Han Yu stood before the misty lake on the eastern edge of the sect grounds, donning a long robe two sizes too big and a fake silver beard he’d "borrowed" from the props room of the sect’s theatrical troupe that didn’t see much use. His straw hat was now adorned with a single phoenix feather he had maybe plucked from a sect Elder’s pet.
Though calling it a phoenix feather was a bit of an overestimation as the bird merely had one tenth of a drop of a phoenix’s blood in it.
It was debatable how accurate the reading was as that low of a concentration was hard to even check. Still, it didn’t stop the elder from calling his bird phoenix dearly.
That’s right... He simply named it Phoenix.
And with it, Han Yu looked absolutely ridiculous.
"Perfect," he whispered.
He’d chosen this spot carefully. The eastern lake was remote, rarely visited except by early-morning cultivators who sought quiet and inspiration. All it would take was one... maybe two impressionable disciples to "witness" his sage-like presence, and word would spread like wildfire.
A few herbs placed nearby were already arranged to glow subtly under the morning mist—an effect created with one of the leftover pills Li Mei had given him. They didn’t do much healing, but by crushing them under the moonlight and sprinkling them around, they gave off a faint golden glow that shimmered across the lake’s surface.
Han Yu positioned himself in a classic "mysterious master" pose: one leg crossed over the other, fingers locked in an elegant mudra, eyes closed.
About twenty minutes later, the first fish bit the bait.
"Hey... what’s that?"
A young Outer court disciple—barely looking like a sixteen year old—stepped out from behind a bush, holding a sketchbook in hand. Han Yu recognized him immediately: Yin Tao, a quiet and imaginative sort, always prone to exaggeration.
Yin Tao’s eyes widened. "Wh-what... is that a... sage?"
Han Yu remained silent, letting the golden light dance around him. A gentle breeze kicked up, conveniently timed with the pill dust catching the air. His robe fluttered dramatically.
Han Yu raised one finger... and drew a simple rune in the air with Spirit Qi. Nothing special—just a flashy light trick—but to a young disciple?
"Th-the legendary Wandering Immortal!" Yin Tao whispered. "He’s real! I knew it! I knew it!"
Han Yu stood slowly, letting out a gravelly, croaky voice: "Seek... not strength... but harmony..."
Then he promptly vanished into the bushes, making sure to leave behind a few strange items: a dried root shaped like a dragon, and a broken pendant he had etched with weird symbols.
The sect was buzzing.
"I’m telling you, I saw him! An old master sitting by the lake! He floated!"
"You mean the Wandering Immortal?"
"No! I think he’s called the Sage of Mist!"
"He drew light with his fingers!"
By dusk, five disciples claimed to have seen him. One claimed he received advice that improved his cultivation. Another claimed their limp was cured just by looking at the man.
Han Yu, meanwhile, was eating sweet buns and watching from behind a bamboo screen.
"Heheheh. Oh, this is even better than I thought."
Then it came—he felt it.
A gentle, almost ethereal thread of energy drifted toward him—pale green, lighter than air.
It was another aspect of the Green Energy of Trust.
His eyes widened, and he carefully absorbed it. It didn’t pulse like Wrath or drip like Sadness. It hummed.
And with it, came another thin strand: Joy, from someone truly inspired.
"Seven," Han Yu whispered. "I’ve got seven of the Eight."
Only Disgust remained.
"...That one’ll probably come naturally," he muttered grimly.
In the main hall, Elder Feiyan stood beside a board filled with incidents: pill explosions, mysterious graffiti, inner sect rivalries reignited, missing robes tied to trees, and now... rumors of a sage by the lake.
She rubbed her forehead.
"Have we entered an age of chaos?" she asked dryly.
"No, Elder," her assistant mumbled. "It’s just the disciples are, uh, ’creatively stimulated.’"
She narrowed her eyes.
"Check the theater prop inventory." She had a strange hunch.
It didn’t make sense that some random sage had wandered into their sect. They were elders and not the naive sect disciples who believed in tales of wandering immortals. They knew that at most it would just be a cultivator.
But no cultivator would be able to enter the sect without the arrays detecting it. Feiyan had a hunch that it might be someone from the sect pretending to be a sage, or perhaps just an illusory skill of some kind.
Back in Han Yu’s Courtyard
As Han Yu sorted through his gains, his fingers trembled slightly.
Not from fear... but fatigue. He had absorbed a good bit of Soul Qi today. Too much.
"Dammit... not again," he hissed, sitting down and entering a meditative state.
Even though others couldn’t sense his Soul Qi, the cost of using it was real. If he overdid it, he wouldn’t be able to refine more for days. He needed to let his vessel slowly expand through practice.
He calmed himself and reviewed what he’d gathered:
Sadness from the disciples who mourned his death.
Joy from Li Mei, Yin Tao, and a few he’d entertained.
Wrath and Fear from provoking enemies.
Surprise from unexpected chaos.
Reverence from his absurd charade today.
And even Disgust, now that he thought about it, had trickled in once when he’d eaten a moldy meat bun in front of someone.
"All eight," he whispered. "I’ve got them all now."
His next step was to begin properly refining them in balance, using the method described in the Undying Destiny Severance technique.
But something told him... once that began, things would change.
He would no longer be a shadow in the crowd. He’d be noticed—not just by people, but by fate itself.
"...Better keep the beard just in case."