A Date

Han Yun shifted slightly in his seat, posture relaxed but upright—refined, conversational. He turned his attention fully toward Liu Yuelan, his tone polite, deliberate, and far more reserved than how he ever spoke with Qinglan.

"Miss Liu," he said, "forgive me if I'm prying, but your way of speaking… it's quite composed. Are you trained in court etiquette?"

Liu Yuelan gave a small nod. "I studied under a tutor from the Liu Clan's main house. My grandfather insisted on proper upbringing."

Han Yun smiled gently. "He raised a fine example, then. It's rare to meet someone who can speak so properly without sounding rehearsed."

A subtle compliment. Just the kind to disarm, not flatter.

She offered a modest smile, dipping her head slightly. "You're very kind."

It was clean, formal. The way they spoke was less like a flirtation and more like two people exchanging lines in a well-mannered play. No edge. No bite.

But the mood still hung tight—awkward from the third wheel's silence.

Han Yun finally turned his head.

As if just realizing.

He looked at Ye Fan with a polite expression, not mocking, not fake—just enough warmth to shift the atmosphere.

"I must apologize. I barged in without introducing myself properly." He nodded slightly. "Han Yun. From the Thousand Peaks Immortal Gate."

Ye Fan's expression tightened for a moment, but he managed a stiff nod. "Ye Fan. No sect."

Han Yun's brows lifted slightly, just enough to play the role.

"Ah… so a rogue cultivator?" His tone was still polite. "That's impressive. I've met a few—most don't carry themselves so cleanly. You must have had good guidance."

Ye Fan gave a clipped smile, not quite knowing if it was sarcasm or sincerity.

Han Yun gave no hint. He just picked up his teacup and sipped again, eyes calm.

Now the table looked normal.

But only on the surface.

Han Yun took another slow sip of tea, then paused mid-motion—just enough to seem like a thought had suddenly struck him.

His brows furrowed, just slightly, lips parting in a soft gasp. Eyes widened a little as if genuinely recalling something.

"…Ye Fan?" he said slowly, turning back toward him. "Wait… Ye Fan? The Ye Fan? From the Azure Dragon Flame Empire?"

His tone carried surprise—too clean to be real.

Ye Fan's fingers froze against his cup.

Han Yun leaned in just a little, eyes bright with polite curiosity, like someone putting together an old gossip thread in real time.

"I remember hearing that name," Han Yun continued, tapping a finger thoughtfully against the table. "You were the genius of the Ye Clan, weren't you? A promising young master, top of your generation. Until…"

He trailed off with a faint, regretful expression.

"…until something happened," he said, lowering his voice just a notch. "Some tragic betrayal within the clan, wasn't it? Quite the fall."

Liu Yuelan's smile faltered—only slightly. But her eyes flicked toward Ye Fan, subtle, curious.

Han Yun's expression was composed, concerned.

Then he tilted his head, as if something else clicked into place.

"And then… wasn't there that story—what was it again…"

He tapped his fingers again, slower this time, rhythm sharp and precise.

"Oh. Right. Some incident where you were accused of scamming a poor herbal stall owner in Misty Spring City?"

He chuckled, hand rising quickly in mock guilt as he turned to Liu Yuelan.

"Of course, of course—I didn't believe it. I mean, you? The genius Ye Fan of the great Ye Clan? Doing something so… cheap and dishonorable?"

He shook his head, smiling softly.

"No, no. Couldn't be. Must've been a misunderstanding."

Ye Fan's grip on his cup tightened until it gave a small crack.

He set it down—a little too hard—and leaned forward, eyes fixed on Han Yun with no attempt to hide the heat building behind them.

"What's your problem?" he said, voice low and sharp. "Do we know each other?"

Han Yun blinked innocently, hands lifting in a small, casual gesture of surrender.

"No offense meant," he said, tone still level, still polite. "Truly. I was just recalling what I'd heard. I didn't think it was true, obviously."

Ye Fan narrowed his eyes. "You seem to know a lot about me for someone I've never met."

Han Yun tilted his head. "Do I? I thought it was common knowledge." Then, a light laugh. "Apologies again—I didn't mean to touch a sore spot."

Liu Yuelan, who had been quiet, finally raised a hand slightly, her tone smooth but firm.

"Please, enough."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to cut the tension.

She looked at Ye Fan first. "No need to escalate things in a public place."

