"The dream of the Yellow Springs Emperor… then let me be the one to fulfill it," Fang Han said, his tone resolute. "To establish that cycle of reincarnation, that realm of judgment and reward. There is justice in this world, and I'll prove it—not through senseless killing, but by standing upright, by my own strength, to carve right and wrong into the bones of heaven and earth."
As he spoke, each word landed with weight. His eyes slowly closed, and from the crown of his head came a faint, crystalline crack—as if a window to the heavens had opened, spilling light into his mind.
Yan's deep voice sounded again, calmer than usual. "Your spirit has grown purer. You've taken your first firm step toward the realm of divine powers. With such a heart, even without the Nine Aperture Golden Pill, you'll reach it eventually. Three years at most—one if your fortune holds. That kind of progress would shake the cultivation world."
Indeed, Fang Han's rise was nothing short of miraculous. He'd started with nothing—no foundation, no resources—and in barely a year, he'd reached the Transformation Realm, his strength approaching ten horses. If he truly broke into the Divine Ability Realm within another year, it would defy every precedent.
Even masters like Jin Shitai had trained over a decade just to reach Transformation, only breaking through later with the help of a rare Yin-Yang Longevity Pill—and that was with a foundation a hundred times stronger than Fang Han's.
In truth, reaching the Divine Ability Realm within twenty years already marked one as a prodigy. Within ten years? A once-in-a-century genius.
His recent introspection had purified his spirit, shedding impurities and attachments—a rare state of inner clarity that few cultivators ever achieved. Yet the path to divine power remained arduous; the leap from Transformation to Divine Ability was vast.
"Hmm! I thought you'd need a few more years, but it seems you're ahead of even my expectations. Enough talk. Cultivate well."
Fang Han's will solidified like tempered steel. For the first time, he felt a true purpose burn within him—something grander than longevity or enlightenment.
A destiny vast enough to reshape the world itself.
The greater the heart, the greater the path.
He knew: as long as he pursued that vision, his life would blaze like a meteor across the heavens.
"Take this Biluo Pill," Yan said, his tone thoughtful. "It strengthens the spirit. But don't swallow it whole—crush it, mix it with pure water, and drip it upon your crown. Draw it in with your mind. It will clear your thoughts, refine your will."
Fang Han took out a True Water Talisman, released a single drop, and dissolved the pea-sized Biluo Pill atop his head. At once, it melted into a stream of jade-like nectar, seeping gently into his skull.
A warm, pleasant heat filled his mind—a blissful, intoxicating lightness that lingered before fading into clarity. His spirit now felt dense and fluid, like liquid crystal flowing through his consciousness.
"This Biluo Pill alone is worth a month of dedicated cultivation," Yan said approvingly. "It converts blood essence directly into spiritual strength. I had intended to teach you the core Dao arts of the Yellow Springs Sect—but Yuhuamen is full of hidden experts. If your aura changes too quickly, they'll suspect you. Wait until you reach the Divine Ability Realm. Then, we'll proceed in secret."
The gap between Transformation and Divine Ability was a chasm that could not be bridged by luck or tools alone. It required slow accumulation—refining the spirit into true power, transforming quantity into quality, shattering one's mortal understanding of the world itself.
Even the most gifted disciples of Yuhuamen—those listed on the Mountains and Rivers Ranking—spent years tempering themselves through relentless endurance. No treasure or weapon could shortcut that process. Only constant refinement, meditation, and effort could.
While Fang Han absorbed the Biluo Pill's energy and cultivated his spirit, a thousand miles away, atop a jagged stone peak, a man stood surrounded by swirling black winds.
The winds whispered strange, guttural words—as if dozens of unseen mouths were murmuring into his ears, delivering reports from across the wasteland.
"So," the man said slowly, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. "The disciples of Yuhuamen have entered the trial grounds. Their Sect Master turned this place into a training field… how convenient. The more disciples they send, the more flesh for us to feed on. They don't realize the Nine Suns Demon God has already hidden me from their perception. Send me down. I'll see to it the Yuhuamen disciples—all of them—are annihilated."
The man's face shifted as he spoke—handsome one moment, grotesque the next, then plain and unreadable—as though a thousand faces warred beneath his skin. And from his body radiated a deep crimson aura of blood and slaughter.
He was no ordinary demon. He had flesh.
A Heavenly Demon that possessed a physical body—
A Demon King.
Equivalent to a cultivator of the Divine Ability Realm—able to crush all who lacked divine power with a single strike.
The disciples sent to the Demon Battlefield were only outer sect members. Talented, yes, but none capable of contending with such a being.
"Organize yourselves," the Demon King commanded. "Study human battle formations. Don't rush blindly into combat. Never fight alone. If you encounter troublesome disciples, I'll strike personally and erase them."
"Yes, Great Vairochana Demon King!" countless voices shrieked around him.
The air trembled as innumerable shadowy figures—formless Heavenly Demons—bowed in reverence. When the Demon King raised his arm, they scattered like a plague of locusts, vanishing into the winds with shrill howls.
The entire wasteland darkened beneath their passage; stones whirled into the sky, and the shrieking wind made the star's barren surface groan. Had life still existed there, it would've been wiped out in moments.
"This star," the Demon King murmured, "once teemed with life. Thousands of years ago, a swarm of outer-realm demons descended and devoured everything—beasts, men, even the essence of trees and stones. They left nothing but dust. Fortunately for us, they spared the minerals."
Back within the desolate ruins, Fang Han exhaled softly. The Biluo Pill's power had settled completely. His spirit was sharp, his mind lucid—but his stomach growled faintly. Every cultivation session left him ravenous.
He took out a Blood Pill, swallowed it, then drank a drop of True Water. After a short meditation, he stood, his eyes shining like twin blades.
Yan's voice came again, low and distant. "The Heavenly Demons are the true enemies of the world—drifting through the void, devouring whatever they touch. Wherever they go, life perishes. They consume everything and create nothing. No one knows why such abominations exist… but they are death made manifest."
Fang Han thought back to the passages in Worlds Beyond Worlds describing the Heavenly Demons—and now, having met them himself, he finally understood what they truly were.