"That day, I was struck by the Six Desires Yin Thunder too. After escaping with my demonic treasure, I lost consciousness—how would I know what happened next? Yuan Jiankong, weren't you the first to run off, leaving the rest of us to die?" Fang Han sneered, completely unbothered by the accusation.
Since Hua Tiandu had retrieved his Seven Fiend Gourd and dropped the matter, why would he care about a few petty inner disciples making trouble?
"And besides," Fang Han went on coldly, "you probably planned to take my treasure all along—send me charging at the front to deal with the bandits, hoping I'd die in their hands. Do you dare say that wasn't your plan?"
"Hmph! You think you're on our level?" Yuan Jiankong's fingers twitched; his face darkened, his tone turning venomous. "You've already offended Senior Brother Hua. What wicked deed wouldn't you dare? You must have colluded with the Red Powder Prince—you're a demon spy! We're not here for trouble. Hand over our flying swords, and we'll let this go."
Fang Han's eyes narrowed. "Those swords aren't in my hands. But even if they were, I wouldn't give them back. You can forget it." His voice dropped to a dangerous calm. "You said it yourself—I dared offend Hua Tiandu. What are you compared to him? Now get out of my way."
The last word hit like thunder.
"ROLL!"
The moment the sound struck, Fang Han moved. His body flickered like starlight across the sky—an electric flash—and in the blink of an eye, he was standing before Yuan Jiankong. His frame straightened, his muscles rang like a struck bell, and his five fingers opened wide like iron fans, pressing down from above.
Whoosh!Whoosh!
The air screamed around him. Within a thirty-foot radius, space seemed to churn like stormy seas, waves of force exploding outward like a thousand galloping horses.
Fang Han stood like a steel titan, golden light rippling beneath his skin. His eyes blazed with cold radiance—like the gaze of a king who decided the life and death of all beneath heaven.
It was the oppressive aura of the Yama Golden Body—not just physical might, but spiritual domination.
"Not good!"
Yuan Jiankong, ranked tenth on the Mountain and River Roll, had cultivated his body to its mortal limit—his strength equal to ten horses, a level once comparable to Fang Han before the Golden Body. But now, against the reborn Fang Han, he was hopelessly outmatched.
The instant Fang Han moved, Yuan's instincts screamed. Green light burst from his body, wrapping him in a sphere of jade brilliance—the protective aura of the Golden Bilu Robe.
Woven from ten-thousand-year pine needles, the robe emitted Pinewood True Qi—resilient and continuous, capable of flight and defense alike.
But before the aura could even stabilize, Fang Han's palm smashed down.
BOOM!
The light shield quaked violently. Yuan Jiankong staggered as his blood surged chaotically. In that same instant, the towering figure of Fang Han filled his mind—crushing his will like a mountain, flooding his consciousness with a storm of dread: Power. Terror. Fury. Destruction.
He's suppressing my spirit! Yuan Jiankong realized in horror. His mental force can invade my mind!
That kind of pressure only appeared when a cultivator touched the Divine Transformation Realm—when one's spirit could bend reality. Fang Han hadn't reached that realm, yet the sheer ferocity of his will had forced Yuan into submission.
Rage flared through Yuan Jiankong's chest. He roared, forcing his mind into razor focus, dispelling the shadow from his thoughts. His robe blazed again as he prepared to ascend into the air—
Too late.
Fang Han's legs blurred—thirty-six kicks in a single breath. His hands followed with twenty-four palm strikes.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each blow detonated like thunder. The Golden Bilu Robe's barrier warped under the onslaught, the pinewood qi splattering like green flame. Every strike carried the power to crush an ox, to pulp a tiger—each hit piling upon the next until—
CRACK!
The protective aura shattered. The green light imploded, retreating into the fabric of the robe. Fang Han had broken a spiritual garment with his bare hands.
The robe's core formation still held—it wasn't destroyed—but its defensive power was gone, the stored qi scattered. For now, Yuan Jiankong stood unprotected.
Without that barrier, his advantage vanished.
Fang Han's expression didn't change. He stepped forward, his fingers curling into a crane's talon.
Crane Catches the Snake!
The move was swift and precise. His hand shot out, seizing Yuan Jiankong's chest; his nails pierced flesh like blades. Then, with a single twist—
WHAM!
He hurled him across the courtyard. Yuan's body slammed into the stone floor with a sickening crack, bones snapping in chorus. He spat several mouthfuls of blood, tried to rise—then went limp and collapsed, unconscious.
The tenth-ranked genius of the Mountain and River Roll—one of the strongest among the inner disciples—beaten senseless before the entire crowd.
Gasps filled the courtyard. Dozens of disciples froze mid-step, staring in disbelief. Even Senior Sister Mo and her companions stood stunned.
"Don't think I'm easy prey just because I lost the Seven Fiend Gourd." Fang Han's voice cut like a blade. "Now get lost. If the tenth of the Mountain and River Roll fights like that, you disgrace Yuhua Sect's name."
His gaze swept toward Senior Sister Mo. "You lost your True Blue Sword, didn't you? That's nothing. Join forces with me instead—once I become a True Disciple, I'll forge you a sword far stronger than that one. How about it?"
