Fang Han waited quietly at the entrance of the "Immortal Ascension Court," unaware of the discussions taking place inside among the examiners. Patience was his ally; he stood calm and still until, half an hour later, a young Taoist emerged and called him in. As he crossed the threshold, a sense of transformation rippled through him—stepping through that gate meant stepping into a new identity.
Even an outer disciple of the Yuhua Sect, he knew, was treated as a noble upon returning to the Da Li Dynasty.
Following the directions, Fang Han turned left, walking through a corridor that twisted and stretched for miles. Artificial hills and lotus-filled ponds passed by until he reached a vast hall—so immense it could hold ten thousand people. The candidates who had entered before—princes and young nobles—were already gathered there.
The hall itself radiated awe. At its far end loomed a black portal, deep and ominous, and from within it gleamed two crimson eyes—cold, brutal, and hungry. The air was thick with menace.
Fang Han's instincts screamed danger. Is that… the Divine Power Puppet?
As he studied the portal, several examiners entered. The atmosphere instantly tightened—like a bowstring drawn taut. Their mere presence carried power that pressed upon every soul in the room.
These men… they're on par with Bai Haichan, Fang Han realized. Peak Body Refining experts—at least the ninth or tenth stage.
Such cultivators, he knew, could rule armies or serve as Grand Marshals in any empire.
One examiner stepped forward, his voice cold and steady. "You all know why you're here. Before you stands the trial that determines your worth. Inside that gate lies a Divine Power Puppet. Defeat it, and you will become outer disciples of the Yuhua Sect. Fail… and the gate will claim you. But before we begin, you should understand what a Divine Power Puppet truly is."
His eyes swept the crowd. "Its core was once a Subterranean Demon—a creature of bloodlust and destruction. Our elders captured one, erased its mind, and reforged its body. What remains is a killing engine—endlessly strong, mercilessly savage."
The nobles stirred, fear flickering behind their arrogance.
A second examiner continued coldly, "You think the path of immortality is about riding cranes and drifting among clouds? No. The immortal road is paved with danger and drenched in blood. To cultivate the body, you must first conquer fear. To awaken the spirit, you must endure pain. The Dao is not peace—it is a sword that cuts through illusion to reveal truth. Now… let us see who dares to step onto this path."
He pointed to a youth holding a violet jade fan. "Liu Kang, heir of Marquis Zhenyuan—step forward."
The young noble straightened his robe and walked proudly to the circle in the hall's center.
"Open the gate," commanded the examiner.
With a gesture, beams of light struck the black portal. A roar echoed through the hall as the mist dissolved, and a monstrous figure leapt out—a humanoid creature covered in black scales, twin horns curving from its head, claws gleaming like forged steel. Its crimson eyes burned with malice.
It moved like lightning.
In a blur, its claws tore through Liu Kang's shoulder, blood spraying across the floor. Gasps erupted from the crowd.
But the noble recovered swiftly, biting down on pain. He snapped his jade fan, and a thin violet sword shot out, glimmering with deadly energy.
"Blood War—Three Styles!"
His swordsmanship was fierce, born of battlefield heritage. In a storm of strikes, he slashed deep into the creature's arm—black ichor splattering. With a final roar, he drove the blade into the puppet's brow.
The creature convulsed, struck him once in retaliation, and then fell.
Liu Kang flew backward, landing outside the circle, gasping.
"Pass," an examiner announced. A talisman's light enveloped Liu Kang, mending his wounds.
But fear spread among the others.
One by one, more nobles stepped forward—only to be torn apart or flung aside. Screams and the sound of bones breaking filled the hall.
"I forfeit!" cried one. "This is madness!" shouted another.
The examiners only watched. "If you cannot slay an outer demon," one said coldly, "how will you ever face the demons within?"
Then, a calm voice broke the tension. "I will go."
The speaker was the fifteen-year-old girl with the sword—Princess Hongyi. She stepped lightly into the arena. When the puppet charged, her blade danced like silver butterflies, flowing and elegant. Within dozens of moves, her sword flashed through its throat. The creature fell—clean, silent, perfect.
"She's incredible," Fang Han murmured.
Then came his name. "Fang Han! Step forward."
He walked into the circle, empty-handed.
"You have no weapon?" one examiner asked.
"I have none," Fang Han replied simply.
The man nodded. "Courage is its own blade. Open the gate."
The monster burst forth again—roaring, fists swinging like hammers. Fang Han clenched his fists, braced, and met the blow head-on. The impact boomed like thunder. Pain exploded through his chest, but deep within, the Nine-Aperture Golden Pellet in his heart stirred, releasing waves of strength that steadied him.
He didn't retreat.
With a snarl, he charged back, trading blow for blow. Each strike shook the ground. Each fall was followed by his rise. He fought like a storm—unrelenting, raw, unstoppable.
The examiners exchanged stunned looks.
"What kind of body training is this? His stamina is endless!"
Finally, Fang Han seized the puppet by the waist, lifted its massive body high, and with a roar that shook the hall, slammed it into the ground—again and again—until it lay still.
He had killed it. Barehanded.
Silence filled the hall. Then one examiner exhaled. "Pass."
Liu Kang gave him a thumbs-up, admiration shining in his eyes. "Brother… you're incredible."
Princess Hongyi's gaze lingered on Fang Han. "He's… a monster," she murmured.