"What's wrong?"
Hong Yi's sword strike had been so swift, so silent, that Fang Han only realized what happened when Liu Kang's body hit the ground. He lifted his gaze, eyes locking on the princess. For a long moment he said nothing—then, in a calm, steady voice, replied, "Liu Kang was the son of the Marquis of Zhenyuan. His father commands the imperial army. Killing him could bring endless trouble."
"I thought you'd be shocked," Hong Yi said, wiping the blood from her sword with a Purification Talisman. Her eyes gleamed like twin gemstones in the dim light as she smiled slightly. She didn't even glance at the corpse, as though she'd merely crushed an insect.
She had expected Fang Han to recoil, to accuse her of acting rashly—but instead, his first thought had been about how to handle the aftermath. That composure, that clarity… it startled her, and secretly, she admired it.
"What's done is done," Fang Han said, standing straight. "Regret is a waste of time. The only thing that matters is how we clean up. Liu Kang's greed left him no other ending—he overplayed his hand."
Hong Yi sheathed her sword. "Greed was the only path left to him. A Silver Serpent Sword and a Blood Cotton Robe are worth more than ten noble titles. Miss this chance, and he'd never see another. Still, he was too hasty—he should've waited until we returned to Yuhua Gate to make his move. Now, he's dead, and the Red Powder Prince killed him. That's the story we tell."
"Agreed," Fang Han nodded. "This place isn't safe. I'll take the Heavenly Cock Solar Rope, and we leave."
He strode toward Mo Shijie's unconscious form. Once the proud inner disciple whose cultivation had reached the Spirit Transformation Realm, she now lay motionless, skin darkened by the deadly Six Desires Thunder Poison.
Even a body tempered to divine perfection couldn't withstand such venom. It was no ordinary toxin—it was the corruption of the soul itself.
"Whether you survive, Senior Sister, depends on your fate," Fang Han murmured. "But I can't leave a treasure like this lying in the sand."
He reached for the golden rope still clutched in her hand—only to find it rigid and unyielding. The rope pulsed faintly, still bound around the ten winged yakshas lying in the sand, refusing to move.
"Damn, I forgot," Hong Yi gasped. "Once this rope binds its prey, only its master can undo it!"
Fang Han's brow furrowed. "Then how do we take it? Drag along ten flying yakshas?"
He hesitated, then a bold thought struck him. "Maybe… the Yellow Springs Diagram can absorb it."
He slipped the rope's end beneath his robe, pressing it against the Yellow Springs Diagram hidden on his chest. His mind reached into the artifact, connecting with the endless, misty river painted within.
Whoosh!
At that instant, the rope trembled violently. From it burst the radiant illusion of countless jeweled roosters—each one spreading its wings, crowing to the heavens. Their light was blinding, as if dawn itself were breaking through the desert night.
The ground trembled.
Suddenly, a spectral dragon erupted from Fang Han's chest, scales glinting with molten gold, jaws opening wide. A tide of yellow mist poured forth, shrouding the desert in a storm of swirling cloud and shadow.
Hong Yi dropped instantly to the ground, overwhelmed by the oppressive force.
Only Fang Han could see what was truly happening: the spectral dragon of the Yellow Springs clashing with the blazing flock of celestial roosters.
A thousand cries of light against a single roar of shadow—one dragon battling a legion of suns.
"Devour Heaven and Earth!"
The dragon bellowed. With a deafening roar, it inhaled—the sky itself seemed to fold inward. The radiant roosters screamed and vanished, consumed one by one until not a trace remained.
The yellow mist cleared. The dragon coiled once, then dove back into Fang Han's chest, disappearing into the depths of the Yellow Springs Diagram.
The Heavenly Cock Solar Rope—and the ten flying yakshas—were gone.
"What just happened?!" Hong Yi leapt up, eyes wide. "Where's the rope? The yakshas? Don't tell me you actually absorbed them?"
"I… don't know," Fang Han said truthfully.
He could only sense that when he'd touched the rope, the dragon within the Yellow Springs Diagram had awakened, fought the artifact's essence—and devoured it. Even the yakshas were gone, swept into the void.
He closed his eyes, focusing his spirit inward. His consciousness entered the vast, dreamlike world within the Yellow Springs Diagram. There—floating on the surface of the endless river—were the ten yakshas, pale as corpses.
But the rope itself was missing.
"Strange," he muttered. "It swallowed the rope but left no trace… Could the dragon have truly eaten it? That rope contained tens of thousands of solar spirits—each one the soul of a celestial rooster. Pure yang essence… That kind of power could revive a spirit weapon…"
He shifted his awareness toward the dragon.
The Yellow Springs Diagram had always seemed lifeless—merely an artifact containing two things: the endless underworld river and the dormant dragon coiled above it. Yet Fang Han knew its nature was extraordinary. Artifacts that contained their own inner worlds—self-formed realms—belonged to the rarest class of treasures: Dao Artifacts.
Yuhua Gate possessed only a few such items. One of them, the Five Qi Immortal Cauldron, was revered to the point that even elders called its spirit "Immortal Master Five Qi." To name a weapon Master was to acknowledge its sentience and power.
The Yellow Springs Diagram, then, might be of the same rank—or higher.
Until now, the dragon had never moved nor spoken. But after devouring the Heavenly Cock Solar Rope, Fang Han felt something stirring within it—a pulse of will, faint but growing stronger.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind. Deep. Vast. Ancient.
"Your guess is correct," it said. "You are indeed the heir of the Yellow Springs Emperor. The Nine-Apertures Golden Pill mixed with your blood awakened me. Today, by consuming that pure-yang treasure, I have regained a fraction of my strength. I… have awoken."
The dragon's eyes opened within the painting, glowing like suns beneath the underworld river.
"Fang Han? What's wrong?" Hong Yi's voice broke the trance. "You're standing still like a statue—did something happen?"
She couldn't see what he saw. She couldn't hear the voice of the ancient dragon now stirring from its slumber.
After countless ages, the spirit of the Yellow Springs Diagram—the ancient dragon of death—had awakened.