Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 1036: The Assembly Of Shadows

The Winter Truce settled over the Myriad Reefs Sea Region like a heavy, suffocating blanket, temporarily halting the apocalyptic slaughter that had stained the ocean red for the past year. Exhausted by the relentless meat-grinder of the obsidian trenches, both the Myriad Ocean Palace and the Holy Nether Sea Organization ordered their sprawling armadas to retract their fangs. They required a monumental pause to re-arm, ransom high-value captives, and negotiate shifting territorial borders before the spring offensives inevitably resumed.

This desperate need for a centralized, neutral diplomatic ground birthed the grand Maritime Trade Assembly. The chosen location was Coral Cloud Island, a massive free-trade archipelago administered jointly by the supreme merchant consortiums of the sea domain.

It took the heavily armored delegation fleet from Abyssal Pearl City four grueling weeks to navigate the icy, storm-battered shipping lanes to reach the archipelago.

When the towering, Star-Core Iron dreadnought belonging to Wang Jian finally dropped its heavy anchors within the exclusive VIP port of Coral Cloud Island, the sheer scale of the assembly became apparent. Over thirty thousand cultivators walked the sprawling, floating pontoon streets. Armored sword-cruisers bearing the righteous crests of the Azure Wave Sword Sect docked mere hundreds of yards away from the jagged, blood-hulled warships of the Holy Nether Sea Organization. Heavily armed crews glared at one another across the freezing water, their hands resting on unsheathed blades, held in check only by the massive, glowing truce barrier projected by the merchant consortiums overhead.

However, before stepping into that chaotic political theater, Wang Jian required a profound release of the heavy, aggressive Yang energy that had accumulated within his Stellar Demonic Core during the month-long voyage.

Deep within the luxurious, sound-dampened master quarters of the dreadnought, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweet jasmine incense, potent female arousal, and raw, unrestrained lust. The spacious chamber, adorned with plush velvet cushions and glowing pearl lanterns, served as his private, hedonistic sanctuary, shielded far away from the prying eyes of the tens of thousands of cultivators outside.

Wang Jian reclined upon a massive, circular bed covered in soft spirit-beast furs. His heavily muscled chest gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat, his dark eyes burning with immense, predatory satisfaction as he surveyed the breathtaking collection of mature women kneeling before him.

He had commanded them to wear modern, highly seductive garments specifically tailored to his depraved tastes—garments that left virtually nothing to the imagination and mocked their former, highly dignified statuses.

Hua Yimei, the mature Sect Leader of the Fragrance Melody Sect, wore a sheer, clinging crimson chemise that plunged dangerously low, fully exposing the deep, heavy cleavage of her massive breasts. The thin silk barely covered her dark pink nipples, which stood stiff and prominent in the cool air of the cabin. Kneeling directly beside her was her daughter, Hua Ling’er, dressed in a matching, tight-fitting crimson corset that aggressively pushed up her own lush, youthful curves. The mother-and-daughter duo, once proud and untouchable, now looked up at Wang Jian with hazy, deeply submissive eyes, their curvy hips swaying slightly in eager anticipation.

To his right knelt Su Binglan, the former Palace Mistress of the Ice Heart Palace. She wore a stunningly transparent gown woven from glacial-silk, a garment so thin it looked like a layer of frost resting upon her snow-white porcelain skin. The sheer fabric highlighted the breathtaking, heavy weight of her breasts and the wide, lush flare of her child-bearing hips.

Beside her was Shen Mengqi, the woman who possessed the Heavenly Yin Divine Physique. Having successfully converted her cultivation foundation into a profound Yin technique under Wang Jian’s coercive guidance, she radiated a chilling, intoxicating allure. She wore a sleek, high-slitted black cheongsam that exposed her long, thick thighs, her icy demeanor thoroughly melted into a puddle of burning lust whenever she was in his presence.

Mu Lianhua and Chen Ying stood near the foot of the bed, the brilliant alchemist and the lethal assassin waiting patiently for their turn, both adorned in tight, revealing corsets that showcased their hourglass figures.

“The journey was exceptionally tedious,” Wang Jian murmured, his low, heavy voice sending visible shivers down the spines of the kneeling women. “My meridians are tense. I require thorough, dedicated service before I deal with the arrogant merchants outside.”

“Yes, Master,” Hua Yimei and Hua Ling’er breathed in perfect, harmonious unison.

