Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 309: No Threats

Despite Murong Xie being restricted, Han Yu didn’t take it lightly.

Murong Xie wasn’t a fool. And suffering didn’t always weaken a person. In fact, it was quite likely the opposite would happen—he’d break through the Nascent Soul Realm faster than expected and return with a vengeance.

Still, Han Yu had bought himself time. Maybe even years.

And during that time, he had no intention of remaining idle.

He looked around his serene courtyard. The peach tree there was in early bloom, its pale pink flowers casting a warm hue on the polished stones beneath. The small pond at the center bubbled quietly. A breeze rustled the bamboo growing along the western wall.

Peaceful.

And behind that peace, hidden, was a volcano of potential.

Han Yu’s Soul Qi had deepened noticeably since the Murong affair. Not just in quantity but in quality. The storm of emotions—rage, grief, dread, joy, disgust, betrayal—had saturated his cultivation base with a rich palette of Eight Emotions Energy.

He now had far greater control over the flows, and with Murong Xie effectively removed from the board, his position in the sect had subtly shifted as well.

Disciples gave him more respect now—if only due to the strange sense of presence he exuded. Elders viewed him as more competent, thanks to his successful mission report and injury-free return. And as always, no one could quite place what made him different.

Which suited him perfectly.

He sat back and listened as Chitterfang returned from his daily patrol, the rat hopping up onto the table beside his tea cup.

"Saw more rats around the Discipline Hall," Chitterfang squeaked with pride showing the scroll with translated content. "Word is, Elder Kun Ming’s already slapped Murong Xie unconscious three times in two days."

Han Yu smirked. "Good. Let him learn pain before he thinks about revenge."

The rat twitched its tail and scurried into a pouch of dried nuts as Han Yu’s eyes drifted toward the horizon.

A long pause passed.

Then, almost lazily, he muttered:

"Let’s see who else wants to play the game next."

He was done reacting. From here on out... he would be the one who moved first.

With the dust finally settled and the storms of his schemes dying down, Han Yu sat alone in his courtyard beneath the shade of the peach tree, hands clasped behind his head as he looked up at the clouds drifting lazily across the sky.

For the first time in what felt like years, he had no fires to extinguish, no knives pointed at his back, and no imminent plots to detonate.

It was, strangely enough... quiet.

Too quiet.

Han Yu’s brow furrowed as he shifted to a more comfortable position, crossing one leg over the other while plucking a fallen peach blossom from the ground.

"No Murong Xie. No shadowy assassins. No exploding mines. What am I supposed to do now?"

The thought made him laugh under his breath. He had lived in a constant state of calculated paranoia for so long that the absence of threats felt more unnatural than their presence.

He glanced toward the path outside his courtyard, listening to the distant voices of passing disciples. There was gossip, of course—there always was. But none of it was about him. Or at least not directly.

Even Gao Ren, of all people, hadn’t made a move.

Now that was a surprise.

Han Yu still vividly remembered the earlier incident where he had—in his own defense, of course—accidentally struck Gao Ren in the groin during the recruitment duel. It had been a moment of tactical desperation... and poor aim (That was a lie). At the time, he had thought for sure he’d just signed his death sentence.

Gao Ren was no ordinary cultivator.

The boy was only fifteen, but with a physique sculpted like a divine statue chiseled from the most obnoxiously muscular marble imaginable. When shirtless, his body looked more like a siege weapon than a human, with biceps that rivaled stone pillars and a jawline so sharp it could be used to refine ores.

He should have been a nightmare to provoke. And yet...

Nothing.

Not a whisper of retaliation.

At first, Han Yu had thought the boy was simply biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash his fury. He had been extra cautious for weeks, refusing to spar in public and giving Armament Peak disciples a wide berth.

But as time went on, and the information started trickling in through Chitterfang’s tiny rat network, Han Yu began to piece the truth together.

Gao Ren wasn’t ignoring him. He was just... gone.

More precisely, he had been all but adopted by the legendary Forge Grandmaster—High Elder Bang Hun.

Now that name was enough to make most disciples shiver.

One of the few remaining high-level Body Cultivators in the sect, Bang Hun was a living fossil with muscles forged from molten steel and a temper like a hammer on anvil. Rumor had it the man could punch a defensive formation into powder and forge spirit tools with his bare fists if he wanted to.

And Gao Ren? The muscle-bound teenager had been taken in as Bang Hun’s personal heir.

"Of course he was," Han Yu muttered with a tired sigh. "A walking mountain like that? Naturally, the forge master wants to sculpt him into a sentient warhammer."

Reports said Gao Ren hadn’t been seen by ordinary disciples in weeks—maybe months. He’d been taken down into the Earth Flame Chamber, the blazing inferno beneath the Armament Peak that fueled every forge in the sect.

No one knew exactly what happened down there. But whispers said the chamber was filled with rivers of molten rock, volatile flame wisps, and spiritual pressure so dense it could flatten a weak cultivator in seconds.

And Gao Ren was training in that.

Training.

Han Yu leaned back, blowing a soft whistle.

"Murong Xie’s in seclusion under spiritual punishment, but Gao Ren’s probably living in a furnace like a fireproof meatball."

He plucked another blossom from the ground and watched it float gently down the pond beside him.

"Well, good. Stay down there, meatball."