The Five-Prison King Cauldron drifted through the deep sea, gliding like a massive, streamlined beast. Despite its house-sized bulk, it moved silently, fluidly. They were already nearly a thousand fathoms down—depths where ordinary cultivators could not survive. The pressure alone was enough to crush most Mystic Realm experts; only those at the Heaven-Human tier could walk freely here.
But under Long Xuan's control, the cauldron navigated the waters effortlessly.
Her Ten-Thousand-Waters True Qi made her as attuned to the ocean as a fish; the currents embraced her, flowed with her, amplified her control over the cauldron.
"Hmm? Fang Han is coming down. Bring us up to meet him."
Seeing a faint emerald flicker from the cauldron's internal screen—Fang Han's Wood Emperor Qi—Long Xuan immediately guided the cauldron upward. The screen rippled and unfolded a beam of light, drawing Fang Han inside.
"Fang Han, what were you doing out there?" Long Xuan frowned. Fang Han was dripping wet, his robes soaked through—proof that the crushing water pressure had overwhelmed his protective qi. Without Daoist Gang Qi, one's true qi was still fragile against such pressure.
"Nothing much. Just went to check how the fight between the Demon Marshal and those three Taiyi disciples went."
His expression didn't change, but his heart was anything but calm.
He had killed them.
Three true disciples of the Taiyi Sect—the mightiest orthodox sect in the world. And he had killed them himself.
If this were exposed, there would be nowhere under the heavens for him to hide. Even the incident with Hua Tiandu was nothing compared to this—that was merely insubordination.
This was murder. And not just any murder, but the killing of their treasured elite.
He knew the consequences clearly: once Taiyi discovered the deaths of Yao Dian, Xia You, and Yu Fen, the entire cultivation world would shake. The three had burned their Heaven Mandate Edict without mentioning him, so for now the blame fell entirely on the Demon Marshal. But if the battle triggered a full-scale conflict between immortals and demons, someone might eventually notice something amiss.
Yet Fang Han did not regret it.
If he didn't kill them today, they would hunt him tomorrow. He might not even survive the next two or three years.
He still had less than ten years to defeat Hua Tiandu—he was already a dead man walking. So why hold back? Why fear crimes meant for the living?
Better to gamble everything.
"I didn't get a clear look," Fang Han continued calmly. "I left quickly—didn't want them to spot me. But Yao Dian and the others were clearly losing. The Demon Marshal might have killed them."
"That won't happen." Long Xuan shook her head immediately. "He might cripple them, but he wouldn't dare kill Taiyi true disciples. That would ignite a war between the righteous and demonic paths. We'd better be careful—those three won't let us go once they recover."
"Maybe," Fang Han said flatly. "But now that you've formed your true qi, and with the cauldron protecting us, we can finally head toward the Void Return Realm. If we return with ancient treasures, even Taiyi disciples won't scare us."
"Mm. My true qi is still unstable. I need time to refine and settle it, and the water here is perfect for that." Long Xuan nodded and faded behind her screen, beginning her closed-door meditation.
Fang Han retreated to another screen and sat cross-legged. His mind slipped into the Yellow Springs Diagram.
"Click-click… tsk, tsk."
Yan, the spirit of the diagram, circled the three floating corpses—Yao Dian, Xia You, and Yu Fen—heads smashed to pulp. "Fang Han, you really did it. Pulled the emperor off his horse, huh? Even I'm a little scared of you now."
They had once been tyrants of their generation—true disciples of the greatest immortal sect, people who killed as they pleased, oppressed whoever they wished. Now they were silent bodies drifting down the Yellow Springs.
Fang Han brought them here for two reasons:
One, their treasures.
Two, insurance—he knew that great sects possessed resurrection methods. As long as the bodies remained intact, revival was possible.
Now that the corpses were gone?
Let them resurrect air.
Even Yan wavered. "Killing true disciples of small sects is one thing… but Taiyi's? They've always acted like Heaven's will incarnate. They slaughter others, but no one is allowed to touch them. Even the Huangquan Demon Sect feared them in my era."
Fang Han only grinned. "Taiyi may be ten times stronger than my Yuhua Sect, and their true disciples may be swimming in wealth… but that just means killing them is ten times more profitable. Dead men's riches belong to the living. Whatever they carried is now mine."
He stripped the corpses. Their robes—damaged by the Demon Marshal's Great Collapse Art—were no longer salvageable. He tossed the rags into the river. Even shattered treasure-cloths were good material; once absorbed by his ten Shura demons, they would harden their shells.
No flying swords remained—the Great Collapse Art had destroyed them. Even the three formidable treasures—Gold Crystal Wheel, Jade Purity Bottle, Thunderwind Banner—were reduced to shards.
Such power chilled Fang Han.
"Don't tell me I killed three Taiyi disciples and got nothing out of it…" He sighed, then suddenly noticed something tucked against their inner garments.
Three small silk pouches—black and white, each embroidered with a pair of Yin-Yang fish. Subtle ripples of power pulsed from them.
"Treasure pouches!" Yan gasped. "Taiyi's Hundred-Treasure Pouches! Three thousand years ago they planned these, but lacked the Void-Crystal Stone required to craft them. Looks like they finally succeeded. The pouch holds its own pocket dimension—not as vast as the Yellow Springs, but still a valuable spatial treasure."
"Meaning everything they owned is inside these?" Fang Han grinned, grabbing the pouches. "Now this is worth killing for."
He opened the first one.