The day Elder Xian had pnned to spend with a bottle of his favorite aged spirit… ended before it began.

  Instead, he was now spending it watching over Han Ye—a boy who, if left unsupervised, could probably reinvent spatial ws just to prank someone. Elder Xian wasn’t going to take that risk again. Not after what happened in the cave.

  So he followed closely. Watched intently. Made mental notes.

  Stay calm. Stay alert. Prevent another reality-altering situation.

  But…

  “Elder Xian!” Han Ye called cheerfully, spinning on his heel with a ridiculous bounce in his step. “Wanna mp? Or—or how about a new bow?”

  Elder Xian narrowed his eyes. “Why would I need a new—”

  “It broke,” Han Ye said bluntly, not even trying to soften the blow. “Yesterday. Remember?”

  Elder Xian froze.

  Yesterday…

  That cursed moment came flooding back.

  When everyone else was paralyzed by the intensity in Han Ye’s cave, Elder Xian had drawn his bow out of instinct—ready for anything. But as he pulled the old string, his fingers forgot the weight, the years, the cracks. The bow snapped clean in two with a loud crack.

  Every head turned. First to the bow. Then to him.

  Even Han Ye looked… sympathetic.

  'Don't look at me like that…' Elder Xian had thought, cheeks burning with shame.

  Now, back in the present, he sighed deeply.

  “Fine. Let’s find materials.”

  That’s how he found himself walking beside Han Ye through the cultivator market run by the Archer Sect—his pride trailing behind him like a broken string.

  Han Ye hummed while scribbling down a list of materials. It looked overly complicated, full of strange diagrams and symbols—clearly a blueprint from another world. A… compound bow? That’s what he’d called it.

  Elder Xian hadn’t agreed to it yet. Not officially.

  And yet…

  The moment they stepped into the market, dozens of cultivators turned.

  Their gazes sparkled with reverence.

  Some even blushed.

  Others whispered like they were seeing a divine child reborn.

  “Why…” Elder Xian muttered. “Why are they looking at him like that? He’s just—”

  Just what? A child? A genius? A walking anomaly who makes reality his pyground?He rubbed his temples. Maybe he should have taken that drink.

  He hadn’t even finished writing when he turned around, raising his voice just slightly, as if addressing old friends rather than a crowd of sect cultivators.

  “Hmm… does anyone here have Shadowsteel thread, Wind-bone sinew, a shard of Bck Void crystal, or maybe a Wind-forged core? Oh, and if possible, Darkveil wood for the frame?”

  There was a brief pause.

  Then—

  “I have it!!”

  “No, no—use mine! My Darkveil stock is fresher!”

  “Han Ye, take my Wind-bone sinew!”

  Elder Xian’s jaw fell slightly open.

  “…What the f— is going on?!” he barked, his voice fring with the unmistakable pressure of a Highest Arc IV cultivator.

  The crowd froze. The aura hit like a tidal wave. The surrounding stalls trembled. A few weaker cultivators colpsed to one knee.

  Everyone turned their heads—except Han Ye, who remained utterly calm, turning to Elder Xian with a curious blink.

  “Oh, Elder Xian,” he said. "Does anyone here have alcohol for Elder Xian? Maybe something aged? Something good?”

  All eyes went from Elder Xian’s glowing, furious silhouette…

  …back to Han Ye’s innocent, glowing smile.

  Silence. Then—

  “I have alcohol!”

  “Me too!”

  “Take mine! It’s brewed with Nightwind Petals!”

  Elder Xian staggered back, face bnk.

  This is… this is really happening. The boy just asked for alcohol, and half the sect’s giving it to him like he’s the protagonist of a divine scroll.

  ...I need a drink.

  After gathering all the materials (and a generous supply of alcohol for Elder Xian), they returned to Han Ye’s cave.

  Every item—acquired at a suspiciously consistent price of free—was stacked neatly on one side of the cave. The other side was already filled with raw materials and strange components for Han Ye’s mp project.

  Elder Xian, seated comfortably on a ft stone and sipping his newly acquired drink, stared at the growing pile with narrowed eyes.

