A handsome young man sat with absolute composure in the main hall of the Han residence, holding in his hands a finely polished bamboo cup that, judging by its texture and the aroma rising with the steam, was clearly no ordinary object. The tea it contained was fragrant and pure, and Jin drank it in small, measured sips, appreciating the warmth as it slid down his throat while he calmly observed his surroundings.

  Across from him, slightly bowed in respect, stood Han Rong, head of the Han family. His expression no longer showed anxiety or irritation, but rather solemn seriousness accompanied by sincere regret.

  —Disciple… —he began in a grave, clear voice—, I beg you to forgive the incident that occurred at the entrance. That one of my men dared to treat a disciple of the great Eight Celestial Peaks Sect with such discourtesy is an unforgivable offense. As head of this family, I assume full responsibility. On behalf of the Han family, I offer you my most sincere apologies.

  There was no hesitation in his words, no forced tone. The inclination of his body was deep enough to make it clear that this was not an empty formality, but a genuine acknowledgment of the sect’s weight and the mistake committed.

  At his side, Han Rong’s son remained seated in silence, his expression difficult to conceal. Although he tried to maintain composure, his hand continued discreetly rubbing the part of his head where he had received his father’s blow. The discomfort was evident—both physical and emotional—but he did not dare to interrupt.

  The hall was completely silent. The three elder brothers of the family head had withdrawn by Han Rong’s direct order, leaving the atmosphere far more contained. Only an old man remained seated to one side, his thin, frail figure resting against a wide chair. His breathing was slow, and his wrinkled skin seemed almost translucent under the indoor light. Jin observed him briefly and could not help thinking that the man stood at the twilight of his life.

  Jin gently set the cup down on the table, the soft sound of bamboo against wood echoing in the silence.

  His expression remained serene.

  Amused, even.

  Jin thought for a few seconds longer. Then he smiled faintly, his expression calm—almost indulgent.

  —Patriarch Han, please do not worry so much about the situation. After all, I also reacted a little more harshly than usual.

  His tone was relaxed, devoid of open arrogance. He even seemed reasonable. Then he added in a much lower voice, barely a murmur lost in the steam of the tea:

  —Besides… the rhythm was broken, and it’s no longer fun.

  Han Rong, who had begun to feel relieved by the disciple’s pragmatic attitude, suddenly froze. His expression shifted slightly.

  —Pardon… what did you say, Disciple? —he asked with a stunned look, unsure if he had heard correctly.

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  Jin coughed softly, covering his mouth with a closed fist, and tilted his head with perfectly constructed innocence.

  —What are you referring to, Patriarch Han? I didn’t say anything… —he replied naturally before continuing—. Let us return to the matter of the mission.

  Patriarch Han observed him for a few seconds more. He could swear he had heard something strange—something that did not fit the formal situation they were in. And yet, the young man’s expression was impeccable.

  In the end, Han Rong chose to let it pass.

  Even so, a faint sensation crawled down his spine, raising the hairs on his skin for an instant.

  There was something about this young man he did not fully understand.

  But now was not the time to dwell on it.

  Han Rong straightened slightly and, after organizing his thoughts, began to explain the situation clearly. About a month ago, a new group of bandits had begun operating along the trade routes connecting the city with other important roads. At first, they seemed like simple opportunistic looters, but they soon demonstrated unusual coordination and precision. Unfortunately, they had developed a particular interest in the Han family’s merchant caravans.

  In total, they had already lost more than seven full carriages, each loaded with high-value goods. The accumulated losses amounted to thousands of spirit stones, in addition to gold and merchandise that was difficult to replace. The figure, delivered in a restrained tone, was nonetheless overwhelming for a merchant family—even an influential one within the city.

  Upon hearing this, Jin’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.

  “Even a merchant family from a small city is far richer than an outer disciple…” he thought with silent irony.

  Outwardly, however, his expression remained perfectly serene, as though he were listening to ordinary numbers.

  Han Rong continued, his voice turning graver.

  —The reason we have not acted more forcefully is that when we attempted to hunt them down ourselves, we nearly lost one of our hired warriors. He is at the sixth level of Qi Condensation, and although his cultivation is equivalent to that of the bandit leader, the situation was not favorable for us.

  He paused briefly, as if recalling the confrontation.

  —That leader… is strange. —His gaze darkened—. Despite having the same cultivation level, his true strength seems superior. His methods are not those of a simple bandit.

  The last sentence lingered in the air, slowly dissolving into the silence of the hall.

  After hearing the explanation, Jin nodded slowly, accepting every detail without interruption. Then he lightly placed his fingers on the table and asked in a calm tone:

  —And what is the plan to deal with them?

  Han Rong smiled at the question. It was not an arrogant smile, but that of someone accustomed to moving in arenas where strength was not always the primary tool.

  —I may be only a merchant —he replied calmly—, but one does not build our family’s wealth without learning to be cunning.

  He paused briefly before continuing.

  —The plan is simple. Tomorrow, one of our caravans will depart with merchandise. I intend for you to travel inside it. When those bandits attempt their usual tricks, it will be enough for you to show them your disciple insignia. If they believe the Han family has some form of connection with the Eight Celestial Peaks Sect, they will not trouble us again.

  The reasoning was simple: it was not about eliminating the problem, but redirecting it. Using reputation instead of blood.

  Jin tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. The proposal was not unreasonable—but neither was it infallible.

  —And if they choose not to be submissive and attack anyway? —he asked with a faintly doubtful gaze.

  Han Rong let out a restrained laugh.

  —Unless their brains are completely rotten, simple bandits would not go against a disciple of such a massive sect —he said confidently—. And even if they were foolish enough to do so… a disciple like you should be able to deal with them easily, should you not?

  The question lingered with a calculated undertone. It was not a provocation, but an implicit confirmation of confidence in the young man’s strength.

  Jin did not answer immediately.

  He only looked at him.