The Vermilion Bird Banner burned with concentrated fire essence—fire cloud immortal had spent countless heavenly treasures and decades of painstaking work to forge it. Now, all of that effort was being siphoned away by Fang Han as easily as if the heavens themselves were handing him a gift.
But even this wasn't the true windfall.
The real treasure was the golden core.
This was the culmination of Fire Cloud Fairy's life: a core containing twenty-eight divine abilities, each one the result of decades—sometimes centuries—of dangerous cultivation. For example, the "Black Sun Tempest"—to even begin cultivating it, one had to wander the lethal void storms near the dark suns, risking annihilation. A century of training would be considered fast.
Even if Fang Han mastered the method, he would still need a century.
But now?
He only needed to peel the divine ability from the core and refine it. Instantly mastered. And stronger than Zhao Xuanyi's version—because Fire Cloud Fairy, the one who forged this core, had far surpassed him.
And that was just one divine ability.
This core held twenty-eight.
Abilities like the "Great Sun Blaze," the "Ever-Spring Art," "Hooking the Mystic," "Earth-Soul Mountain Drive," "Supplication Chant"—each one powerful, each one unbearably hard to cultivate.
Most took a century. Some took thirty years. Some an entire generation.
Fire Cloud Fairy had lived over a thousand years—and 800 of those years had been poured into this single golden core.
Now all that time, all that suffering, every drop of sweat—
Would become Fang Han's.
A millennium of cultivation—stolen in an instant.
Fang Han lifted the golden core. Instantly, his mind flared, spirit roaring skyward as two beams of piercing light erupted from his eyes and sank into the core. His Wood Emperor qi—now condensed into a grand formation within his liver—surged, pushing his sight to terrifying heights.
The stronger the liver, the sharper the eyes.
He blasted the golden core with this spiritual force, but it did not budge.
Then Yan let loose a draconic roar. The Yellow Springs Diagram unfurled into dense fog, enveloping the core. Only then did the perfect sphere begin to melt, its twenty-eight divine formations emerging one by one.
Both Fang Han and Yan were now at the Celestial Realm—fifth level of divine abilities—with the power to form major arrays. Fang Han had only just stepped in and hadn't condensed all five elements yet, but it didn't hinder him from supporting Yan.
Yan, a sinister and ancient dragon-spirit, bolstered by a Dao-artifact… refining a dead cultivator's core was child's play.
If the owner were alive, a single thought could have detonated the core. Even a Longevity expert couldn't have refined it.
But now? It was nothing but a treasure waiting to be plundered.
Months passed.
Then one day, the Yellow Springs fog split open, scattering like storm clouds.
Floating inside were twenty-eight blazing formations, each glowing like a miniature sun—each representing a divine ability that would normally require a lifetime.
"Fang Han! Stop staring—send your mana in and refine them!" Yan bellowed.
"Right!"
Fang Han didn't hesitate. He projected twenty-eight streams of pure energy, each one piercing a formation. He followed the corresponding cultivation method—patterns he had already memorized after studying the core for days, not to mention being guided by the mysterious senior.
He activated all twenty-eight divine abilities simultaneously.
Thanks to his multi-minded cultivation skill, and the fact that these formations were already complete structures, the process was almost effortless. He wasn't building a house—just moving in.
After eight days and eight nights, the twenty-eight formations shrank, became runes, and shot into his mind.
BOOM.
A storm of power burst from Fang Han's body. His mana shot upward—ten thousand galloping horses' strength… twenty thousand… thirty… fifty…
Only then did the surge halt.
He had multiplied his power fivefold.
Every divine ability had been fully absorbed.
Even his old three-headed lion tattoo shattered and reformed, merging into the complete Heavenly Lion Roar divine ability—one already contained within Fire Cloud Fairy's core, far superior to the version carried by the three Taixuan disciples he had slain.
But Fang Han didn't fuse the abilities into his organs yet. His foundation was the Five Imperial Demon Arts; his future golden core would incorporate far more than twenty-eight divine abilities—perhaps thirty, fifty, even more. The more divine abilities imprinted in a golden core, the more terrifying its final power.
The mysterious senior clicked his tongue.
"Impressive. Most Celestial Realm experts wield about ten thousand horses' strength. You have fifty times that. Truly blessed by fate. If you can escape this place, you may really have a chance—however slim—at the Longevity Realm."
Reaching Longevity wasn't something that could be done with luck alone. One needed supreme determination, tremendous talent, unimaginable fortune, and monstrous will.
Yan added, "We've spent fifteen years here. Outside, that's fifteen days. Fifteen years to reach Celestial Realm—fast indeed."
Fang Han now carried Wood Emperor, Earth Emperor, and Fire Emperor divine abilities. And with the twenty-eight from the core, plus Heavenly Lion Roar, he now possessed thirty-one divine abilities.
"Once I refine the remaining two imperial arts and then master the Great Severing Technique, I'll have thirty-four divine abilities. Among the Yuhua disciples, only Hua Tiandu might stand against me."
Yan casually reminded him, "Don't forget Fang Qingxue."
Fang Han exhaled, then asked the mysterious senior, "Is there any way to leave this place?"
"No," the senior replied instantly. "You'd need to reach Longevity Realm to even attempt it—and even then, it's uncertain. Not even five million horses of power could force your way out. But this little dragon, once it recovers its full strength… could leave."
"So there really is no way…"
Fang Han sank into silence.
Meanwhile—outside the Taiyuan Immortal Mansion—
Thunder rolled.
A white-robed woman descended from a storm cloud: Fang Qingxue. Beside her were several female true disciples of the Yuhua Sect—Jialan, Long Xuan, and others.
They landed softly and bowed.
"We greet the Sect Master."
A sphere of pure light appeared above them.
"Master, Senior Brother Fang has been trapped inside for sixteen days," Long Xuan said anxiously. "Inside the mansion, that's sixteen years. No matter who it is, no one can go sixteen years without food or water…"
Her voice trembled. The unspoken fear hung in the air.
Has Fang Han already died?