Then at Han Yun. "And perhaps let's not bring up unpleasant rumors at the dinner table."

Han Yun gave a small, apologetic nod. "Of course. You're right, Miss Liu. Poor taste on my part."

Ye Fan's gaze didn't soften, but he leaned back slowly, clearly restraining himself. His jaw clenched, breath a bit heavier than before.

Han Yun just lowered his hands and picked up his tea again, sipping quietly like nothing had happened.

Han Yun placed his cup down gently, the quiet clink against the porcelain carrying more finality than it should've.

He stood, adjusting his robe with slow, unhurried movements, and offered Liu Yuelan a graceful nod.

"Forgive the disturbance," he said, tone calm and sincere, almost warm. "It truly wasn't my intention to disrupt your evening."

He turned slightly, giving the faintest glance to Ye Fan—barely a look, more of a presence.

"And thank you as well," he added, politely. "It's been… enlightening."

He made it two steps before pausing, half-turning back just as if something had come to mind at the last second.

"Oh," he said lightly, voice just loud enough to carry to the other tables nearby.

"One thing, though. This restaurant's quite the place elegant and expensive. I only hope the staff double-check who actually pays the bill."

He let the words hang a second too long.

"Wouldn't want anyone accidentally scamming a poor restaurant owner. That'd be… unfortunate."

He smiled softly at Liu Yuelan, gave a polite bow, and walked off slow, calm, and composed.

Ye Fan's fingers dug into the edge of the table as he watched Han Yun walk away—calm, deliberate, not even looking back. Every step the guy took only made the heat in Ye Fan's chest rise.

That tone.

That smirk behind the politeness.

That jab at the end.

His whole body tensed, veins at his temple faintly pulsing.

Last time, it was some filthy beggar humiliating him in the middle of the street. He swore he'd find that bastard and make him pay.

Now it was this smug noble-looking freak sliding in out of nowhere, acting above him, tossing around veiled insults, and chatting up his dinner companion like Ye Fan was the one tagging along.

He was done letting things slide.

He kept his face still, as much as he could, but his insides were burning. His spiritual energy flared ever so slightly before he forced it back down.

Across from him, Liu Yuelan was still seated the same—elegant, calm, sipping her tea with perfect posture.

But she hadn't said anything since Han Yun left. She didn't smile again. Didn't offer him a comment to ease the air.

She looked at him—same as always.

But Ye Fan felt it.

Something had shifted.

And he didn't know how much of that was in her eyes, or in his own head.

That bastard… whoever he was, he was going on Ye Fan's list.

Right below that damned beggar.

Han Yun stepped out of Cloudveil Terrace, folding his hands behind his back as the evening air hit his face. His footsteps were light, posture straight, and on his face—

a slow, satisfied grin that he wasn't even trying to hide.

The system dinged faintly in his mind.

[Destiny Points Acquired: +300]

Source: Interference – Target: Ye Fan

Effect: Destabilized emotional perception of potential love interest

He didn't even bother opening the panel. He could check the numbers later.

"Not a lot," he muttered to himself, hands idly tightening the sash at his waist. "But enough for now."

Not enough to buy the pill he wanted.

He exhaled long through his nose, expression stretching somewhere between grinning and oddly thoughtful.

He didn't know why he enjoyed it as much as he did.

Maybe because for once, he wasn't reacting to the world.

He was shaping it.

"Ugh, I really sound like one of those third-rate maniac villains," he muttered.

He shook the thought off like dust and stuffed his hands back into his sleeves, pace steady as he made his way down the steps and back into the city crowd.

Just another face in the streets again.

Until next time.

The next day the city was alive with noise—cultivators from nearby sects flooding in, merchants shouting louder than usual, and banners flapping across storefronts. It was the day before the tournament, and the energy in the air had shifted from casual to bustling flood with people.

Han Yun strolled down a street near the central plaza, arms folded behind him, glancing lazily at the passing crowd. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular.

And then he saw her.

Mu Qinglan.

Standing just ahead, near a quiet corner tea house, dressed in light robes the color of misty violet. Her long black-violet hair was tied differently today, simple but sharp. She hadn't noticed him yet, busy scanning the area like she was looking for someone.

Han Yun grinned.

"Oh," he whispered. "She actually came."

He hadn't been sure if she would. Honestly, part of him thought she might've brushed it off, ghosted him like it never happened. But here she was. On time.