  ‘What is going on? Why do they treat this boy like some sort of god? What happened while I was too sober to understand…?’

  Then, after another long sip:‘This alcohol isn’t half bad. Tomorrow… why would I buy it if Han Ye just has it? Hm. Focus, damn it. Focus.’

  Across the cave, Han Ye was humming cheerfully as he sorted through the new materials.

  “Huh! Hoh! All set. Okay—let’s make a bow for Elder Xian!” he chirped with way too much joy for Elder Xian’s taste.

  Just as Elder Xian sighed into his cup, the entrance of the cave stirred again.

  Lan Ji and Xun Lian stepped in—and immediately froze.

  The smell hit them first. Then came the sight.

  Blood. Symbols. Stains that didn’t belong to any known ritual of the Archer Sect.

  Xun Lian turned pale and stumbled back, coughing until she doubled over and—regretfully—vomited near the entrance.

  Lan Ji’s reaction was different.

  His eyes were wide, focused—not with fear, but memory. Something deep and buried stirred within him.

  Something his father had always warned him about.

  “Hey, Lan Ji! Xun Lian! How are you two?” Han Ye called without a hint of guilt, waving casually over a crate of shadowsteel threads.

  “Where the hell have you been?! And what the hell is all this?!” Lan Ji snapped, instantly closing the distance—until Elder Xian stepped in his way.

  He raised a single hand and shook his head slightly.

  Lan Ji’s breath hitched. For once, he paused.

  “Ah, that’s a secret,” Han Ye said pyfully. “Also, I’ve memorized all the Archer Sect’s techniques now.”

  Elder Xian raised an eyebrow, his tone suddenly ft.“How? You were in the infirmary bed for… whatever your ‘sickness’ was. Suddenly you’ve mastered everything? Show me.”

  Han Ye didn’t even blink.

  Without a word, he stepped back, adjusted his stance, and executed the Shadow Gale technique. The arrow formed from condensed wind qi shimmered briefly with a shadowy edge before dissolving with precision that shouldn’t have been possible for someone not even at Arc IV.

  Perfect form. Textbook flow. Impeccable timing.

  It wasn’t just learned—it was embodied.

  Even though he didn’t use the forbidden Howling Whisper Doctrine, everyone in the room understood: this wasn’t normal.

  “…oh. Okay,” Elder Xian muttered, taking another sip.

  Han Ye turned back to his work, completely unbothered.

  “That’s the mp, by the way,” he added, pointing to the floating device beside the cave wall. “Works just like a torch. But cooler.”

  Lan Ji and Xun Lian exchanged gnces, unsure whether to ask more questions or just quietly leave the madness behind.

  In the end, they sat down.They didn’t understand a thing.But they listened.

  Because Han Ye had more to show.

  And none of them were sure if that was exciting—or terrifying.

  Han Ye began forging the bow for Elder Xian, melting down shards of bck crystal infused with Wind-Forged Core, right before their eyes. The temperature he conjured was so intense, it could’ve melted the hardest of diamonds—and yet he did it with his bare hands.

  Literally.

  His fingers turned molten as he held the material.

  And then… grew back. Smoothly. Instantly.

  No pain. No hesitation.

  Xun Lian leaned in closer to Elder Xian, whispering, “Elder… what exactly happened during your absence?”

  Elder Xian didn’t answer right away. Too many things had happened in less than a month. And frankly, he didn’t have the vocabury—or sobriety—to expin them all.

  He took a deep sip of his alcohol and replied with a shrug.“Just watch.”

  Han Ye, meanwhile, had already crafted the rollers—the rotating wheels for his Xianxia-style compound bow. He braided Shadowsteel thread and Wind-Bone sinew into the bowstring with swift, precise movements, then soaked the entire string in a shallow basin filled with what appeared to be… bck water.

  “Han Ye… why are you dipping the string into water?” Lan Ji asked.

  “That’s not water,” Han Ye replied with a grin. “It’s qi. Liquid qi, specifically a blend of darkness and wind. The soaking process tempers the fibers, enhances conductivity, and aligns the string with my intended resonance frequency.”

  “Qi?! In liquid form?! How is that even possible?!” Xun Lian practically shouted.

