Reincarnated with a lucky draw system-Chapter 501: PLACED BOUNTY

"By ’him,’ you mean the living miracle?" she asked, amusement threading through her words.

"Yes," he snapped, snorting in disgust at the title the unorthodox cultivators had already bestowed on Chen Mo.

Ye Youlan let the silence stretch, savoring his discomfort.

"That won’t be easy," she replied finally.

"Unlike your rigid Orthodox Alliance, we in the unorthodox see real potential in him. We want to bring him into our fold. With the grudge he carries against all of you... we can be certain of his loyalty when the time comes to dismantle the righteous sects."

Xu Canghai’s fingers dug into the edge of his stool.

"I asked for a price," he growled. "Name it. I have the backing of the alliance leader himself."

She considered him for a long moment.

"Hmm. With the alliance leader’s consent... it might actually be feasible."

Her tone turned businesslike. "We want five days of early access to our participants when the Tomb of Heavenly and Demons opens next cycle."

Xu Canghai shot to his feet.

"You_ That’s outrageous! There’s no way we’ll agree to that!"

Ye Youlan shrugged one silk-covered shoulder, utterly unperturbed.

"Alright then. Suit yourself."

She leaned back, relaxed, as though the deal meant nothing to her.

"But history doesn’t lie," she added softly.

"People like your ’living miracle’, when allowed to grow unchecked, always come back for revenge. They don’t just destroy individuals. They wipe out entire sects. Roots and all."

The words struck like needles.

Xu Canghai’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.

His eyes burned with helpless fury.

He could already picture it: Chen Mo standing over the ruins of Heaven’s Ascension, sword dripping with the blood of elders and disciples alike.

He had no other path.

With gritted teeth, he forced the words out.

"Fine. We have a deal."

One part of him recoiled at the concession, he knew the alliance leader would be furious when he learned what had been offered.

Five days of exclusive access could shift the balance of power for generations.

But the alternative was worse.

Better to face reprimand, demotion, even exile, than watch Chen Mo rise into a calamity that could end them all.

Ye Youlan’s veiled head dipped in acknowledgment.

"Hmm. Then it’s settled. Keep your side of the bargain. I’d hate to have a reason to destroy a sect."

"I won’t go back on my word," Xu Canghai replied, voice hard. "Just make sure he dies. No escape. No miracles."

"Worry not," she promised, a trace of dark amusement returning. "I’ll send an elder after him. His chances of survival are zero."

The deal finalized, Xu Canghai rose without another word.

He pulled his gray hood lower, slipped out into the enveloping night, and vanished into the shadowed paths leading away from the Nether Abyss Sect.

Behind him, the blue flames flickered on, indifferent witnesses to another thread in the growing web of vengeance.

---

Chen Mo lay on the narrow bed of the rundown inn, oblivious to the shadow of death creeping closer.

The room was dim, only a single flickering spirit lamp cast weak orange light across cracked plaster walls and a threadbare quilt that smelled faintly of old incense and damp wood.

Outside, the unorthodox district hummed with distant night sounds: muffled laughter from taverns, the occasional clash of blades in alley bets, the low growl of spirit beasts chained in nearby pens.

Inside, silence pressed heavy.

His mind replayed the marketplace massacre in relentless loops.

Blood on his hands. Screams cut short.

The weight of his sword as it cleaved through traitors who once called him brother.

Each memory stoked the same fire: the burning need for more strength.

Not just survival, dominance. Revenge that would shake the heavens themselves.

He was already moving toward it.

In the unorthodox regions, he had taken every dirty quest available, escorting shady caravans through bandit territory, retrieving cursed relics from abandoned tombs, eliminating minor rivals for petty lords.

Coin by coin, he scraped together enough to buy spirit herbs, formation stones, and a year’s supply of qi-gathering pills.

Closed-door cultivation loomed in his plans: a desperate push to solidify his reborn foundation before the next wave of hunters found him.

Those thoughts consumed him, drowning out the world.

"Hmm. Aren’t you a handsome young man... sleeping so peacefully while your very life hangs by a thread?"

The voice slithered into his ears, soft, soothing, almost melodic, like honey laced with venom.

Chen Mo’s instincts ignited faster than thought.

His hand shot toward the chipped sword propped against the bedframe. Muscles tensed for the roll, the draw, the counter—

But he never finished the motion.

A cold pinprick kissed the side of his neck, just below the jaw.

The faintest pressure, enough to dimple skin without breaking it, held him frozen.

"Just one wrong move," the voice warned, calm and intimate, "and your carotid artery will paint this room red."

The fight drained from him instantly.

Chen Mo exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax.

He released the sword hilt.

Plans of escape, of turning the tables, they evaporated.

Whoever this was had slipped past every ward he’d set, every trace he’d erased. His life no longer belonged to him.

He turned his head,.slowly, deliberately, to face her.

A young woman crouched at the bedside, clad head to toe in form-fitting assassin black: matte silk that drank light, gloves that left no fingerprints, a hood that concealed all but her eyes.

Her build was lithe and lethal, curves honed into weapons.

She held the thin needle-poisoned pin steady against his throat with effortless precision.

"What do you want?" Chen Mo asked, voice level despite the blade at his pulse.

He already knew: if she wanted him dead, his blood would be cooling on the floor by now.

The fact that she had tracked him at all, through false trails, qi-disguising herbs, and shifting safe houses, told him everything. Resistance was pointless.

"Hmm. What do I want?" She tilted her head, considering. "Nothing much. Just a simple chat... as long as you behave."

Chen Mo gave a single, curt nod.

"Good boy."

With her free hand, she reached up and pulled back the hood.

Dark hair cascaded like spilled ink, framing a face of devastating beauty, high cheekbones, full lips curved in faint amusement, eyes the color of storm clouds lit by lightning. Skin pale and flawless, like moonlit jade. The kind of beauty that could topple sects or start wars.

Chen Mo’s breath caught for half a heartbeat before he forced it steady.

He had seen beauty before. It rarely came without danger.

She withdrew the pin and stepped back, graceful as shadow.

Taking a plain wooden stool from the corner, she sat across from him, close enough to strike, far enough to taunt.

"I’m Ye Youlan," she said simply. "Sect master of the Nether Abyss Sect."

Chen Mo inclined his head slightly. "I see."

He had guessed as much.

Only someone at her level could move so freely, so undetected.

Two possibilities burned in his mind: recruitment or execution. Or both, lure him in, then slit his throat when he refused.

Ye Youlan’s lips quirked, as though she read his thoughts.

"Hmm. You’re smart. I like that."

She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees.

"Let’s cut to the chase. No need to dance around it."

Chen Mo waited.

"A bounty has been placed on your head by the Orthodox Alliance," she continued. "One so generous even we in the unorthodox can’t ignore it. Thanks to that... you’re living on borrowed time."

Chen Mo raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by her candor.

"Then why haven’t you killed me yet?"

Her smile widened, bright, almost playful, but edged with something darker.

"Well... let’s just say I’ve never been fond of following norms. Or rules."