The town slowly came into view.
Gray tiles. Blue bricks. Quiet. Ordinary.
Yet—
Alive.
Uchiha Xiuren took a slow breath, burying all emotions once more. His expression returned to calm, ordinary, forgettable.
But deep within his eyes—
A faint glimmer remained.
Something had changed.
"We're here."
Uncle Jiu stopped in front of a simple residence. An Eight Trigrams mirror hung above the entrance—silent, yet heavy with authority.
"Wencai!" Qiu Sheng called out loudly. "We're back—get out here!"
A young man rushed out, smiling, simple and honest.
But the moment his eyes landed on the two Uchiha—
He froze.
"M-Master… who are they?"
"Stop staring," Uncle Jiu snapped. "Prepare hot water. Glutinous rice. This young brother is injured."
"O-Okay!"
Wencai hurried off immediately, while Qiu Sheng followed, still uneasy.
Silence lingered.
Uncle Jiu observed quietly.
On the road, he had heard everything—clan conflicts, the Hokage, the Nine-Tails, the masked man.
Too much.
Too precise.
And yet—
They hadn't stopped him from hearing.
Which meant—
It was intentional.
Their strength. Fire. Lightning.
Control far beyond ordinary cultivators.
And they were young.
So what about their clan?
How deep did it go?
Uchiha Mo broke the silence.
"Daoist, we spoke carelessly earlier. Family matters. I hope you don't mind."
Polite.
But also—
A confirmation.
Uncle Jiu remained calm.
"No matter. Every family has its troubles. If you need help—speak freely."
"I do."
Mo smiled faintly.
But before he could continue, Qiu Sheng returned.
"Hot water's ready! We're low on rice—we'll need more."
"Treat the wound first," Uncle Jiu said calmly. "Other matters later."
"Of course."
Steam soon filled the room.
Mo stepped into the bath as warmth spread through his body, the corpse energy gradually fading.
Uncle Jiu watched silently.
This body…
Was abnormal.
The recovery—
Too fast.
Too stable.
"Brother Xiuren," he asked, "do you require treatment?"
"No need," Xiuren replied calmly, adjusting his glasses. "I'm fine."
Half an hour later, the last trace of coldness was gone.
Dinner followed—simple, yet warm.
But the atmosphere remained heavy.
Eyes lingered.
Curiosity.
Suspicion.
Night fell.
In the study room, candlelight flickered against talisman-covered walls.
Silence hung thick—
Until Uncle Jiu finally spoke.
"You let me hear those things. You showed your strength."
He paused.
"…Now explain."
The air froze.
Mo and Xiuren exchanged a glance.
The testing phase—
Was over.
"Daoist," Mo said calmly, "we have a request."
"Our clan is on the brink of destruction. Internal division, external enemies… annihilation may come within months."
Uncle Jiu didn't interrupt.
But his gaze sharpened.
"We need power," Mo continued.
"Any method that can increase our strength cannot be ignored."
"Your Daoist arts…" Xiuren added quietly, "operate on principles different from ours. That difference… may be the key."
"I see."
Uncle Jiu nodded slowly.
"You seek Maoshan techniques."
"Exchange."
"Cooperation."
Mo corrected calmly.
"We don't take for free. We can trade, fight for you, or… become your external force."
His tone remained steady.
Direct.
Clear.
Value—
Displayed.
Silence followed.
Uncle Jiu tapped the table lightly, his gaze flickering with thought.
Then—
"Impossible."
"Maoshan arts are orthodox. To learn them, one must enter the sect. Rules cannot be broken."
As expected.
Mo's expression didn't change.
Because—
That was never the real goal.
Xiuren smiled faintly.
"Daoist… you've traveled far. Seen much. Then you must know…"
"Some methods…"
"Work faster."
A sharp glint flashed in Uncle Jiu's eyes.
"You…"
"…seek heterodox techniques?"
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
The line—
Had been crossed.