Since awakening, Yan's strength had reached the level of a second-realm True Qi cultivator. After devouring the Golden Flame Mirror, her power grew even more formidable. Though she hadn't yet stepped into the third realm—the Yuan Gang stage—her mastery over the Yellow Springs True Qi had reached its peak. The Water of Forgetfulness she wielded was pure, deadly, and terrifyingly refined, a venom that corroded both mind and spirit. Any who were tainted by it would suffer devastating wounds and lose fragments of memory.
Hidden within the Chart of the Yellow Springs, Yan waited patiently for the perfect moment. When the Death Island Lord was caught off guard, she struck—a shadow in the dark, a perfect assassin's blow. She was a true embodiment of lethal precision: never acting without purpose, and never missing her mark.
"Heh... a petty cultivator of the Gang Qi realm, daring to throw his weight around and even call himself the Death Island Lord?" Yan's voice dripped with mockery. "I'll show you what a true death sentence feels like. That body of yours, brimming with Gang Qi—perfect for refining into elixirs. The yield will be tremendous. Perhaps even greater than that of the Blackwater King Serpent!"
As she spoke, the Water of Forgetfulness surged like a living entity, seeping into the island lord's protective Qi and gnawing at his spirit. His scream tore through the sea air—but Yan did not relent. Her Qi whirled faster and faster, shaping the sacred water into countless deadly forms: blades, arrows, spears, hammers, chains, even spectral faces that shrieked as they lunged.
Within mere breaths, the fearsome Death Island Lord—renowned for plundering and slaughtering across the seas—was driven into chaos. His protective Gang Qi flickered and thinned, trembling on the verge of collapse.
Once that barrier shattered, there would be no saving him.
Without his Qi, even the mightiest cultivator would perish in the open sea—whether slain by foes or swallowed by the waves.
Yan's technique was breathtaking. Her control over True Qi was so refined, so fluid, that Fang Han could only watch in awe. Compared to her, his movements were still crude and unpolished.
"Aaah! What is this vile Qi! My mind—it's eating my mind! I don't care if you're from the Yuhua Sect or the heavens themselves—I'll kill you all!" The Death Island Lord bellowed in madness as the Water of Forgetfulness gnawed at his consciousness. Realizing the intrusion into his sea of spirit, he bit through his tongue, blood spraying as he forcibly stabilized his Qi. With a roar, he summoned every drop of power he had left. A violent burst of Gang Qi exploded from him, flinging Yan's attacks aside as he hurled two massive arcs of force toward Fang Han and Yan—then turned and fled across the sky.
Boom! Boom!
Fang Han summoned the Wood Emperor's power, shaping it into a massive tree that shattered the twin waves of Gang Qi. He prepared to pursue—but Yan raised a hand.
"Don't chase him. Cornered beasts are the most dangerous," she warned. "He practices a minor demonic art—the Heavenly Gang Death Palm. When pushed, he can detonate his own life essence to perish alongside his enemies. But don't worry—he's been struck by the Water of Forgetfulness. His mind will decay until he's a drooling fool. Unless a cultivator of the Longevity realm intervenes, he's beyond saving. We'll wait until his wounds fester, then track him to his lair. Kill him, seize his treasures, and leave no roots behind."
Her voice turned sly. "A lone cultivator at the Gang Qi level, surviving in the outer seas? He must have stumbled upon some incredible fortune. We'd be fools to let it go."
Fang Han grinned. "I was thinking the same thing. You handle the Blackwater King Serpent. I'll check on Long Xuan and the Witch—they took a nasty hit."
In a flash, Yan shot toward the sea, the Chart of the Yellow Springs swirling in her wake. The ocean trembled as the vast serpent—half-transformed into a dragon—was drawn into the artifact and sealed away. Fang Han, meanwhile, streaked toward the place where his companions had fallen.
A burst of bubbles rose from the depths, followed by a towering geyser. Long Xuan stood atop it, holding the Witch by the arm. When she spotted Fang Han, surprise flickered across her face.
"So it was the Death Island Lord lurking here all along! And you—Fang Han—you drove him off?"
"I took him by surprise after revealing my Yuhua Sect title," Fang Han replied, his tone even. "How are your injuries?"
"We're fine. He shattered our Qi and destroyed one of my spirit garments, but nothing fatal." Long Xuan shook her head, her expression calm again. "Luckily, I cultivate the Ten Thousand Waters Divine Art. The sea is my element. Otherwise, that strike would've drowned us both. I'd just regained my strength when I saw him flee."