They did not hesitate. The mother-and-daughter pair crawled forward over the soft furs, their heavy breasts bouncing explicitly with the movement. Hua Yimei reached him first, her soft, delicate hands tracing the hard, corded muscles of his lower abdomen. She leaned down, her warm breath ghosting over his thick, engorged manhood before she took him deeply into her mouth. She moaned softly around his flesh, her tongue swirling hungrily, utilizing decades of refined dual-cultivation techniques to instantly spike his pleasure.

Hua Ling’er crawled up to his chest. She straddled his waist, pressing her soft, wet core directly against his lower stomach. She leaned forward, pressing her heavy, lush breasts directly against his face, offering her stiff nipples to his hungry mouth.

Wang Jian let out a heavy groan of profound satisfaction. He wrapped his large, calloused hands around Hua Ling’er’s wide, juicy hips, forcefully grinding her wetness against his skin while he ruthlessly suckled her breasts. Below him, Hua Yimei worked tirelessly, her head bobbing in a steady, desperate rhythm, eager to please the man who had thoroughly conquered them both.

He relished the unique, highly depraved dynamic of enjoying the mother and daughter simultaneously. It had been years since he first shattered their dignified facades, and they had become exceptionally well-versed in catering to his darkest whims, constantly competing to gain his ultimate favor.

Wang Jian pulled his mouth away from Hua Ling’er’s breast, looking down at her flushed, beautiful face. “You have grown far more skilled, Ling’er. Your Yin energy feels significantly denser today.”

“Thank you, Master,” Hua Ling’er whimpered, her hips grinding faster against him. “I have practiced the specific circulation techniques you commanded. I only wish to serve you better.”

Wang Jian smirked, a cruel, demanding light in his eyes. He reached down and roughly grabbed Hua Yimei by her dark hair, pulling her mouth off his shaft.

“Turn around, Yimei,” Wang Jian commanded abruptly.

Hua Yimei gasped, her eyes hazy with interrupted lust, but she obeyed instantly. She turned around on the bed, presenting her lush, heavy backside to him. She flattened her massive breasts against the furs, arching her back to lift her juicy hips high into the air.

Wang Jian gripped her wide hips with bruising force. He guided his heavy shaft to her wet core and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside the mature Sect Leader with a single, brutal motion.

Hua Yimei threw her head back, a loud, highly erotic scream tearing from her throat. “Ahhh! Master! Yes!”

Wang Jian pounded into her voluptuous body with relentless, aggressive force. His hips snapped forward like a physical battering ram, showing no gentleness whatsoever. He reached around her waist, his hands forcefully seizing her massive, heavy breasts, kneading and twisting the soft flesh with punishing intensity as he hammered into her core.

While he brutally used her mother, Hua Ling’er did not sit idle. She crawled back to his side, her hands tracing his muscular chest as she leaned in to aggressively kiss his neck, her hot breath and wet tongue adding another layer of intense stimulation.

Wang Jian turned his gaze to the other side of the bed. “Shen Mengqi. Come here.”

The former righteous swordswoman crawled forward, her sleek black cheongsam riding high up her thick thighs. She positioned herself near his head, her icy, beautiful face flushed a deep crimson. Wang Jian reached up with one hand, forcefully grabbing her heavy breast through the silk, squeezing it hard enough to leave a bruise. He pulled her face down, capturing her lips in a savage, dominating kiss, his tongue invading her mouth while he continued to relentlessly pound into Hua Yimei’s yielding flesh.

The chamber echoed with the wet sounds of their intense physical connection, the heavy slaps of skin against skin, and the breathless, degraded moans of the region’s most powerful women.

After a grueling, highly intense session that lasted for hours, Wang Jian finally withdrew, his heavy, potent essence flooding Hua Yimei’s internal pathways. The mature Sect Leader collapsed onto the furs, her sheer crimson chemise ruined and soaked in sweat, her chest heaving violently as a profound sense of absolute fulfillment washed over her mind.

Wang Jian did not rest. He stood up from the bed, his muscular physique radiating the scorching heat of his Heavenly Yang Divine Physique. He looked at Su Binglan, who was still kneeling, her glacial-silk gown damp with her own rampant arousal.

“Binglan,” Wang Jian demanded, his voice a low, heavy rumble. “It is your turn. Drain the excess heat from my meridians.”

