Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 207: Sensing Traps

The next day, Han Yu woke early.

His bones ached from sleeping against stone, but the quiet air was a relief. No dart traps. No fire runes. No spirit lizards attempting to establish territory rights on his face.

He yawned, stretched, and took a small sip from his water pouch, then pressed forward through the dim tunnels.

The path was sloped upward now, a sign he was nearing the upper reaches of the northern cave system. He moved with practiced caution, eyes scanning the shadows and glyphs glowing softly from his chalk markings. One wrong step in these tunnels could lead to a week-long conversation with the underside of a boulder.

And then—he stopped.

Something shifted. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.

A flicker of presence.

Han Yu narrowed his eyes and scanned the rocky corridor behind him.

Nothing.

The stone lay undisturbed, the air thick but still. The faint humming of ambient spiritual energy swirled lazily like always. No sound of movement, no sign of another soul.

"Must’ve been a phantom ripple," he muttered, turning back toward the slope.

But then he saw it.

Floating gently toward him, visible only through his unique ability to sense Eight Emotions Energy, came a pair of wisps. One was orange, glowing with the faint, charged hue of Anticipation. The other was a smoldering red, the furious flicker of Anger.

Han Yu blinked.

They moved toward him like curious fish drawn to bait, swirling gently before being drawn into his Soul Space. He felt the subtle intake—the warm burn of anger and the tense hum of waiting nerves.

His eyes narrowed.

He wasn’t alone.

Someone—two people, likely—were nearby. Watching him.

And, based on the emotional signatures, they weren’t fans.

Han Yu crouched slightly, pretending to adjust his pack, while his mind worked furiously.

’Not Mist Eye Sect. Too soon. Too clean.’

’Could be rogue disciples. Or bounty hunters.’

’Or... someone who hates my face. That list’s growing.’

He looked ahead, then glanced behind. Still no sound, no movement. But those emotions didn’t lie. If anything, they were intensifying ever so slightly.

Fine. He’d play it their way.

Casually, he took a step back, pretending to inspect a vine-covered rock. Then, in a voice just loud enough to carry:

"Hmm... maybe I should rest a bit. No rush, after all. Got plenty of food."

Then, Han Yu unpacked his bag.

Out came several buns, two packets of dried boar jerky, a string of spiced root vegetables, and a tightly packed container of rice. He whistled cheerfully, grabbed some dry, dead plant matter from the nearby crevice, and began arranging a small cooking fire.

From the darkened corners of the tunnel, Lu Ping and Wei Pan watched in silence.

They were perched on a narrow ledge overhead, hidden by a veil talisman and a suppression formation. The two lackeys of Murong Xie had tracked Han Yu since the Broken Fang Ravine, slipping ahead through alternate paths and setting up ambush points. They were a lot faster than Han Yu due to their higher cultivation base, as well as their ability to fly.

But now, they exchanged frustrated glances.

"Why isn’t he moving?" Wei Pan hissed.

"Maybe he’s resting," Lu Ping whispered back.

"He’s been resting for an hour."

Down below, Han Yu hummed a little tune, poked at his tiny fire, and began roasting jerky with slow, ceremonial flair. Occasionally, he’d sigh as if burdened by the weight of too much free time.

The Eight Emotions Energy around him shifted. A third wisp drifted in—grey, soft and quiet. Surprise.

Han Yu smiled to himself.

"Let’s see how long they can wait," he whispered under his breath.

Hours passed.

Lu Ping’s legs went numb from crouching. Wei Pan’s stomach growled so loudly he had to stuff his sleeve into his mouth to muffle it. The view from their ledge offered nothing except smoke, chewing noises, and Han Yu’s absolutely maddening patience.

More wisps drifted in. Orange, Red, and now even Dark Blue—the mournful weight of Sadness. Whether it was their despair or his melancholic cooking skills, Han Yu wasn’t sure.

He leaned back against a rock, fully relaxed, and began talking to his soup.

"Yes, Mr. Bean. You’ll be the hero of today’s meal."

Another surge of emotions.

"Oh, that one’s good," Han Yu muttered, sensing the growing emotional stew in the air. "I might hit the quota for a whole weeks average Soul Qi harvest at this rate."

By nightfall, he still hadn’t moved. The fire had gone out. He had made a second batch of soup. He’d sung a song about tofu. He’d insulted a beetle.

He could feel the watchers’ emotions fraying.

And still, he did nothing.

The trap was set.

But it wouldn’t be him walking into it.

By the end of the third day, the cave tunnel reeked of roasted jerky, pickled tofu, and the very specific smell of "man with no schedule whatsoever."Han Yu sat cross-legged, chewing on a vegetable bun like he had the backing of a divine calendar.

Above, hidden in the shadows, Wei Pan and Lu Ping were at their limits.

"We’ve waited three days," Wei Pan growled, his spiritual energy beginning to fluctuate with irritation. "Three days. Do you know how long that is without real food or proper sleep?"

The two might be at the Core Condensation realm, but they were no Nascent Soul realm cultivators who could go for months without eating. Not to mention, in their hurry to set up the traps, they had flown without a rest, causing them to drain quite a bit of their qi and ending up tired.

"He’s doing this on purpose," Lu Ping muttered, eyes bloodshot. "He’s baiting us."

"Well, congratulations to him," Wei Pan snapped. "It worked."

Both nodded grimly.

"Let’s finish this. No more games."

They dispelled their concealment talisman, spiritual energy flaring as they descended from the ridge with the subtlety of a falling star. Their auras surged—thick, oppressive, and unmistakably at the Early Stage of Core Condensation Realm.freewёbnoνel.com