  Han Ye didn’t even gnce her way.

  Liquid qi—so dense it took physical form—was a rarity, a feat cultivators could only dream of maniputing. And yet, here Han Ye was, treating it like herbal tea.

  Once the string was properly saturated, Han Ye moved on to carving the bow’s frame. He shaved down pieces of Darkveil Wood, a notoriously difficult and cursed material, slicing through it with a qi knife that shimmered with unstable energy. His hands moved like he had done this a thousand times before.

  The entire crafting process took barely an hour.

  When the final components were ready, Han Ye assembled them effortlessly. Then, before anyone could comment, he brought out a small spatial tear—literally ripping open the air.

  From the rift, he pulled several beast corpses, gifts from cultivators at the market who had given them to him, also for free.

  He quickly carved a blood array using a strange, crooked dagger, drawing runes no one recognized. The ritual circle spread across the stone floor like veins, pulsing with dark light. He pced the newly forged bow atop the center and id the beasts beneath it.

  Then, without flinching, Han Ye sliced open an artery on his own wrist.

  His blood poured onto the array.He chanted.The air shattered.Reality bent, cracked, re-stitched.

  And then… silence.Just fifteen minutes more.

  The bow was complete.

  He handed it to Elder Xian casually, as if he had just wrapped up a minor chore.

  “Here you go, Elder. Your new bow. Name it whatever you like.”

  Elder Xian accepted it, albeit cautiously.“…What kind of array was that, Han Ye?”

  Han Ye pointed at the old, cursed book lying nearby. “One from that book.”

  Cold sweat spread down Elder Xian’s back instantly.

  He tried to release the bow.

  He couldn’t.

  It didn’t budge from his grip.

  “Oh, by the way,” Han Ye added cheerfully, “this boning knife is for you too. Made from the leftover alloy. It suits your style, Elder.”

  He tossed the bde over with pinpoint accuracy. Elder Xian caught it on reflex—and, of course, that couldn’t be released either.

  “Wow. Elder looks so happy with his new weapons,” Han Ye added with mock innocence.

  Lan Ji leaned toward Xun Lian, whispering, “Should we… start calling him—”

  Xun Lian spped a hand over his mouth.

  “Don’t. Even. Think. About it.”

  “Give them a name, Elder… I'm tired of making them both especially for Elder.…” Han Ye said with a tired, slightly sulky expression.

  Elder Xian, still unsure what to even do with these weapons, finally sighed in resignation.“Very well. I shall name the bow… Xin, and the knife… Xun.”

  The moment the names left his lips, both weapons glowed faintly, and a sudden pull of force surged through his body. Elder Xian winced as a thin stream of his blood essence was drawn into the weapons.

  They shimmered.

  Then fell silent.

  The bond was complete. More than tamed—they were now attuned.

  “Ugh…” Elder Xian groaned, rubbing his hand as the bow finally released its grip and floated gently beside him, now docile.

  “Oh right!” Han Ye suddenly chimed in, “They can also transform into bracelets for easier carrying. Try it, Elder!”

  With a flick of thought, the bow and knife compressed, twisted into thin rings of bck-and-silver metal, and wrapped themselves around Elder Xian’s wrist like ornate, arcane bangles. Elegant, discreet, and still deadly.

  “Hmm… not bad…” Elder Xian muttered, staring at the sleek band on his wrist.

  Then he looked up, eyes narrowing at the other two.

  “So… you two want weapons too?”

  Lan Ji and Xun Lian immediately stepped back half a pace.

  “Uh… maybe ter,” they said in unison.

  They weren’t sure what scared them more: the cursed book, the blood-drinking weapon forging, or the fact that Han Ye did it all like it was nothing more than afternoon tea prep.

  Elder Xian snorted, clearly amused but also somewhat unnerved.

  Han Ye, meanwhile, was already scribbling designs into the air with his fingers, lost in thought, mumbling about “next prototypes” and “bck gale compression channels” like he was dreaming of another project.

  The cave, still faintly glowing with residual qi and soaked in the scent of blood and forged potential, seemed almost… sacred now.

  Or cursed.

  Depending on who you asked.