At the furious shout of the inner disciple, Fang Han felt his blood surge violently. Ever since taking the Nine Apertures Golden Pill, the essence of the Yellow Springs Emperor's demonic power had merged into his bloodline—granting him an unyielding sense of dignity. He was no longer a mere servant but someone who could one day break into the Divine Ability Realm.
But right now, he knew he must endure.
The word endure itself carried a blade upon its head, a blade that pierced straight into the heart. Yet to act rashly would be courting death. The opponent before him was far too powerful—so powerful that even "Yan" would be crushed in an instant, let alone him.
"This Seven Fiend Gourd was bestowed upon me by Senior Sister Qingxue. If it must be returned, only she can reclaim it. I ask Senior Brother Hua to understand—don't make this difficult for me. A man of your stature, with so many treasures at your command, surely won't covet this one humble artifact."
Fang Han's tone was calm—icy calm. He knew there was no good end to this confrontation, and if he lost his temper, the result could only be death.
The Seven Fiend Gourd was no ordinary weapon; it was his sole means of defense and offense. Without it, his power would plummet. It had saved his life more than once, and with it, his path forward had hope—slaying demons underground, seeking treasures in mountains and seas, and refining spirit pills to ascend faster toward divinity.
To cultivate the Divine Ability Realm required a vast material foundation. The four pillars of cultivation—Wealth, Companions, Method, and Land—began with wealth. Losing the gourd would mean losing a major foothold in that foundation.
"Ha!" Hua Tiandu sneered, stepping forward. With each step, the hearts of the two hundred disciples around seemed to quake. None dared even breathe too loudly.
"So you're implying I covet your treasure? Let me tell you, I was entrusted by Elder Tianxing to restore discipline to Yuhua Sect. Our sect has rotted from within—disciples practicing demonic arts, refining unholy pills, wielding cursed relics! If this continues, what difference will there be between us and the demonic sects?
"You and Fang Qingxue think yourselves special. She dallies with that Demon Commander, and you—relying on her name—have grown insolent. Do you think I came here just for you? No, Fang Han. From this day forth, I will cleanse every corner of Yuhua Sect.
"You invoke Fang Qingxue's name again and again, thinking I'll hesitate? Hah! I, Hua Tiandu, who began cultivation at the age of three and have slain more fiends than you've had meals, would cut down even a Demon Emperor for the purity of our sect. You don't mention her, and I might let you live. But since you have, you force my hand."
The words relying on another's power struck Fang Han like knives. His heart bled, yet he continued to endure.
"You think I can't strip you of this gourd?" Hua Tiandu's voice dropped to a chilling calm. "Even if Fang Qingxue herself were here, the outcome would be the same. Hand it over."
The moment he spoke, an invisible force crashed down upon Fang Han. His limbs locked in place—he couldn't even twitch a finger.
"Aaah!" Fang Han roared with all his strength, unleashing the Heavenly Dragon's Eight Tones while wrapping himself in the Skywolf Battle Armor formed from the gourd's essence.
"Petty tricks."
With a single backhanded motion, Hua Tiandu shattered everything. The air itself seemed to collapse—like heaven's pillars snapping under the weight of divine wrath. The armor exploded, the dragon tones were cut short, and Fang Han was slammed face-first into the ground.
With a flick of Hua Tiandu's finger, the Seven Fiend Gourd flew from Fang Han's side into his palm. He brushed a finger across its surface—Fang Han screamed as if part of his flesh had been ripped away. His blood-essence link to the artifact vanished.
The gourd no longer belonged to him.
Hatred surged—hot, endless, suffocating.
He thought he had reclaimed his dignity, but in the presence of Hua Tiandu's overwhelming power, that dignity was crushed once again.
"I dreamed of building a cycle of justice like the Yellow Springs Emperor—to make heaven and earth fair, to give good and evil their due… but I can't even protect my own honor! What right have I to speak of ideals?"
The realization cut deep. Power—he needed power.
Without power, there was no dignity. Without dignity, there were no ideals.
