Chapter LXXXIV: Quasi

High above the earth, in the swaying quiet of a humble tree, Yanwei sat as if untouched by the massacre below. The sun had begun to pierce through the thinning morning mist, streaks of gold slanting across the blood-stained ground like mockery. He didn't flinch. He didn't blink.

He stared into the merit floating before him.

A faint shimmer. A reward—modest in size, but precise in nature. The universe had acknowledged his deed. Zhang, dead and erased, was now little more than a calculation in Yanwei's ledger.

"Just a little more than Jiang Yu…" he murmured.

His voice lacked excitement. No triumph. No disappointment.

Just numbers.

That was what it all came down to in the end, wasn't it? People were numbers. Events were currency. Everything he touched either paid forward or cost something.

Zhang had been formidable in theory, but weak in execution. His secrets had crumbled under pressure, and the merit reflected that truth. It was a return on investment, nothing more.

Yanwei flexed his fingers, then drew them back into a loose fist.

Now, there was Linglong.

He hadn't touched her yet. Hadn't killed her. Hadn't carved away her pride like he did to others who stood in his path. And yet, her name hovered at the edge of his thoughts like a weight begging to be measured.

If he did it—if he snuffed her out and cast her aside like the rest—he would be rewarded again. Of that, he was certain. She had value. Not like Zhang's, no, but value all the same. Perhaps she held secrets, maybe a hidden technique or a thread of fate yet to be revealed.

And still…

He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes for a moment.

If he killed her, he would gain another merit. It was simple mathematics, a return on investment. He had always known how to deal with tools. And Linglong, like the rest, would be discarded when she no longer served her purpose.

But as the thought lingered, Yanwei's gaze shifted.

Yun.

The girl. The one who had treated Linglong's wounds, sparing her life. For now, she was still useful—still a mask he could wield. She remained a tool, no more, no less. But tools had weight. And the world never stopped measuring worth.

He exhaled slowly, mulling over the situation.

If he killed Linglong now, Yun would be the only one left. She would emerge as the sole survivor—the last genius standing. The world would realize that she was the one who claimed the treasure, the one who walked away with all the power.

Yun would become a hot potato.

Everyone would turn their gaze on her, desperate to claim what she had. The treasure. The legacy. The power.

Her sect could protect her—for a time. They could stand against the others for a while. But power in numbers didn't guarantee safety. If the treasure was in her hands, it didn't matter that her sect was equally powerful. The other sects—equally strong or not—would not turn a blind eye. They would form alliances, break treaties, and team up to claim what they wanted.

Yun might have protection, but that wouldn't stop other sects from trying to seize her.

And even more dangerous than that, if Yun was caught—if any sect or family got their hands on her—there would be consequences far more severe than simply stealing the treasure.

They would soul-search her.

If they did, they would discover his secret.

The world would know that Yanwei—the number one demon—was alive.

Yanwei's expression darkened. If they learned that he was the one who had returned, the very thought sent shivers down his spine. A man who had once held power, who was now hiding beneath the guise of a Rank 1. The cultivation world would erupt. His enemies would hunt him down, relentless, until there was nothing left but ash.

Yanwei's lips curled into a faint, amused smirk. He had never been afraid of danger. But this? This was different. This could shatter everything he had built, every hard work that he poured in his ambition. And once the world found out who he really was, he would be pursued like prey, hunted by all the forces he had once controlled.

He could protect Yun for a while. Yes. He could use her to play the game, to stir chaos, to shift allegiances. But the moment she became a threat—when she became too valuable, too dangerous—that was when everything could go wrong. That was when Yanwei would have to make a choice.

He leaned back against the tree, feeling the weight of it all sink in.

Yun was a tool. But now she had weight. She was valuable—too valuable to discard prematurely. Yet she was also a potential liability. If she was caught by another sect, if they learned the truth about him through her, there would be no escape. He would be forced out into the open, hunted down by every corner of the cultivation world.

He wouldn't let it come to that.

Linglong's survival would ease the weight. Cast doubt. With two geniuses alive, the blame would fracture. The suspicion would spread. Yun would still be scrutinized, yes—but she wouldn't be the suspect. Just one of them. One possibility among many.

That ambiguity was his shield.

And so, Linglong would live.

Not out of mercy. Not out of honor.

But because Yun still had a role to play. A mask to wear. A shadow to cast. And a burden to carry—so long as it served him.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm.

"Even a puppet can't dance when everyone's eyes are on her," he muttered.

Then, with a quiet, calculating smile:

"But give them another to watch… and the strings stay hidden."

But that creature…

Yanwei's thoughts paused, sharpening as he recalled the presence he had sensed earlier. It had been fleeting, just a brush of its aura—but it was enough. Enough to leave an impression. Enough to make him stop and think.

It was troublesome.

No, more than that.

It was unnatural.

He hadn't even laid eyes on it directly, yet he felt the distortion in the surrounding qi, the pressure it left in its wake like a lingering echo. There had been no need to confront it to know what it was—or rather, what it wasn't.

Its cultivation was strange. Not Rank 1. Not quite Rank 2. Something in between.

Quasi Rank 2.

Yanwei's eyes narrowed slightly at the term. "Quasi" wasn't something cultivators liked. It was a word used to explain what shouldn't exist, a placeholder for ignorance. Cultivation was meant to ascend in tiers. Rank 1 led to Rank 2. There were steps. Paths. Frameworks.

This thing spat on all of them.

"I've never heard of a quasi Rank 2 creature before…" he mused, fingers brushing his chin in idle thought. "The progression should be simple. After Rank 1, a creature either breaks through or dies trying. There's no 'between.'"

And yet, here it was.

Something that hovered in that forbidden space—beyond the ceiling of Rank 1 but not yet grounded in the foundation of Rank 2. It wasn't a beast trying to break through—it was a beast that lingered in that space, comfortable, dangerous, volatile.

Much more troublesome than that Rank 2 demon from back then…

That demon, for all its power, had structure. It followed laws. It was bound by what cultivation allowed. This thing? It was chaos wrapped in flesh. Its presence distorted qi, its strength shattered logic.

Yanwei leaned back slightly, gaze growing colder.

Creatures like that didn't simply exist.

They were either made—or born from something far older than the cultivation world understood.

He didn't like unknowns. He hated things that didn't fit into the puzzle.

"I don't know what you are," he murmured to himself, voice soft, but firm. "But you're interesting, let me test you later.