Su Binglan crawled forward eagerly, her massive breasts swaying heavily. She reached his legs, looking up at him with deep, unquestioning devotion. She wrapped her soft hands around his thick shaft, utilizing her pure Glacial Yin essence to provide a chilling, incredibly soothing contrast to his burning heat as she took him into her mouth.

He spent another hour ruthlessly enjoying Su Binglan’s breathtaking physical form, exploring every lush curve of her wide hips and heavy breasts until she lay panting and exhausted beside the others.

Only then did Wang Jian finally signal the end of the indulgence.

“Clean yourselves,” Wang Jian ordered smoothly, walking toward his heavy wooden wardrobe. “The diplomatic theater begins shortly. Wanyue and Shangguan Wan’er are waiting in the briefing room.”

He dressed methodically, wrapping himself in his dark, immaculate military robes. He adjusted the high collar, ensuring no physical marks of the intense session remained visible. He strapped his heavy, unadorned broadsword to his waist, projecting the aura of a cold, calculating, and highly lethal military advisor.

When he stepped out of his private quarters and entered the ship’s primary briefing room, City Lord Lin Wanyue and Shangguan Wan’er were already waiting.

Lin Wanyue wore her incredibly heavy, multi-layered official City Lord robes of embroidered deep-blue silk. The stiff collar framed her mature, flawless face, while the golden embroidery of cresting waves shimmered under the cabin lights. Shangguan Wan’er wore a sleek, incredibly tight-fitting dark gold merchant gown that completely failed to contain the heavy, lush proportions of her deeply curved figure.

“Master,” Lin Wanyue bowed deeply, her sapphire eyes gleaming with respect. “The Consortium elders have officially convened the high council in the central pavilion. The negotiations for the barrier-repair ores are scheduled to begin within the hour.”

Wang Jian nodded, stepping up to the polished obsidian table where a detailed map of Coral Cloud Island lay spread out.

“We walk into a viper’s nest today,” Wang Jian stated, his starlit eyes scanning the map. “The Myriad Ocean Palace and the Holy Nether Sea Organization will have countless spies roaming these floating streets. We play our roles flawlessly. Lin Wanyue, you are the sovereign ruler of Abyssal Pearl City, seeking lucrative trade contracts to enrich your municipality. Shangguan Wan’er, you are the ambitious, ruthless regional executive leveraging your new territory to crush your clan elders.”

He looked between the two powerful women. “And I am simply your chief military escort. A silent blade in the background. Do not look to me for guidance in the open. Handle your negotiations with the ferocity you display in my bed.”

“We understand, Master,” Shangguan Wan’er replied, a cold, mercantile light flashing in her pale blue eyes. “I will strip those stagnant elders of their authority.”

They departed the dreadnought, stepping down the heavy spirit-wood ramp and onto the sprawling, floating pontoon streets of Coral Cloud Island.

The atmosphere was incredibly tense, thick with the suffocating pressure of countless hostile auras. The floating city was a chaotic labyrinth of towering wooden pavilions, massive anchored trade ships, and bustling open-air bazaars. Everywhere Wang Jian looked, he saw heavily armed cultivators walking with stiff, paranoid postures.

To their left, a squad of Azure Wave Sword Sect disciples, their blue robes stained with dried blood-qi, marched in rigid formation, their hands hovering dangerously close to their sword hilts. To their right, a group of demonic warlords affiliated with the Blood Shark Hall sneered at the righteous cultivators, their jagged, bone-forged weapons openly displayed.

Only the heavy, glowing neutral truce barrier projected by the merchant consortiums, combined with the terrifying presence of specialized Consortium enforcement squads patrolling the rooftops, prevented a massive, instantaneous bloodbath in the streets.

Wang Jian walked silently behind Lin Wanyue and Shangguan Wan’er, his Void-Merging Breath passively suppressing his terrifying Stellar Demonic aura, making him appear as nothing more than a competent, Mid-Stage Core Formation bodyguard.

They reached the central grand pavilion, a massive, awe-inspiring structure constructed entirely from polished white sea-dragon bone and heavily warded deep-sea glass.

Inside the central chamber, the air was thick with the scent of expensive spirit-tea and the heavy, palpable tension of high-stakes commercial warfare. Ten senior regional executives of the Golden-Tide Consortium sat around a massive, circular table forged from profound-earth granite. These were ancient, calculating men and women who controlled the flow of wealth across massive sectors of the ocean.

