Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time-Chapter 164: The Chaos Test

Armed with new understanding, Han Yu leaned back in his courtyard chair, hands behind his head, eyes gleaming like a mischievous fox in a chicken coop.

"I need more data," he mused aloud. "A large crowd... mixed emotions... ideally some public embarrassment. And a patsy."

His eyes narrowed.

Moments later, Han Yu was walking casually toward the training arenas where disciples usually sparred under light supervision. Today was no exception. The circular stone arena was surrounded by several tiers of stone seating, already filled with dozens of Outer Court disciples watching the day’s challenges.

Perfect.

With a small adjustment to his robes and a rather ugly hat shoved low over his head, Han Yu approached the arena under one of his usual disguises. He pulled his spirit sense close and swept through the crowd.

Excitement. Boredom. Contempt. Disinterest.

Then he found it.

Ah, yes. Target locked.

A large, obnoxious disciple from the fifth division named Huo Shun. Not only was he widely disliked for being loud and petty, but he had also once tried to shove Han Yu into a manure pit during his servant days.

Huo Shun was in the middle of berating a smaller disciple, his chest puffed up like a frog.

Han Yu stepped up, clapping slowly.

"Well, well, Huo Shun. I thought I smelled something bloated."

The crowd turned.

Huo Shun blinked. "Who said that!?"

"I did," Han Yu replied in a low, haughty tone, still masked under his disguise. "And I’ve come to challenge you, O great fart of the fifth division."

There was a collective gasp, followed by stifled laughter.

Someone in the audience muttered, "Did he call him a fart?"

"Yes. Yes, he did," another whispered.

Huo Shun turned red. "You dare insult me?! Who even are you?!"

"A passing cultivator. A humble man of culture. A gentle breeze." Han Yu bowed, utterly dramatic.

"A passing cultivator?"

"Do we even allow them in the sect?"

"Maybe one of the visting cultivators that come to sell things?"

"Beats me."

But as the disciples continued to chatter in the audience, Han Yu spoke.

"You may call me... The Sockmaster."

More laughter.

BOOM.

A solid burst of red anger—Wrath energy—flicked off Huo Shun like sparks. Han Yu immediately pulled it in with his spirit sense, funneling the energy expertly into his Soul Sea. He watched the crimson lotus petal glow brighter.

’Perfect. More.’

"Come then!" Huo Shun bellowed, storming into the ring. "Let’s see how funny you are after I’ve flattened your face!"

"I think my face would still be prettier than your personality," Han Yu replied coolly, stepping in and cracking his knuckles.

The crowd was hooked.

By now, dozens had gathered. Some from the alchemy halls, others from the sword halls. Even a few inner court disciples stood at the far edge, arms crossed, watching with veiled amusement.

The duel began.

Han Yu, of course, didn’t use much strength. He just dodged. Sidestepped. Made sarcastic comments. At one point, he even yawned mid-dodge, which earned a loud burst of Disgust energy from several onlookers and another wave of Wrath from Huo Shun.

He kept funneling it all in.

When Huo Shun missed and tripped, face-planting with a splat into the muddy edge of the ring, the crowd roared with laughter.

Woooo

BAHAHAHA

Joy. Surprise. Embarrassment. Shame.

Like opening a floodgate, Han Yu was drenched in multicolored strands of Eight Emotions Energy, each being greedily sucked into his Soul Sea. It was like sitting under a spirit rainstorm.

’This... is incredible!’ Han Yu could barely contain his glee.

Meanwhile, Huo Shun was too humiliated to even get up. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Han Yu took a dramatic bow, then vanished from the arena with a flourish before any of the elders came to investigate the commotion. After all, he couldn’t let them figure out that it was really him.

It was inevitable for him to be investigated, as no wandering cultivators were allowed in the sect in the first place.

Back in his courtyard, Han Yu collapsed into his chair, eyes wide.

His Soul Sea rippled.

The lotus petals representing each of the Eight Emotions pulsed in harmony, swelling with fresh energy. The balance was perfect. Even the previously weakest emotions—like Surprise and Disgust—had now grown visibly stronger.

Han Yu let out a long breath.

"That was... effective."

He chuckled, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers.

"Alright. If chaos is the fertilizer, then I am the gardener."

His grin turned sharper.

He didn’t know yet how to extend his absorption range or generate energy more efficiently in secret—but he knew this much: staying near the eye of the storm gave the best harvest.

And as long as nobody saw through his disguises...

He could keep cultivating in plain sight for the time being.

A few days later...

Han Yu was reclining in his courtyard one bright morning, humming a victorious little tune as he munched on roasted chestnuts. The last month had been... productive. Emotionally productive, to be precise. His Soul Sea was blooming like a rainbow garden, and each of the Eight Emotions had grown more vibrant than ever before.

Wrath from duels.

Joy from well-timed pranks.

Surprise from explosions (and the screaming).

Disgust from food sabotage (no one knew it was him who spiked the soup with extra fermented tofu).

And so on.

It had been a wild ride.

Unfortunately... it had also been too wild.

The breaking point came when Han Yu, wearing a fake beard, wide-brimmed hat, and an extremely questionable robe stitched with fish patterns, walked into the outer court arena pretending to be "Old Master Gulu, the Wandering Sword Potato."

He had challenged a senior Outer Court disciple, defeated him with ridiculous footwork, and then thrown out smoke bombs while shouting, "THE POTATO DESCENDS NO MORE!" before vanishing in a flash.

It was comedic gold.

Unfortunately, it was also a direct violation of sect policy.

Wandering cultivators were not allowed inside the sect.

Not without formal invites, verification, three background checks, and the personal signature of an Elder.

And none had been signed.