"Good." Fang Han nodded. "I figured your life-saving artifacts would keep you alive."
Long Xuan glanced around. "And the Blackwater King Serpent? I didn't see the island lord take it with him."
"It's been secured," Fang Han said simply.
Her eyes sharpened, then softened. "So you possess a supreme treasure—perhaps even a Dao artifact. That explains your confidence against Hua Tiandu and your ability to repel the Death Island Lord. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I swear by my path to the Longevity Realm—if I ever breathe a word, may I never ascend."
A Dao artifact—capable of containing a creature of that magnitude without a sound. Even princesses of great clans knew what such an item meant. Long Xuan, worldly and shrewd, instantly grasped the truth but wisely dropped the subject.
"There's no need for such vows," Fang Han said, waving it off. "We're both disciples of the Yuhua Sect. I trusted you when I gave you the Yin-Yang Longevity Pill. On this journey into danger, we rely on each other's lives. Without trust, we're already dead."
He shifted the topic smoothly. "You seemed familiar with the Death Island Lord earlier. Who exactly is he?"
Long Xuan regained her composure. "There are countless rogue cultivators overseas—thousands of factions. But this man stands out. The Death Island Lord is infamous: one of the Forty Sea Thieves, known for cruelty and slaughter. He once served as a demon elder's apprentice under the Heaven Severing Sect, but after murdering his peers for their treasures, he was cast out and fled to the outer seas. No one knows where his island lies."
"The Forty Sea Thieves?" Fang Han asked. "Are they allies?"
"Not exactly," she explained. "It's a ranking—forty of the most savage outlaws among the sea's rogue cultivators. The Death Island Lord ranks thirty-eighth."
The Witch, listening nearby, frowned. "If he's only thirty-eighth, how terrifying must the top thief be?"
Fang Han's eyes glinted. "A fallen demon, acting alone... interesting. He's wounded now, and he won't recover easily. Let's retreat for now, find a secluded island, and recuperate. I'll refine the Blackwater Serpent's essence—and when the time's right, we'll strike again. Kill him while he's weak."
"You know where to find his island?" Long Xuan asked, surprised. "I've sailed these seas for years and never heard of its location."
"I marked him with a trace of my Qi," Fang Han said confidently. "Yan can track him."
"Then let's move. The Blackwater King Serpent's aura will draw attention—powerful ones can sense such fluctuations from thousands of miles away."
"Agreed."
The trio concealed their auras and flew several thousand miles before landing on a barren, mist-shrouded isle. The island was small and spiritually thin—perfect for hiding.
Fang Han extended a thread of divine sense into the Chart of the Yellow Springs. Inside, the massive serpent floated on the Yellow Springs River, its body limp, mind wiped clean by the Water of Forgetfulness. Yet the vast ocean of power within it still pulsed faintly.
"Yan," Fang Han asked, "how do we handle this thing?"
"I have a method," Yan said solemnly. "But it carries risk. In the Yellow Springs Demon Sect, there exists a forbidden art called Grafting the Flower to the Tree. It transfers one being's power into another. To succeed, you need the Water of Forgetfulness, a practitioner of the Yama King Body, and a skilled assistant. We have all three."
"Grafting power?" Fang Han frowned. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It means," Yan explained, "that we'll transplant the Blackwater King Serpent's Qi into you. After its partial transformation into a dragon, it possesses the strength of at least fifteen hundred warhorses. I'll channel all that force into your meridians. If it works, your power will triple—but if it fails, the conflicting energies will tear you apart from the inside. You'll explode into blood mist. Still, your Yama King Body is strong enough to endure what would kill any normal cultivator. You're the only one who can attempt it. And don't worry—the serpent's mind has been wiped clean. Without that, it could resist—and one twitch would be enough to destroy you."
Fang Han's eyes gleamed with resolve.
"Do it. Without risk, there's no glory. If I don't grasp every chance, I'll never surpass Hua Tiandu within ten years. One year's already gone. The clock is ticking."
Yan smiled faintly, her eyes gleaming with wicked excitement.
"Very well then. Let us graft the dragon's might onto your body."
The ritual began—transferring the Blackwater King Serpent's divine power into Fang Han's veins.
If it succeeded, his strength would soar from the force of six hundred horses to nearly two thousand.
Enough to crush any cultivator beneath the Gang Qi realm.