Shangguan Wan’er did not wait for a formal invitation. She strode confidently to an empty high-backed chair, her heavy hips swaying with deliberate, predatory grace, and sat down. Lin Wanyue took a seat designated for honored municipal guests, while Wang Jian stood silently behind them, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Niece Wan’er,” Elder Shangguan Ming, a withered man with glowing runic tattoos across his bald scalp, spoke first. His voice was a dry rasp that carried deep bureaucratic disdain. “You presume much by claiming a central seat. Your localized control over Abyssal Pearl City is a minor, unproven venture. The Consortium requires the raw materials you hoard to fulfill our defense contracts with the Myriad Ocean Palace.”

Shangguan Wan’er smiled, a cold, razor-sharp expression that sent a visible chill through the room.

She reached into her spatial ring and slapped a heavy, glowing jade ledger onto the granite table.

“My venture is not minor, Elder Ming,” Shangguan Wan’er countered, her voice ringing with undeniable authority. “I hold the official, blood-jade stamped decree from the Palace Inspector granting Abyssal Pearl City a binding, thirty-year tax exemption on all incoming maritime trade. Furthermore, I have secured exclusive, municipal control over the three largest deep-water commercial dry docks in the western sea domain.”

She leaned forward, her massive breasts pressing heavily against the dark gold silk of her gown. “The Myriad Ocean Palace and the neutral merchant fleets have sustained catastrophic damage to their naval barriers. They require massive, unprecedented quantities of Nine-Folded Profound Iron and Red Sea Gold to patch their hulls before the spring offensives.”

Elder Ming frowned, his runic tattoos pulsing. “We are aware of the demand. That is why the central branch requires you to surrender your stockpiles at standard internal transfer rates.”

“You misunderstand the situation, Elder,” Shangguan Wan’er stated smoothly, tapping her long fingernail against the jade ledger. “You do not possess the intact foundries to process the raw ore quickly enough. The shipyards in the central domain have been heavily damaged by demonic raids. Abyssal Pearl City, however, has operated under a flawless, ten-month policy of Militarized Isolationism. Our foundries are pristine. Our labor force is massive.”

She delivered the killing blow to their arguments. “I will not surrender my stockpiles. I am here to secure the exclusive contract to supply all naval barrier-repair metals directly to the warring factions. You will funnel the raw ore contracts through my municipal foundries, and the Golden-Tide Consortium will take a unified, twenty percent cut of the final, heavily inflated sale price. Refuse, and City Lord Lin Wanyue will formally close the Abyssal Pearl harbors to Consortium vessels, citing security concerns.”

Lin Wanyue nodded slowly, projecting the dignified, unyielding majesty of a sovereign ruler.

The ten senior executives stared at Shangguan Wan’er in stunned silence. She was actively using her newly established municipal leverage to effectively hold the central branch hostage, forcing them to route the most lucrative wartime contracts directly through her personal territory.

The negotiations devolved into a fierce, rapid-fire exchange of commercial threats, ledger analysis, and shifting alliances. Over the course of the next three weeks, as the Maritime Trade Assembly raged outside, Shangguan Wan’er systematically dismantled every argument the elders presented. She cornered the market on maritime barrier-repair ores, cementing her status not just as a regional manager, but as an indispensable, apex pillar of the Golden-Tide Consortium.

While the high-level commercial statecraft unfolded in the grand pavilion, a vastly different, highly gritty struggle was taking place in the chaotic lower trading bazaars of Coral Cloud Island.

The lower bazaars were a sprawling labyrinth of ramshackle wooden stalls, canvas tents, and muddy pontoon walkways. Here, rogue cultivators, desperate scavengers, and low-level sect disciples traded looted weapons, unidentifiable trench flotsam, and questionable pills. The air reeked of cheap alcohol, dried blood, and desperation.

Walking carefully through the thick crowd was a young man wearing the rugged, salt-stained leather armor of an unaligned mercenary. He wore a heavy, woven bamboo hat pulled low over his face to obscure his features. A massive, incredibly heavy black broadsword rested in a specialized, rune-carved bone scabbard strapped to his back.

He operated under the alias “Master Han,” but his true identity was Ye Fan, the destiny-blessed protagonist.

Ye Fan did not blindly browse the stalls. He possessed a profound, hidden advantage. Resting against his chest, beneath his leather armor, was the Temporal Jade Bead. While he did not possess an ancient expert’s soul to guide him, the bead passively enhanced his spiritual perception, allowing him to sense subtle, microscopic fluctuations in the flow of time and energy around ancient artifacts.

