On Purple Lightning Peak of Yuhuamen, Fang Qian—the former maid who had long since risen to steward—stood on the cliff's razor-edge, gazing across the rolling sea of clouds. A faint crease formed between her brows. Suddenly, a thin streak of lightning flashed from the distant mist. She raised her hand; a matching spark flared from her palm, and the two bolts snapped together like positive and negative charge.
The lightning condensed into a talisman covered in dense, tiny script.
Her face grew colder the more she read—frost settling over her expression.
So much has happened in just a few short months…
The "Demon Marshal" had killed three elite disciples of the Taiyi Sect and was now under a Heaven-issued execution decree. Even more alarming, the Water-Gu Heavenly Demon had broken free from its ancient seal. And Fang Han—who until recently had been considered merely lucky—had appeared on the seas, annihilated a horde of a hundred thousand demons, and sealed the resurrected demon king again.
Worst of all, the Water-Gu Demon King was originally sealed by Fang Qingxue and the Demon Marshal at immense personal cost, because they needed its primordial source power. Now that essence lay in Fang Han's hands.
"These matters… I must inform the Young Lady immediately," Fang Qian murmured. "Even if she's in seclusion within the Little Immortal World, some choices can't wait—especially with the Demon Marshal involved."
She sat cross-legged, drew out a serpentine lightning talisman, and whispered an incantation. Blood welled from her fingertips and brushed the sigil.
A sharp crack split the talisman. It dissolved into threads of electricity and vanished.
"I hope she senses it…"
Fang Qian stood, exhaling long and slow. "Fang Han… I thought he was just unusually lucky. I didn't expect him to become this formidable."
High winds lashed the cliff, almost lifting her off the edge, but she walked the slick moss-covered precipice with perfect balance—her body as steady as an iron stake. Her poise and physical control were far beyond what a former maid should have possessed.
Far below, several old Fang household retainers—Fang Man, Fang Rui, Fang Lie and the others who once competed with Fang Han and ended up beaten bloody—watched her.
"Tsk, look at Fang Qian now," Fang Man muttered, licking his lips with a vulgar glint. "Strolling along a cliff like she's on a garden path… her cultivation must be close to the tenth-level 'Body Transformation.'"
"Well of course," Fang Rui snorted. "She serves the Young Lady directly. Pills, resources—she has everything. Her cultivation climbs on its own. What, Fang Man, you want to make a move on her? Again?"
"Back in the Governor's estate, she was just a maid. Grabbing her would've been easy," Fang Man said darkly. "But right now, what matters is improving our own strength. If we could somehow climb into Yuhuamen proper, curry favor with a powerful cultivator, get rewarded with pills, a flying sword, a magic robe… we could soar. And…" His tone turned venomous. "And we could settle things with Fang Han."
"Quiet!" Fang Lie hissed. "Fang Han is now a true disciple. One flick of his finger and we're dead."
"He offended Hua Tiandu—the most terrifying prodigy among Yuhuamen's true disciples. He won't stay alive forever. Once he falls, we will settle our debts. That bastard rode horses for us, and now he dares ascend toward immortality? I refuse to swallow that!"
A faint, chilly voice drifted behind them.
"Oh? You three want revenge that badly?"
They whipped around. Fang Qingwei—the Second Young Lady—stood behind them, accompanied by a mysterious figure in black.
The three men dropped to their knees at once.
Fang Qingwei waved impatiently. "Get up. If you want revenge against Fang Han, I can help. This is Mister Illusory Truth, a wandering cultivator I met on the sea."
They bowed quickly. The black-robed man's voice was stiff, unnatural—but his gestures were generous. With a casual flick, three thumb-sized flying swords and three ornate spell-robes drifted into their hands. Every piece was high-grade spiritual equipment.
Even Fang Qingwei's heartbeat jolted. She hadn't expected him to be this lavish.
She had originally believed this "Mister Illusory Truth" to be an easily-fooled hermit from some isolated island—someone she could trade trinkets with for profit. He wasn't from the demonic path and thus could enter Yuhuamen without being immediately annihilated. His cultivation sat at the bare minimum needed to manipulate magic power—just the threshold of the Divine Ability Realm.
"These three swords and robes can be bound with blood," he said. "Clear-cut and simple."
Then, turning to Qingwei: "These three have decent potential. If Yuhuamen won't accept them, I could take them as disciples."
"Good," Qingwei said quickly. "Fang Man, Fang Rui, Fang Lie—why aren't you kneeling?"
The three men kowtowed feverishly. "We greet Master!"
