Beyond the mountain, snow blanketed the world in endless white, the cold air sharp enough to cut through steel. The rivers and peaks shimmered like silver waves—but on Jialan Peak, there wasn't a single trace of frost. The air was mild, almost springlike, and even the harsh winter winds dared not trespass.
By all logic, the higher the mountain, the more bitter the wind. Yet here, the air remained calm and warm year-round, as though sealed by invisible force. Fang Han couldn't comprehend how the airflow had been bound in place—but it deepened his respect for Jialan's unfathomable power.
Even she had admitted that Hua Tiandu surpassed her. That thought alone made Fang Han reevaluate the true measure of his rival.
Now, seated cross-legged in the middle of the Purple Bamboo Grove, Fang Han cultivated the Springwind Spiritwood Art.
The grove stretched over hundreds of acres—an ocean of violet swaying in the breeze, each stalk gleaming with a soft golden hue beneath its purple skin. These were no ordinary bamboos; nourished by elixirs and spiritual dew, they had become tougher than iron. Even spirit blades could not cut them, and they could easily be forged into weapons of power.
"Circulate the mana—let the spring wind become rain, awaken the spirit of wood, refine illusion into truth, open the gate of cultivation!"
Following the incantation of the art, Fang Han transformed his mana into the essence of spring itself—a warm, life-giving breeze. The wind swept through the grove, stirring the bamboo into a rhythmic dance, each stalk resonating with his spiritual intent.
His mana spread outward like invisible mist, caressing and seeping into every root and leaf. Gradually, Fang Han sensed the unique rhythm of plant life—the pulse of growth, the whisper of vitality—and with a twist of will, he turned the gentle spring wind into a whirling vortex that drew the essence back toward him.
The air shimmered as threads of green and violet light—pure spiritual energy of the plants—flowed toward him like strands of silk. They merged into his body, staining his once-invisible mana with color, transforming it into something denser, more tangible.
This was the threshold of the Second Stage of Divine Ability—the True Essence Realm.
In this realm, one's formless mana condensed into true qi—visible, touchable energy. The first stage had transformed the mind into mana; now, the mana was refined into tangible essence, a mark of true advancement.
Spirit was invisible and intangible. Mana was invisible yet carried substance. True qi, however—was both visible and solid.
That was why it was called true.
Before, when Fang Han struck with his power, others could only sense the invisible blast of force. But once he fully formed true qi, those same strikes would manifest as visible, green-violet palms of energy. When his cultivation deepened, the qi could even take the form of towering wooden giants, capable of upholding the heavens themselves.
Now, he was drawing in the essence of vegetation, tempering his mana into true qi.
Once completed, his strength would increase dramatically. If his current power could suppress a hundred wild Xuanhuang warhorses, after the transformation, he might easily suppress double that. But much depended on the quality of his true qi.
Had he trained in ordinary forests, the quality of essence absorbed would be weak, and progress slow. But here—each stalk of Jialan's purple bamboo contained the essence of hundreds of trees.
This grove was a sanctum for Spiritwood cultivation—a paradise of vitality.
As the bamboo essence poured into him, Fang Han soon felt his body overflowing. Quickly, he redirected the energy through his limbs and organs, following the Springwind Spiritwood method to nourish his body from within.
But suddenly—his body stiffened.
His limbs hardened as though turning to wood. Alarm shot through him, and he stopped at once.
"This grove truly is a blessed place," a deep, familiar voice echoed suddenly in his mind.
"Yan! You're awake?" Fang Han exclaimed with relief. "Good. Teach me the Green Emperor's Wood Sovereign Art! Also—how's your recovery after devouring that Golden Flame Mirror?"
"Hmph, its flavor wasn't bad—a pure yang treasure," the demonic voice of Yan purred with satisfaction. "If only you had more of those. But it was weak—nothing compared to the Nine Palace Gold Pagoda or the Sun and Moon Star Bracelet. My strength has only recovered a little."
"You're enjoying yourself while I'm left empty-handed!" Fang Han grumbled. "Now I don't have a single artifact left. And this Springwind Spiritwood Art seems risky. The wood energy I've absorbed is making my body stiff—will it clash with my Yan Luo Golden Body? Could it cause me to turn to wood or stone—lose control and go mad?"
He knew well the dangers of cultivation: when opposing energies clashed, they could rupture the brain or petrify the body. The stiffness creeping through him made him fear the worst.
"There is such a risk," Yan admitted calmly. "But for you—it's also a great opportunity."
"How so?" Fang Han frowned.
"Gold subdues wood," Yan explained. "Your Yan Luo Golden Body naturally restrains wood-type energy. The stiffness you feel is your body's warning. Now, you must use the blood circulation methods of the Golden Body—forcefully shatter the wood qi within you and devour it! Doing so will not only strengthen your flesh but also refine your Golden Body further. But be warned—the process will be agony beyond words. Far worse than boiling in oil! Prepare yourself. Now—let me transmit to you the Green Emperor's Wood Sovereign Art!"
In an instant, waves of ancient symbols and vivid images surged into Fang Han's consciousness.
He found himself standing in a desolate world—primordial earth under a dim sky. From the distant east, a colossal emerald pillar erupted from the ground, piercing the heavens, transforming into a majestic emperor who covered the barren land in vibrant green.
Runes, incantations, and profound insights poured into his mind.
"The Green Emperor Seal! The Wood Sovereign Rune!"
He understood the essence of the art. Splitting his mana into two streams, Fang Han summoned them into his palms—two spinning sigils composed of countless living runes, cycling endlessly, brimming with vitality.
Then came a deafening crack—
Boom!
Dozens of bamboo stalks nearest to him burst apart at once, collapsing into withered husks. Their life essence drained completely, leaving nothing but dead wood.
"So… tyrannical!"
Fang Han was stunned. He tried to rise—but his body wouldn't move. Looking down, he saw his joints etched with fine bamboo-like patterns, his skin taking on the texture of living wood.
His body was turning into a tree.