Other than the location of the elders though, there was the other hotspot.
Murong Xie's current residence.
The second courtyard he'd moved to after his main one exploded.
From there, Han Yu detected something different.
Fear. Bitter regret. A coil of rage trying desperately to stay hidden. Murong Xie had clearly realized something was very wrong—and worse, that someone had deliberately exposed him.
But he didn't know who.
Han Yu imagined the elder pacing furiously, demanding reports from his injured disciples, failing to control the narrative, and feeling the net tighten around him. Perhaps he even suspected foul play, but without proof, he couldn't lash out.
Han Yu sat beneath his peach tree, sipping quietly on herbal tea while the energy flowed to him.
Fear. Rage. Shock. All of it being sucked toward him in drifting wisps, invisible to the world.
He hadn't even needed to speak to anyone. The sect itself was feeding him.
