Late Night...
Mo Han silently waiting for the perfect moment.
The night sky over the Burning Sun Peak was heavy with clouds, as if the heavens themselves wanted to hide the deeds that would soon unfold.
A bone-chilling wind whistled through the mountains, carrying with it the rustle of branches and the faint cries of nocturnal beasts. The sect was mostly quiet, lanterns flickering dimly along the stone paths, casting long shadows that stretched like claws across the courtyards.
Mo Han stood at the edge of the inner court, his face hidden beneath a plain black mask. His aura was fully suppressed, his breath calm, body moving like a shadow. To any passing disciple, he would seem like nothing more than a trick of the night.
His eyes, however, burned with cold determination. That bastard Yao Fan! Mo Han clenched his fists, but quickly released the tension.
