After the fierce battle, the night still hadn't lifted. The stars had sunk into the horizon, and darkness swallowed sea and sky alike. It was the third watch of the night—the hour of ghosts.
At this time, yin energy ruled heaven and earth, shadows deepened, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Fang Han didn't mind the darkness. His heart was alight with triumph. He had slain the master of Death Isle and seized the Five Hells King Cauldron—a top-tier treasure among alchemical furnaces. With it in hand, his strength was destined to soar.
What mattered now was to find a quiet place and refine the cauldron fully—make it his own. Once that was done, he would have another powerful weapon at his disposal.
The Five Hells King Cauldron was more than a pill furnace; it could serve as a mobile dwelling, a fortress that flew across the sky, its internal formations shielding its owner from attack. When the Death Isle Master had used it, even Long Xuan's Cold Chi Sword had been nearly shattered by its explosive force.
Had Fang Han known earlier that his opponent possessed such a treasure, he might have hesitated—and lost the perfect opportunity.
Now, wrapped in his Wood Emperor true qi, Fang Han carried Long Xuan and the witch as he sped through the night. His flight was swift and tireless, weaving through sea mists and clouds until an uninhabited island appeared below. He descended at once.
As they landed, the massive cauldron dissolved into pale golden light and vanished into his body. Fang Han had stored it within the pocket dimension of the Netherworld Map. Carrying a house-sized furnace everywhere would've been… conspicuous.
Long Xuan gave a small nod of approval. A spatial Dao artifact—rare and priceless. Most cultivators struggled to carry even a proper herb satchel, yet Fang Han could store an entire furnace within his spiritual domain.
She was already planning ahead: with such a treasure, she could collect herbs across the seas and refine them all at once later. How convenient.
After confirming the island was deserted, the trio concealed themselves among jagged rocks. Only then did they relax.
"Do you know where we are?" Fang Han asked, dividing his focus—one part on refining the cauldron within the Netherworld Map, the other on speaking. "I've flown too long and lost all sense of direction."
Long Xuan withdrew a worn tome, The Myriad Worlds Record, flipping swiftly through its pages before consulting a small compass of spirit metal. After some calculation, she said, "We're deep in the South Sea. If we fly another thirty or forty thousand miles south, we'll reach the Wangui Trade Market. Once you finish refining the cauldron, we can buy spiritual herbs there in bulk. That will save us the trouble of wandering around looking for materials."
"The Wangui Market?" Fang Han echoed. "I've never heard of it."
"It's new," Long Xuan explained. "Formed within the last sixty years by the Wangui Immortal Island. It's a vast floating bazaar—cultivators, rogue masters, even mortal kings send ships there. Treasures from every corner of the sea are traded openly: herbs, talismans, spirit ores, magical beasts. It's become the largest market on the southern seas. The Myriad Worlds Record doesn't mention it because that book was written a century ago."
"I see…" Fang Han nodded. "When I lived in the Great Li Dynasty, I used to hear rumors that the emperor sent ships across the ocean to buy immortal elixirs. I thought it nonsense. Seems it wasn't."
Long Xuan's expression chilled slightly. "The Wangui Sect rose fast because of that very idea—an economic web of trade and power. But they've grown too bold. They fancy themselves rivals to the Taiyi Sect. When the next Grand Immortal Assembly comes, they'll be lucky to survive their own ambition."
"You sound like you've got personal history with them."
"Of course," Long Xuan said, her fingers drumming softly on the hilt of her Cold Chi Sword. "They destroyed someone dear to me. One day, I'll erase their name from the Ten Great Immortal Sects."
Her voice held no heat, only a deadly calm.
She went on, "By the way, your Five Hells King Cauldron has a notorious origin. Eight hundred years ago, a great demon descended from beyond the realms—the Five Hells Demon King. He reached the ninth level of Divine Ability, the Realm of Heaven and Earth Manifestation. This cauldron was his creation, a treasure forged in the fires of five infernal worlds. No wonder its power is extraordinary. But how it fell into the Death Isle Master's hands… that's a mystery."
"The ninth realm of Divine Ability…" Fang Han muttered, a chill running through him. "Someone like that could crush me with a finger."
He drew his focus inward.
Within the Netherworld Map, the colossal black cauldron floated above the River of Forgetfulness, half-submerged in its waters. Wisps of Forgetting Mist seeped through the metal, erasing the lingering imprints of its former master.
Suddenly, the furnace shuddered. Arrays flared across its surface, releasing the treasures stored inside.
A storm of items burst forth and splashed into the river—ten massive purple-gold gourds among them, each as tall as a man.
Fang Han's eyes widened.
"These are Heavenly Extinction Life-Extending Pills! Ten gourds—three hundred per gourd—that's three thousand pills!"
Yan, his spectral companion, cackled, snatching one gourd and uncorking it. Inside, the pills glowed faintly, each the size of a bean, veined with thirty-six colors of light and suffused with an intoxicating fragrance.
"These are the prized elixirs of the Heavenly Extinction Demon Sect," Yan said gleefully. "Refined from thirty-six ingredients matured for over five centuries. Far superior to Yuhua Sect's Essence Pills or Fasting Pills. Not only do they restore vitality, but long-term use keeps one's face young forever."
After the ten gourds came a cascade of flying swords—thirty-six in total—each radiating demonic energy as they danced above the river like a silver storm.
"Well, well," Yan chuckled. "The full Heavenly Extinction Sword Formation! Thirty-six swords—but missing the formation diagram. Still, impressive!"
Next came waves of spiritual robes, more than twenty in number—loot from countless victims, judging by their varied styles and sect markings. None matched the cauldron's quality, but their sheer number spoke volumes.
Gold, jewels, and mundane treasures followed, useless to cultivators but proof of years of plunder.
Finally, with a dull thud, a single book flew out and landed heavily on the riverbank. Its cover was pitch-black, etched with blood-red sigils that pulsed faintly like veins.
Fang Han picked it up—and read the title.
The Heavenly Gang Death-Hand Manual.