He adjusted his robe and tried to sneak up from behind again, like last time.

Didn't work.

Just as he was within a step, she turned, eyes sharp.

"You really think I'd fall for that twice?" she said flatly.

Han Yun froze mid-step, then eased back like he meant to play it cool the whole time. "Caught me. You must've trained in sneak attack detection or something."

She crossed her arms. "I came here because I said I would. To repay the favor. Nothing more."

Han Yun raised both hands, palms open, wearing a full grin now. "Of course. Because you're a noble, principled woman of your word. Not because you wanted to."

She gave him a look. Flat. Blank. No response.

But she didn't leave either.

He took a casual step beside her, slipping his hands back into his sleeves. The smile didn't fade.

"Well, I'm flattered either way. If I knew you'd actually show up, I would've brought a gift. Tea. A poem. Maybe a sign that said I'm not here because I care.'"

"Shut up."

"There it is," he said, eyes sparkling.

The two walked side by side, blending into the crowd as the city around them buzzed with life. Banners were strung across the streets, stalls packed tight with cultivators and locals alike, food carts steaming with spirit-flavored skewers and sweet buns. Kids darted between legs with paper talismans stuck to their backs, and somewhere ahead, a puppet troupe was already putting on a flashy performance with glowing string illusions.

Mu Qinglan walked with her hands behind her back, steps light but controlled as always, eyes scanning everything without expression.

Beside her, Han Yun was... being Han Yun.

"So you're telling me, you agreed to come out here and walk around with me, just because you owed me one?" he said, leaning slightly toward her as they passed a row of lanterns.

"Yes," she said flatly.

"Brutal," he sighed. "Can't even lie to make a man feel better."

"You'd see through it."

"Oh? You think I'm clever?"

"I think you're annoyingly perceptive when it's least convenient."

He put a hand over his heart. "That was the nicest thing anyone's said to me today."

She glanced at him, then back to the road. "That's not a compliment."

Han Yun didn't stop grinning, not even as a street vendor waved a stick of glazed spirit fruit in front of them. He bought one with a casual flip of a token, took a bite, then handed it toward her.

Mu Qinglan paused. Looked at it. Then looked at him.

"I'm not eating that."

"Suit yourself. But you're missing out."

She stayed quiet for a while after that, but her pace didn't quicken. She didn't walk ahead or shift away from him.

Eventually, she spoke again.

"It's loud," she said, eyes tracking the crowd.

"You hate crowds?"

"I don't hate them. I just don't like people."

Han Yun nodded like that made perfect sense. "Spoken like a girl who's been ambushed before."

She didn't respond, but her lip twitched.

He caught it. Didn't say a word.

Just kept walking beside her, voice still going, like he had no plans of shutting up any time soon.

As they strolled through the street lit with bright banners and the scent of roasting spirit meats, Han Yun occasionally cracked a small joke—some about the way the sword-wielding performance troupe was clearly overcompensating, others about how a hawker tried to sell him a "supreme-grade talisman" that looked like it was drawn by a toddle.

Mu Qinglan didn't laugh. Obviously. But sometimes, her eyes flicked his way. Sometimes her silence was just a second too long—like she almost had a reply but swallowed it down.

That was enough for him.

Then, during a slower stretch where the crowd thinned slightly near the plaza gardens, he asked.

"So," Han Yun said, glancing sideways, tone a bit more neutral this time, "besides being icy, mysterious, and really good at nearly elbowing people to death… what else should I know about you?"

She didn't answer immediately.

He waited.

Her eyes stayed ahead, but her voice came, low and even.

"I like silence. Reading. I cultivate better at night. And I don't enjoy pointless questions."

He nodded slowly, mock-serious. "So you're saying I've been annoying you from the moment I opened my mouth."

"Yes."

He grinned. "Noted."

Another pause.

She glanced at a small stand selling hand-carved wind chimes, her gaze lingering for half a second before looking away.

Han Yun caught it, but didn't say anything about it.

"So you like silence, huh?" he asked again, more casually. "Why?"

"Because silence doesn't waste time pretending to be something it's not."

"...That's poetic."

"It's the truth."

He nodded, then smirked. "Do you ever say anything warm?"

She looked at him. "Would you like me to lie?"

Han Yun just laughed. "You're the only person who can insult me in the tone that I still like."

And again, maybe just for a split second—maybe just the angle of the sun—he thought her lips curved.

A little.