He was hunting for a very specific, highly rare catalyst.

Through his grueling, ten-month guerrilla warfare campaign against the demonic patrol cutters, Ye Fan had successfully purged his meridians and consolidated his cultivation into the Mid Core Formation Realm. However, he had reached a terrifying bottleneck.

His unique, purifying golden flame was growing too powerful. When he channeled the flame through the heavy black broadsword, the intense, volatile heat threatened to incinerate his internal pathways and shatter the blade’s structural integrity. He required an ancient hybrid mineral—a Seven-Star Glacial-Flame Seed—to act as a stabilizing fusion bridge between his lifebound weapon and his fiery Qi.

Ye Fan stopped in front of a particularly filthy stall. The shopkeeper, a missing-eyed rogue cultivator smelling heavily of cheap wine, sat behind a pile of rusted swords, broken compass arrays, and jagged, soot-covered rocks salvaged from the deep-sea trenches.

Ye Fan’s enhanced perception pulsed sharply.

He focused his gaze on a seemingly ordinary, fist-sized chunk of soot-covered stone resting near the edge of the pile. To the naked eye, it looked like worthless volcanic slag. But through the subtle resonance of the Temporal Jade Bead, Ye Fan detected a faint, microscopic heartbeat of intense, dual-layered energy—searing heat trapped within absolute, freezing cold.

He had found it. A core fragment of a Seven-Star Glacial-Flame Seed.

Ye Fan carefully masked his excitement. He picked up a rusted dagger, examining it dismissively, before casually picking up the soot-covered stone.

“How much for this junk rock?” Ye Fan asked, his voice gruff and disinterested, playing the part of a bored mercenary. “I need something heavy to weigh down my fishing nets.”

The one-eyed shopkeeper squinted at the rock, completely ignorant of its true value. “Fifty low-grade spirit stones. It’s solid deep-earth slag.”

Ye Fan snorted. “Ten. It’s barely worth the space in my pouch.”

“Thirty, and you can take the rusted dagger too,” the shopkeeper haggled.

Ye Fan reached for his spatial pouch, ready to hand over the stones for a prize worth hundreds of thousands.

Before his fingers could grasp the currency, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the noise of the bazaar.

“Stop the transaction.”

Ye Fan stiffened, his hand dropping to the hilt of his heavy black broadsword. He turned slowly.

Standing behind him was a squad of highly disciplined, heavily armored enforcers wearing the crest of the Golden-Tide Consortium. Leading them was a sharp-faced junior merchant holding a glowing jade appraisal board.

The junior merchant didn’t even look at Ye Fan. He addressed the one-eyed shopkeeper. “By order of Regional Executive Shangguan Wan’er, the Golden-Tide Consortium is executing a blanket acquisition of all raw, unappraised trench flotsam in this sector. I am buying your entire stall. Here is a writ for five thousand low-grade spirit stones.”

The shopkeeper’s single eye bulged in absolute shock and immediate, overwhelming greed. He snatched the glowing writ from the merchant’s hand. “Sold! It’s all yours, noble sir! Every piece!”

The enforcers moved forward instantly, aggressively sweeping the pile of junk—including the soot-covered stone currently resting near Ye Fan’s hand—into massive, lead-lined spatial crates.

“Wait,” Ye Fan growled, his voice dropping an octave as he firmly grasped the chunk of volcanic slag. “I was in the middle of a negotiation for this specific piece. It belongs to me.”

The junior merchant finally looked at Ye Fan, his expression filled with aristocratic boredom. “The Golden-Tide Consortium does not negotiate for scraps, mercenary. The entire stall has been acquired. Release the stone, or the enforcers will sever your hand.”

Ye Fan’s internal golden flame flared dangerously, ready to burst outward and incinerate the arrogant merchant. His grip on the stone tightened. He desperately needed this catalyst. If he lost it to a faceless corporation, his cultivation path would be permanently stalled.

However, logic aggressively fought against his anger. If he ignited his golden flame here, in the middle of the crowded bazaar, he would instantly shatter his disguise. The Myriad Ocean Palace and the Holy Nether Sea Organization would immediately recognize the energy signature that had slain their elders. He would be hunted down and slaughtered by Nascent Soul experts within the hour.

Ye Fan gritted his teeth, forcing his volatile Qi back down into his Dantian. He slowly released his grip on the stone, letting the enforcer sweep it into the crate.

“Smart choice, mercenary,” the junior merchant sneered, turning away.

