch of spirit stones, a single vial of qi-gathering pills.

The rest, tattered clothes, half-used talismans, a worn map, stayed behind.

Every second counted, and extra weight would only slow him.

He checked the room one last time, senses straining for any hint of pursuit.

Nothing but the faint drip of a leak in the corner and the distant bark of a street mongrel.

Satisfied, he extinguished the spirit lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Under the cover of night, he slipped out the window and vanished into the unorthodox district’s maze of alleys.

The Tomb of Heavenly and Demons lay far to the north, through treacherous lands crawling with bandits, rogue cultivators, and worse.

He would need every ounce of cunning to reach it alive.

Time was his only ally now, and it was already running out.

---

Xu Canghai returned to the Heaven’s Ascension Sect under cover of night, robes still cloaked in shadow and secrecy.

Yet no peace settled in his chest.

Trusting the unorthodox, especially Ye Youlan, was like swallowing venom and hoping it tasted like wine.

Every instinct screamed betrayal.

The Nether Abyss Sect could easily pocket the bounty, spare Chen Mo, and use him as a weapon against the Orthodox Alliance later.

To quiet the gnawing doubt, Xu Canghai summoned his most hidden asset.

Ten assassins ghosts even within his own sect, materialized in the dim meditation chamber.

Their faces were masked in black silk; their presence so faint the air barely stirred around them.

Only Xu Canghai knew of their existence; they answered to him alone.

"Ensure the unorthodox finish the job," he ordered, voice low and cold. "But if they play games, if they hesitate, or worse, protect him, kill their assassin first. Then end Chen Mo. No survivors. No traces."

The ten figures inclined their heads in perfect unison.

Without a sound, they melted into the darkness beyond the chamber doors, vanishing like smoke carried on the wind.

---

Chen Mo moved like a hunted animal, swift, relentless, barely pausing.

He crossed rivers by night, scaled sheer rock faces under moonlight, slept in shallow caves for mere hours before pressing on.

Days blurred into a haze of aching muscles, shallow breaths, and the constant prickle of being watched.

He ate only what he could forage or steal from unattended roadside stalls.

Every shadow felt like an enemy; every rustle in the underbrush set his heart hammering.

At last, after endless days of flight, he reached the Valley of Fallen Heavens.

The place was desolate, a narrow gorge carved by ancient qi storms, its sheer black cliffs rising like the jaws of some primordial beast.

Twisted spirit trees clung to the walls, their branches bare and claw-like.

A thin mist clung low to the ground, carrying the faint metallic tang of old blood and lingering demonic qi.

The air felt thick, oppressive, as though the valley itself remembered every death it had claimed.

Chen Mo slowed to a cautious walk, senses straining.

He scanned the jagged rocks, the shadowed crevices, the narrow path ahead.

Then he saw it.

The entrance to the Tomb of Heavenly and Demons loomed at the far end, a massive arch of obsidian and bone-white jade, sealed by glowing runes that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat slowed to near stillness.

The gate remained shut. No rift. No opening. Nothing.

Disappointment sank into his bones like cold lead.

"Hoho. You saved me the trouble of hunting you down."

The voice rasped from the shadows to his left, dry, amused, ancient.

Chen Mo spun, sword already half-drawn.

An old man stepped into the weak moonlight. Bent back.

Cane gripped in gnarled fingers for support. Gray robes hung loose on a skeletal frame.

Yet his eyes gleamed with cruel intelligence, and the air around him shimmered with suppressed killing intent.

"Never expected you to be foolish enough to come here," the assassin continued, lips curling. "But then again... this is a fitting grave for a prodigy turned rat."

The night was moonless, clouds thick overhead, perfect cover for one who thrived in darkness.

Chen Mo drew his chipped blade fully, stance low and wary. He assessed the terrain in a heartbeat.

Disaster.

The Tomb sat perched on a narrow ledge at the cliff’s edge.

Behind him: a sheer drop of thousands of feet into jagged rocks and black mist.

Fall, and death was certain, no cultivation could save a body shattered on those stones.

Ahead: the only path out of the valley, now blocked by the old man.

No escape. No allies. Just him, his damaged sword, and an elder-level assassin who moved like death given form.