"Power… I need power!"
He struggled, but his strength was nothing.
Seeing Fang Han helpless, the inner disciple shouted gleefully, "Senior Brother Hua, reclaim my Spiritwind Sword as well! This demon-tainted traitor must be crippled to set an example for all! Only then can the sect truly be cleansed!"
"Hmm. The sword is not on him," Hua Tiandu said, his tone like a storm before lightning. "But you're right. Discipline must be upheld."
Just as he was about to strike, a serene yet commanding voice echoed from afar:
"Senior Brother Hua, your mission to restore order is righteous—but surely it doesn't require such severity toward a single outer disciple? Will you grant me a favor and spare him?"
A vast blue lotus cloud drifted down from the heavens. Upon it sat a woman whose presence was like moonlight upon still water—her voice pure, dreamlike, filled with quiet authority.
"Senior Sister Jialan!"
"It's Senior Sister Jialan!" the disciples whispered in awe.
This was Xi Jialan—one of the Five Supreme True Disciples, a woman second only to Fang Qingxue herself.
Descending gracefully, her gown brushing the ground like mist, she looked at Hua Tiandu and said softly, "This Fang Han once saved Yue'er and Yu'er's lives. I owe him a favor. Might you spare him, Senior Brother? It ill suits your stature to strike at someone so far beneath you."
Hua Tiandu's eyes flickered. After a long silence, he nodded. "Since you've spoken, I'll let him go this once."
Fang Han felt the crushing weight lift. His body was his own again.
"Begone! But if I ever hear you wield demonic tools again and taint Yuhua Sect's name, I will not spare you!"
He flicked his sleeve, and a gust of power threw Fang Han tumbling across the ground.
Yuer and Yue'er rushed to help him up. Though Fang Han was covered in dust and shame, their eyes burned with admiration—for no one else in Yuhua Sect would have dared speak back to Hua Tiandu.
"Take him to Jialan Peak," Jialan instructed calmly. "I'll speak with him later."
But Fang Han suddenly straightened, his voice ringing out like thunder:
"I have something to say to Senior Brother Hua!"
His body trembled, yet his eyes burned scarlet. "You took my treasure and trampled my dignity. I admit defeat—because your power surpasses mine. But I ask you this: will you grant me ten years?"
Hua Tiandu arched a brow. "Ten years? For what? You intend to use them to seek revenge?"
"Exactly. I ask for ten years to cultivate. If you refuse, kill me now—or have someone do it later in secret. But if you grant me this, I will prove myself."
A stunned silence fell.
An outer disciple—challenging the foremost True Disciple of the entire sect? It was beyond arrogance—it was madness.
Even Hua Tiandu laughed. "You? Challenge me? You're an insect, Fang Han. Ten years, a hundred—it makes no difference. Fine then! You all hear me—none of you are to harm him. I'll give him his ten years. Let's see what this ant can accomplish."
Fang Han suddenly dropped to his knees, raising a hand to the heavens. His voice carried the weight of fate itself:
"Heaven above, bear witness! I, Fang Han, within ten years, shall rise to become a True Disciple. On the Execution Platform, I will challenge Hua Tiandu to a duel to the death! If I fail to defeat him, I shall end my own life—my soul scattered to ash, my name erased from eternity. Should I break this oath, may heaven and earth destroy me, gods and men alike condemn me!"
The sky seemed to tremble. Even Jialan's composure faltered for a heartbeat.
The disciples broke into murmurs.
"He's insane."
"Even a hundred years wouldn't be enough."
"Senior Brother Hua won't take him seriously."
"Still… he's clever. No one can touch him for ten years now—not without crossing Hua Tiandu himself."
Hua Tiandu's gaze lingered on him, the faintest curl at his lips. "So like Fang Qingxue—bold, defiant, and doomed. Ten years, then. Let's see if you even reach the Divine Ability Realm."
With that, he vanished into mist, the Seven Fiend Gourd in hand—leaving Fang Han kneeling beneath the vast, uncaring heavens, his oath echoing across the mountain peaks.