"Come," Qingwei said. "I'll introduce you to Senior Brother Wan Luo—one of Yuhuamen's golden-core Realm geniuses. With the ancient relics on your body, you can trade for good pills."
The black-robed man stiffened slightly at the words golden core, as if intimidated. Qingwei noticed—smiling to herself with the pride of a great sect disciple.
She led her new entourage toward Wan Luo Peak.
From the distance, Fang Qian watched everything.
"That man… who is he really?" she muttered. "I've never heard of such a person among the sea's loose cultivators. Qingwei is too full of herself… I just hope she doesn't delay the Young Lady's matters."
Far outside Yuhuamen's mountains, several black-clad figures hid among barren hills.
"Lord Illusory Truth has been inside a long time. Could something have happened? Yuhuamen is the foremost sect of the Dao."
"No need to worry," another replied. "We are neither human nor demon nor beast. Their people won't recognize what we are. Besides, our lord sealed his aura completely. A few trinkets were enough to fool that naive girl, Qingwei. Through her, Lord Illusory Truth will get close to Fang Qingxue."
"Move," the leader said. "We can't linger near Yuhuamen. Too dangerous."
The figures dissolved into the landscape.
High within the clouds above Yuhuamen stood a place outside ordinary reality—a pocket dimension filled with swirling, multicolored mist. Not sky, not ground—only endless, shifting immortal aura.
This was the sect's supreme retreat ground: the Little Immortal World.
Its air was not ordinary spiritual energy but pure celestial essence siphoned—at immense cost—through cracks in distant immortal realms. Because this energy was rarer than diamonds, only a handful of chosen disciples ever set foot here.
Even someone like Jin Shitai—the son of a Grand Elder—had no such privilege.
But Fang Qingxue was cultivating at its very heart.
She sat within a hardened cloud-mass, arcs of lightning dancing around her like serpents. Each bolt condensed into runes and symbols—tiny thunder-formations weaving into one another, then dissolving back into her skin. Her body was lightning; her blood, thunder.
Above her hovered a colossal rune—three or four miles wide—etched with ancient thunder gods: bird-headed beings with bodies of light, wielding hammers forged from storms. Runes older than civilization glowed across the sigil, each character whispering cosmic law.
It was not a talisman. It was a Dao Artifact—a divine edict forged by the Thunder Emperor of antiquity.
"Ten thousand arts return to One…" Qingxue murmured, weaving formation after formation, folding them toward a single seed of power.
Suddenly her eyes sharpened.
A heart-thought message? Qian wouldn't use that unless the matter was grave.
Streams of information poured into her mind.
"So much happened while I was in seclusion… The Demon Marshal clashed mortally with Taiyi Sect. Fang Han is now a true disciple—and he suppressed the Water-Gu Heavenly Demon? And he challenged Hua Tiandu to a ten-year life-and-death duel?"
"What is that boy relying on to dare such a thing?"
She sighed. "Seems I cannot stay in seclusion any longer."
She lifted her hand. The vast Thunder Emperor Sigil collapsed into a single beam and sank into her consciousness.
Her body flickered. With several lightning-steps, she passed through space itself.
Fang Qingxue had emerged from seclusion.
After the Dan Origin Conference, Fang Han did not linger. He and the Dragon-Demoness Long Xuan continued toward the region known as Returning to the Void, traveling underwater to avoid attention.
Across the sea, the clash with the Water-Gu Demon had drained much of his true qi. Only meditation within the Five-Prison King Cauldron could restore him quickly.
Meanwhile, Yan was refining a Saint-Level Dharmic Relic.
Before leaving, Fang Han absorbed every golden-nanmu tree within the Thunder Emperor's old estate—its "noble wood essence" merging with the Wood Emperor Qi within him, making it livelier and more perfect. With greater depth in his foundation, he wasn't worried about delays in forming Gang Qi later.
But he was excited about one thing:
Reaching the Void and swallowing eight million demons to fully awaken the Five-Prison King Cauldron.
With fifty thousand demons already powering it, the cauldron moved like a submarine beast—gliding a thousand miles an hour without draining his energy.
After several days of tireless cultivation, Fang Han's true qi had mostly recovered. But then—he felt it.
Cold currents creeping into the water around them.
"Fang Han," Long Xuan's voice echoed through the cauldron, "we've reached the northern seas—the edge of the Void. From here on, every step is dangerous."
"The Void…" Fang Han murmured. "The Demon Marshal lured Taiyi Sect's pursuers here as well. Let's hope we don't meet them."
He directed the cauldron upward.
He wanted to see the Void with his own eyes.