Ye Fan did not walk away. He followed the enforcers as they transported the crates through the winding streets, his eyes tracking their every move. He watched them deliver the goods to the heavily guarded, opulent VIP pavilion belonging to the Golden-Tide Consortium.

He needed that seed. He had to negotiate directly with the executives.

Two hours later, after spending a significant portion of his looted mercenary wealth to bribe a corrupt outer guard, Ye Fan managed to secure a brief audience within the lower reception hall of the VIP pavilion.

The room was luxuriously appointed, lined with polished sea-dragon bone and glowing pearl lanterns. Ye Fan stood in the center, his bamboo hat still pulled low, his heavy broadsword resting securely in its bone scabbard.

The heavy ironwood doors opened.

Shangguan Wan’er stepped into the room. She wore her tight, dark gold merchant gown, her pale blue eyes projecting the cold, calculating aura of an apex commercial predator. She was flanked by two heavily armored guards.

Following silently behind her was Wang Jian. He wore his dark, immaculate military robes, his starlit eyes calm and unreadable. He remained near the doorway, projecting the aura of a silent, competent military advisor.

“You are the mercenary who caused a disturbance in the lower bazaar,” Shangguan Wan’er stated, her voice crisp and dismissive. She sat behind a polished obsidian desk. “My clerks inform me you wish to purchase a specific piece of unappraised slag from our bulk acquisition. State your price quickly. My time is valuable.”

Ye Fan kept his voice gruff, forcing a respectful tone. “I am willing to offer ten thousand mid-grade spirit stones for that specific rock, Executive Shangguan. It holds sentimental value to my lineage.”

Shangguan Wan’er’s eyes narrowed slightly. Ten thousand mid-grade spirit stones was a massive sum for a piece of apparent junk. Her sharp mercantile instincts immediately registered that the rock possessed significant hidden value.

Before she could speak and reject the offer to have her own appraisers examine the stone, Wang Jian stepped forward from the shadows.

Wang Jian’s dark eyes locked onto Ye Fan. He did not see a grubby mercenary. His profound, highly refined spiritual senses easily pierced the superficial disguise. He sensed the incredibly dense, tightly coiled foundation of the Mid Core Formation Realm. He registered the terrifyingly young bone-age beneath the rugged illusion. And deep within the youth’s Dantian, Wang Jian detected the faint, aggressively suppressed vibration of a pure, purifying golden flame.

He recognized the destiny-blessed protagonist instantly.

For a fraction of a second, Wang Jian considered unleashing his Heavenly Yang Divine Physique, shattering the pavilion, and executing the boy right there. But his brilliant, calculating mind immediately discarded the brute-force approach. A battle between them would destroy the VIP pavilion, alert the Nascent Soul overlords of the assembly, and completely ruin the massive commercial monopoly Shangguan Wan’er had just spent weeks building.

Furthermore, simply killing a protagonist rarely yielded the best long-term results. They were tools meant to be used, manipulated, and bled dry.

“Executive Shangguan,” Wang Jian spoke, his voice a low, smooth vibration that cut through the tension. “Allow me to address the mercenary.”

Shangguan Wan’er glanced at him, masking her complete submission perfectly. She offered a curt nod, playing the role of a manager deferring to her military advisor. “Proceed, Commander.”

Wang Jian walked slowly around the obsidian desk, stopping a few paces away from Ye Fan. He looked the youth up and down, projecting an aura of cold, military appraisal.

“Ten thousand spirit stones is a significant sum, Master Han,” Wang Jian said, using the alias the guards had provided. “But the Golden-Tide Consortium does not lack for wealth. We lack capable, expendable talent.”

Ye Fan tensed, his hand hovering near the hilt of his broadsword. “What do you mean?”

“The assembly is concluding soon,” Wang Jian explained smoothly, pulling the soot-covered Seven-Star Glacial-Flame Seed from a nearby crate and holding it casually in his hand. “The warring factions have agreed to a joint, massive deep-sea trench expedition to harvest ancient resources before the spring offensives. It will be a highly dangerous, chaotic operation. The Consortium requires skilled, independent vanguards to spearhead our mining teams in the abyssal zones.”

Wang Jian tossed the stone lightly in the air, catching it. “I recognize a warrior who hides his true strength. You possess a heavy foundation, mercenary. I will trade you this sentimental rock right now, at no cost, in exchange for your signature on a binding martial-mercenary exploration contract. You will fight for the Golden-Tide Consortium during the trench expedition.”