"Arrogant fool!" Mo snapped, her face icy. "Dream all you want. Even if you enter the Mountain and River Roll, you'll never beat the top disciples. I won't dirty my hands with you here—but at the tournament in a few months, we'll see who's left standing."
She turned, helping the unconscious Yuan Jiankong to his feet, and stalked away.
Fang Han didn't bother watching them go. He brushed his hands together as if shaking off dust and nodded to Princess Hongyi. "Let's go."
The two of them entered the Transmission Hall under countless stunned gazes.
From afar, several disciples watched silently.
"Ye Nantian," one of them murmured, "looks like this Fang Han really might be your rival. You'd better be careful at the Mountain and River Tournament—don't end up like Yuan Jiankong."
Among them stood Ye Nantian himself—ranked third on the Mountain and River Roll. His expression was calm, but his eyes were cold.
"Hmph. Yuan Jiankong? He's nothing," Ye said flatly. "He only made it onto the list after swallowing a Silver Serpent Core and earning that robe and sword from the sect. Those are toys. I have dozens like them. If Fang Han still had his Seven Fiend Gourd, maybe he'd be worth my time. Without it—" He clenched his hand. "—I could crush him anytime I want."
His tone dripped with disdain, yet his eyes gleamed—not with arrogance, but with sharp calculation.
Beside him stood another man—Lin Yan, ranked fourth. Both were the true elites of Yuhua Sect.
"Since Senior Brother Ye says so, I've no doubt," Lin Yan said. "Still, Fang Han's performance today… impressive. I'll be making preparations too. Wouldn't want to be the one who slips."
He gave a short bow and left swiftly.
"Come here."
Ye Nantian crooked his finger, summoning a nearby disciple.
"Senior Brother Ye?" The man hurried over, bowing low.
"Gather a few people," Ye said softly. "Keep Fang Han under constant watch. Use concealment talismans—don't let him notice. Track his every move, day and night. The moment he leaves the sect, report to me."
He flicked his sleeve; a small gourd flew out, landing in the disciple's hands. Inside were thirty Essence Pills.
"This is your reward. When you've mapped out his every habit, I'll petition Wanluo Peak to grant each of you a flying sword."
The disciple's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Senior Brother Ye!" He bowed deeply and ran off.
Ye Nantian's lips curved into a faint, cold smile. "Fang Han… I don't believe you'll reach the Divine Transformation Realm before me. At the next tournament, I'll make sure you never rise again."
With that, his figure shimmered—and vanished.
"Hongyi," Fang Han said as they entered the Transmission Hall, "once these three days of instruction are over, we'll head underground to train."
"Good," she replied. "There are rare herbs and even crystal jades beneath the earth. I'll collect some for alchemy and talismans."
Stone pillars lined the hall like a forest, each one serving as a meditation platform. At the center stood a vast altar—the Platform of Transmission.
Fang Han leapt onto a pillar, crossing his legs. All around him, disciples took their seats in silence.
Then, the great bell tolled.
A white-bearded elder appeared upon the altar, exuding immortal grace—the Transmission Elder, a true master of divine power.
"This time," the elder said, his voice echoing through the hall, "many new inner disciples have joined us after the Demon Battlefield incident. Your foundations are shallow, so I shall impart to you an additional cultivation method. Listen carefully—I will only teach this once."
The entire hall fell still.
"The Heart Formula of Heaven and Earth's Righteous Qi…"
Fang Han focused completely, memorizing every word. The elder's explanations flowed like pearls and jade, each sentence illuminating hidden truths.
Compared to this, Fang Han's self-study seemed childish—his previous understanding of Yuanchan Spirit Arts had barely scratched the surface. Every phrase from the elder struck like lightning in his mind, clearing away years of fog.
"Three years of bitter cultivation can't match one word from a true master," he thought in awe.
After several hours, the bell rang again. The elder's figure dissolved into mist.
"Wait," Fang Han muttered. "Didn't they say we could ask questions?"
Princess Hongyi smiled faintly. "You can—but only with merit contributions to the sect. Once your request is approved, the Transmission Elder will answer personally. Each question costs dearly."
"So that's how it works." Fang Han nodded in understanding.
For three days, they listened attentively, absorbing advanced techniques like Heaven and Earth's Righteous Qi, Yuanchan Spirit Arts, and Chaos Breathing. By the end, Fang Han felt transformed.
When the final day ended, the great doors of the Transmission Hall closed. They would not open again until the end of the next month.
"If only we could listen every day," Fang Han sighed as they left Yuhua City.
"That's impossible," Hongyi said. "With tens of thousands of disciples, who could teach them all? Only True Disciples can consult the elders freely. Even the Mountain and River elites can seek instruction occasionally."
Just then, a clear cry rang from the sky. A white crane descended gracefully—Crane Fairy, Fang Han's beast companion.
"Fang Han! You've become an inner disciple and didn't even come see me!" she chirped indignantly—until he slipped a glimmering Essence Pill into her beak. Her eyes lit up. "Essence Pill! If I had one of these every day, I could molt and evolve!"
"You'll get your share," Fang Han chuckled. "We're going underground soon—to hunt, to harvest, and to forge."
"Quiet," Princess Hongyi whispered suddenly. "Someone's watching us."
"I know," Fang Han murmured. "We'll leave Yuhua Mountain first—then we'll deal with them properly."