Ye Fan stared at the stone, his mind racing. He needed the catalyst desperately. He knew the deep-sea trench expedition would be incredibly dangerous, a meat-grinder of demonic beasts and treacherous rogue cultivators. But he also knew that the deepest trenches held immense, untouched fortune. He intended to go anyway to hunt for resources to consolidate his breakthrough.

Getting the catalyst now, for free, while maintaining his disguise, seemed like a massive, unexpected stroke of luck. He thought he had outsmarted the arrogant Consortium executives by hiding his true identity.

“I accept the terms, Commander,” Ye Fan agreed, his voice gruff. “Draft the contract.”

A junior clerk quickly produced a standard, blood-binding mercenary contract. Ye Fan read it thoroughly, ensuring there were no hidden slavery clauses, and pressed his thumb against the parchment, leaving a drop of his blood to seal the agreement.

Wang Jian smiled, a cold, professional expression. He handed the soot-covered stone over to Ye Fan.

“Welcome to the Golden-Tide Consortium vanguard, Master Han,” Wang Jian said. “Report to the docks in three weeks when the expedition fleet assembles.”

Ye Fan took the stone, feeling the intense, dual-layered energy pulsing against his palm. He bowed slightly, suppressing his triumphant grin, and turned, walking swiftly out of the heavy ironwood doors and disappearing into the chaotic streets of the floating city.

The moment the doors closed, Shangguan Wan’er looked at Wang Jian, dropping her professional facade.

“Master,” she asked, her voice laced with confusion. “Why did you give him the stone? If he was willing to pay ten thousand mid-grade spirit stones, it must be an ancient, highly valuable artifact. Our appraisers could have deciphered its true worth.”

Wang Jian walked back to the obsidian desk, his dark eyes gleaming with profound, far-reaching malice.

“Because that boy is not a simple mercenary, Wan’er,” Wang Jian murmured, looking at the spot where Ye Fan had stood. “That is Ye Fan. The rogue cultivator who holds the legacy of the Abyssal Zephyr Lord.”

Shangguan Wan’er gasped, her pale blue eyes widening in shock. “The one who slaughtered the demonic elders? Why didn’t we kill him? We had him surrounded in a sealed room!”

“Because killing him here is loud and messy,” Wang Jian explained calmly, turning to face her. “And because I prefer my prey to lead me to greater fortunes.”

Outside, in the winding, muddy alleys of the lower bazaar, Ye Fan finally allowed himself to smile. He found a secluded, abandoned tent and slipped inside. He held the soot-covered stone up, channeling a tiny fraction of his spiritual energy into it to confirm its authenticity.

He thoroughly, meticulously inspected the stone for over an hour. He used his enhanced perception to scan for any hidden tracking arrays, localized blood-curses, or latent poisons the Consortium might have planted on the item.

He found absolutely nothing. The stone was completely clean, possessing only its natural, ancient elemental aura.

Feeling incredibly victorious in securing his breakthrough catalyst right under the noses of the greedy merchants, Ye Fan securely stored the Seven-Star Glacial-Flame Seed in his spatial ring, ready to find a safe place to begin the complex fusion process.

However, what Ye Fan’s profound spiritual senses and the Temporal Jade Bead failed to detect was the brilliant, terrifying subtlety of Wang Jian’s manipulation.

Back in the VIP pavilion, Wang Jian smiled as he felt the faint, microscopic connection establish itself across the island.

He had not used a tracking array. He had not used a blood-curse.

When he casually tossed the stone in the air during the negotiation, Wang Jian had infused a single, microscopic wisp of his Verdant Eternal Spring Essence deep into the mineral’s crystalline core. It was a natural, organic wood-life signature. It possessed no hostile intent, emitted no unnatural spiritual aura, and perfectly mimicked the ambient, ancient energy of the stone itself. It was completely undetectable to normal spiritual senses.

But to Wang Jian, who possessed the master source of the Verdant Eternal Spring Essence, it burned like a brilliant, undeniable beacon in the dark.

“He believes he has secured his future,” Wang Jian whispered to Shangguan Wan’er, his voice carrying the chilling, absolute certainty of a supreme predator. “He will take that stone, he will fuse it with his weapon, and he will carry it deep into the abyssal trenches. And wherever the Son of Luck goes, he will unwittingly lead my blade directly to the greatest treasures the ocean hides.”